Wednesday, November 10, 2010
I think of my mother being comforted by her three sisters and their mother while standing next to the grave of my brother. I think of the great bellows of laughter coming from the hair salon that I frequented as a child. I recall the knowing glances and outstretched hands that I have exchanged with another Black woman. Granted, I have the pleasure of knowing many beautiful women...across the entire palette of ethnicity. However, there is a deeper sense of unity that I feel when I, and other Black women embrace one another. Welcome one another. Encourage and affirm one another. Because we are known to bicker and be competitive. Tear down another because her hair is natural. Or relaxed. She's too skinny or flat-chested. Or too big. Lighter or Darker. Rough around the edges or materialistic. Carrying an infant or a Gucci bag in her arms.
It's nice to have kindred arms, though we are only connected through shade, hold you up. And it may not be done intentionally, but it always feels familiar. Sometimes, I have to double-take, because I could swear that the arms of my "sistah" feels like the arms of a "sister".