Why I love Black folks
You know what I hate sometimes? It is when high fallutin’ Black folk forget their roots. And you know what I’m talking about, the Black folk who get a little education and all of a sudden they are Cornel West and have a ready answer for any and all of the ills Black people encounter. But what I fear sometimes is that in all our intellectuality (yes that is a word and an example of the terminology you often find in high fallutin’ Black folk) we forget the basic things that make us love and appreciate our people.
Black history is so replete with Black people not only overcoming extraordinary circumstances but being the absolute best at everything they put their hands to. My history sustains me and is a constant source of inspiration.
I love how Black skin glistens in the summertime.
I grew up in the hood on the Westside of Detroit off of 7 Mile and I also went to private school when my parents could afford it. So to all the hardcore cats I grew up with and looked up to, thank you for not letting me get caught up in foolishness.
It’s amazing how Black people can talk to each other without talking and know exactly what the other person is saying.
I always chuckle when I learn that a Black man who is a junior has “Junebug” as a nickname.
And don’t the sisters get upset when the brothers get real particular about their feet? “Let me see them toes girl!” Blame Boomerang.
God must have invented Spades on the seventh day of creating the world, when he was chillin’ because I can’t think of any other game that brings Black folk together like Spades. And let me give a special shot out to my people who don’t re-nig.
To my beautiful sisters, the little pouch in your stomach is fine so please don’t try to work it off. A brother needs something to hold.
I love it when I am at a BBQ manning the grill because as I finish cooking the last tray of meat, a beautiful Black woman asks me what I want on my plate. And then she is so sweet because she will hook a brother up with the big piece of chicken. Let’s go!
I smile when I feel the pressure to see every new Black movie no matter how good or bad it will be. Because if we don’t support our movies, who will?
Isn’t it funny how Black folk can start bobbing their head to a song during the interlude and catch the beat right on time?
And I know the brothers remember trying to freestyle during lunchtime or having like 12 dudes at a table all making beats with their fists and knuckles, resulting in a fierce rhythm that made you thicken the wrinkles in your forehead.
I love the universal pound/dap that most Black men know like the back of their hands.
And a big thank you goes out to all of the Black singers and musicians from the church that moved me to tears by allowing God to move through your instruments and your voice.
I could go and on but sometimes, you just have to say it plain. But I want to know why you love Black people.
Stay up fam,