“This is amazing mommy!”
My little one (MLO) sat in the backseat as we slowly drove around the neighborhood in a preschool graduation parade. Three of MLO’s friends were graduating from preschool to “big boy and big girl” school. We honked our horns, shouted from our cars, and neighbors cheered from their houses. Three little heads with graduation caps peeked out of car sunroofs, soaking up the love. It was a deeply satisfying experience. We weren’t just celebrating three kids going to kindergarten; we are celebrating our ability to celebrate FULLY and safely. All that was missing was a monstrous speaker playing Queen’s “We are the Champions”.
At the daycare, we were greeted by many more neighbors with signs, cheering from a distance. The little school’s driveway, a massive hill from the road, was beautifully decorated. At the top of the hill, the school’s teachers were waiting with diplomas and gifts. MLO’s first graduation, he was amazed and slightly confused. Why did his friends deserve so much praise? He tried to wrap his four-year-old mind around all the fuss. I loved it. I thought, “Get used to it. Accomplishments are worth celebrating. Moments are worth enjoying. You are worth all of this and more. Take it in.”
One at a time, the graduates got out of the cars with their families, with masks on, to receive their diplomas from their teachers. We cheered from our individual cars.
MLO was excited to see his friends, even if it was just from afar.
After presenting the diplomas, the owner gave a speech from the hilltop.
She then dismissed us.
We drove away happy, inspired even.
The experience transformed the way I viewed quarantine celebrations.
That’s the version of the story I keep wanting to tell myself, but that’s not what happened. How did it actually go down?
“Why are we just sitting here?”
My little one wiggled in the backseat while we waited for the parade to start. His teachers were waiting beside a fence with masks on. They were trying to keep their distance but went from car to car giving out instructions. I had on a mask for good measure, in case I needed to talk to one of them. So far, not bad.
“Why is she just STANDING there?”
MLO lost interest in the car magazine in his hand and demanded to know why we were watching his teacher just stand against the fence, while the other made rounds. From some basic lip-reading, I figured out that one of the graduates was late and the teachers were accommodating the family. I didn’t feel like explaining that to the kid behind me.
“She is just waiting until we start the parade.”
I tried explaining to him what graduation was and why we needed to support his classmates. He didn’t care. I turned on his favorite podcast, and he spaced out. Ignoring the rest of us, he was thankful to have something interesting to listen to.
That’s when IT happened. One of the parents got out of the car with her child (a graduate). Neither was wearing a mask. Before we start the mask, no-mask discussion, let me just say that the owner of the school invited everyone with some ground rules. All participants were to practice social distancing, to try to keep everyone safe: hence the outdoor graduation parade from our cars. BUT I learned quickly that rules are open to the interpretation of the reader. This is America!
The mom and kid got unnecessarily close to one of the teachers and started talking. Then, they walked to another car, full of senior citizens, and started talking to them. Thankfully, the seniors were wearing masks, but I was trying to figure out what warped time zone I’d just dropped into.
I read the news. I’m not addicted to the news, but I read the news. America is open. The good news is that some people have been able to return to work, and we are able to socialize with some boundaries in place. The bad news is that our country is one of the last to get the pandemic under control.
I’m thinking about this as this mother and son walked from person to person, without masks, having these conversations. The child’s mask-less father soon joined the movement and banter too. I couldn’t help but wonder what was so important that they couldn’t just call from their car. Was there a schedule change that everyone was trying to figure out? Did one of the kids get sick? I told myself, “Stay out of folks’ business Cyrah.” They were probably just talking to someone they knew intimately.
The mom walked past my car. Our eyes met. And she headed back to her car.
Fun fact: I’m a face talker. That means my face says a lot without my permission. My face expresses all of the things before my mind processes the words I should say. My words are few and calculated, but my face is unbridled … like a wild stallion.
“Girl, why don’t you have on your mask?”
“Why are you so close to everyone?”
“Why is your kid running around without a mask?”
“Do you know something I don’t know?”
“Is there some sort of mind-blowing emergency happening that makes us all say ‘screw the rules’ because this earth-shattering thing is more important?”
Her face was just as expressive. It said, “I dare you to say something.” I did not.
Our face dialogue wrapped up in a matter of seconds, and more people hopped out of their cars. Graduates ran around a little bit (without masks). Parents talked briefly with the teachers, and everyone hopped back in their cars. I still don’t know why, but I was still in my car with my kid. We were safe. It was none of our business.
The parade commenced. We drove around the neighborhood. I didn’t really take it in. My brain was still on what I’d just witnessed. My kid was listening to his podcast, so he was half paying attention. The parade came back to life for me when we finally arrived at the school. There were indeed signs everywhere, neighbors shouting and cars honking. This. Was. Cool.
We came together as a community to celebrate little brown kids graduating from preschool. Respectful, happy kids, who were reading at age four and ahead of most preschoolers in the state. We were celebrating our children’s exposure to academic excellence: our own slice of privilege. Deep down, I knew that the graduates’ parents felt this excitement in their bones. A small school like this for black kids was a true gem. If there was a day to chuck the rules out of the window, it was probably today.
When we parked in front of the school, surrounded by the neighborhood love, my little one and I waited for the graduates to get in place for their individual walks up the driveway to receive their diplomas. The few people outside of their cars were many feet away, and the adults in the car behind us wore masks. When I felt like the coast was clear, I took my kid out of the car, so he could see what was happening. We didn’t wear masks because I felt safe. We stood beside the car, well-distanced and happy. Between cheers, I explained that he would also graduate next year.
Then, right before hopping pack in our car, IT happened again. Everyone in the car behind us popped out. I thought they were going to stand beside their car like we were, but they did not. The kids in the car started walking toward the driveway. Of course, they saw my little one and wanted to say hello. He said hello, and I pulled him away as he did. The adults pulled their masks down to their chins, and the entire family crossed in front of us (about two feet away) and walked toward the driveway. This time, I felt strangely violated.
As people huddled in large clusters to take photos, I grabbed my kid, got in my car, and drove away … mad.
Now that I’ve had time to process it, this is what I know.
1. As it stands, social distancing is a choice. I can’t make you wear a mask any more than you can make me lick a toilet.
2. Even though social distancing is your choice, it DOES affect others. The more you expose yourself, the more you expose everyone connected to you. So, science.
3. This may be the most important point: If you choose not to social distance, you CANNOT just walk up to someone you know and hug them or get super close just because you feel like it. Whether you like it or not, THEY might be social distancing. Because social distancing is social in nature, make sure all parties involved are clear about the rules of engagement, so everyone is comfortable. You don’t get to just violate the event rules just because you feel like it. That’s incredibly selfish.
4. Actually, now that I’m really reflecting, this may be the most important point: If you ARE social distancing, SAY SO. I’m serious. Have your boundaries, and state your boundaries OUT LOUD. Because this is a global pandemic, I do believe it’s everyone’s responsibility to honor boundaries. But some people just don’t get that. Don’t get mad. Be clear. Say what you will and will not do before you go somewhere, so people you’re engaging with know. People are less likely to violate a boundary that you clearly stated. If they try to cross the line, call them on it. This is not the time for passive aggression. If you aren’t comfortable with something, you don’t have to endure it. You can speak up and/or leave.
For now, my family and I are still social distancing in every way that we can. We want to help minimize exposure for the most vulnerable in this country. I’m won’t knock anyone else’s stance, but I refuse compromise mine … even if it’s unpopular.
I didn’t watch the videos in the past because– I didn’t think I could handle it.
I’m barely on the other side of healing from personal trauma.
I thought I was protecting my heart.
I was afraid that if I watched the videos,
I’d get scared and start living like a coward.
And if I’m a coward, I might raise a coward.
I was afraid that if I watched the videos I’d get angry.
I’d get vocal.
And with my face, people would just tune me out.
Or (more likely) I’d get angry,
stuff it down,
and let it literally eat me alive.
I was afraid that if I watched the videos,
I’d cry far more than smile most days,
and I just figured out how to have joy.
So, I chose not to watch the videos.
I read the news,
Let the sadness privately wash over me,
Move on with my life.
I thought if I exposed myself to more pain,
I’d come undone.
I usually don’t watch the videos because
I thought, I just CAN’T.
But … for a reason I cannot explain,
this time I couldn’t NOT watch.
I needed to watch it.
I did, and it HURT.
I knew it would,
but in a strange way, it feels right.
I’m mourning right now.
I’m praying for his family,
I’m allowing myself to feel whatever I feel.
In a way, it feels like I’ve been losing family members all this time
and refusing to go to the funeral:
Ignoring the grieving process that this generational trauma deserves.
I don’t know what to do to change the world around me yet,
but my first step is showing up and allowing myself to grieve.
So, George Floyd, rest in peace, sir.
I’ve been natural for a year now.
Before the afro, it was pulled back in no specific style.
Before no specific style, it was in headwraps.
Before headwraps, it was two strand twisted.
Before the twists, it was in tight coils that I never let lock.
Before the locks I couldn’t commit to, it was hidden.
I hid it for years.
Before natural, I said:
I work out.
I don’t have time.
It’s not my thing.
I just can’t.
Before natural, I wasn’t satisfied.
I craved a signature look.
I wanted unique.
I wanted epic,
As long as it wasn’t mine.
After wrestling with my hair for a year,
I can say that I hid it because it scared me.
It was too thick.
I’ve said that about myself too.
After wrestling with my hair for a year,
my signature look found me.
It is thick
because it’s healthy and strong.
It is coily
because it’s uniquely black.
It is too much for some,
and that excites me.
My hair is mine.
I was right to be intimidated by it
because it’s special.
It requires my time.
It requires my care.
I have to listen to it,
instead of fighting it.
My hair needs love.
It loves to be free.
It likes to dance in the wind.
My hair loves to stretch.
My hair likes to fly.
My hair has superpowers.
in some strange way,
learning to care it,
teaches me to care for myself.