The Coffeedreamz Experience
Presents
Come Home Brother
Copyright 2005 © by Yolonda “Coffeedreamz” Coleman
Author of Sugar Rush: Love’s Liberation www.coffeedreamz.com
DISCLAIMER: COMMENTARY EXPRESSED IN THIS LETTER ARE IN NO WAY TO OFFEND BUT TO BRING A NEW PERSPECTIVE ON THE STATE OF AFFAIRS OF THE AFRICAN AMERICAN MAN AND WOMAN.
(Hartsfield-Jackson Airport -2005) I met a straight-laced cat while waiting in line for my breakfast at the airport in Atlanta, Georgia. My heart skipped two beats when my eyes read his black t-shirt with the words that read, Virginia is for hustlers. A thinker beyond the surface, I squinted my eye at the t-shirt wearer and tried to decipher the intent of the message.
“You have something to say?” he asked me in a serious, yet non-confrontational tone.
“Virginia is for lovers, not hustlers...unless it’s a marketing technique or you’re a hustler in that you work hard.”
“It’s controversy.”
“It’s sparks conversation,” I replied.
“Exactly!”
“A. Brown Girl.” I extended my hand.
“A. Brown Boy.”
“It’s nice to know someone thinks outside the box.”
“Is there any other way to think?” I hand him a business card. He returns the gesture. He’s in the fashion design industry. His meal ticket number is called, and I wait in line until my bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich is ready.
Proud that I could actually hold a conversation since waking up at the crack of black in the morning (4:45am), I retrieve my order and find a seat near a window. I take out my laptop to begin sharing my thoughts with the keys. Before I know it, A. Brown Boy comes over with his food.
“Why don’t you join me?” I was being facetious as he had already placed his things on the table.
We begin to talk on levels of consciousness neither of us ever expected in an airport terminal. He was Gerald A. Washington in Sugar Rush: Love’s Liberation, a WPWF (Working Professional Without a Family). He was also ambitious, doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, and is a believer in Christ. He calls himself, A Good Brother. I agreed, whole-heartedly. I looked at him with eyes of bewilderment. Where in the hell have you been and where are the others hiding?
“Can I ask you a question?” he shoots from his full lips covering the pearly whites.
“Ask away,” I said.
“Do you think we’re in trouble…I I I mean the black man and black woman?”
That was a loaded question. I was more than prepared to answer, but we both had flights to catch. The abridged response was no. I told him I considered launching a campaign called, Come Home Brother.
As progressive as we are in the twenty-first century, we still have concerns to be addressed as people of color. The Thirteenth Amendment abolished physical slavery, however, I have to agree with a term my classmate in high school dropped in the early 90s. K.O. said that we are still psychologically enslaved. The more I travel and converse with my contemporaries as well as the elders in our community, we have yet to get out of the slave mentality.
Freedom has been afforded to us but 1. we don’t take advantage of it or 2. We wait for someone to validate our ability to exist in parts of society we deem acceptable only for a certain kind of people. The latter is found in people who only travel if the job permits. They merge and connect with people who have the available funds/social standing to say, It’s okay to cross the line and enjoy the rest of the world. It saddens me that we now have to act accordingly to validate our worth to each other.
He continues, “We are so angry with each other.”
“I agree. We’re mad at the brothers for abandoning us and our children. The brothers are mad at us because they regard our aggression as unsupportive nagging.”
Sistahs, get real. We are angry. We’re still angry from all that we had to endure since we could call ourselves American. We were raped and our men weren’t able to protect us. We were used to nurse and rear other people’s children while we stood by and watched our lifelines being sold off, beaten, and killed. All the while still praying for God’s grace to continue to cover us. Our souls are still tired from the past that has never truly been reconciled. The Civil War is not over. Too many matters are left unresolved.
Bruthas, you work hard and all you want is a meal and some lovin’. Instead, you have become victims of the woman who you decide to call sister, lover, and friend. After, working, cleaning, cooking, caring for our children (whether as surrogates or biological), and still try to find time to make love to your mind, body, and soul, we’re pooped. However, we don’t have any room to show weakness to maintain the Strong Black Woman (SBW) image you’ve come to both love and hate. Don’t give up on us. Sometimes, we really just need a hug and for you to let us cry years of tears. As my friend Spiritual Brown notes, we’re challenging you not nagging you. Despite what you think, deep down inside we know your worth. Its value has just been vaulted while accruing interest. We’re slowly coming around.
Giving up on us creates a gap. In that gap are the children who suffer because they don’t know what functional relationships look like in our community. The true kings and queens of the earth have left the palace unattended and cold. Our children are lost and are left with pop culture to show them substandard versions of who they truly are: princes and princesses. There are plenty of jesters running around as false representatives of the kingdom. We haven’t mended the family within the court, but created franchised lives built on false hope that life is better without each other.
We really do love you brother. Come home brother, even if just for a minute to sort things out. The collard greens, macaroni and cheese, smoked turkey, sweet potato pie, and iced tea are on the table brothers. The aroma was created with you in mind. Let’s have a meal and fill in the gap. We can work from the inside out even if you're outsourcing your resources. Your future depends on you.
Always,
A. Brown Girl
