So I recently wrote a thing for Very Smart Brothas about how I want my easily impressed sisters and brethren to be more discerning with our cookout invites and mindful about who we're showering with praise.
Look, I know blackness is the gift that keeps on giving. I know how awesome we are, and can understand why sweet potato pie tops pumpkin pie, that we effortlessly create and inform pop culture, and why folks set aside their good sense and pride to get next to us or be like us. And I also know that in these anus-mouthed-gargoyle-electing times, the smallest acts of humanity—even the most fleeting abandonment of ain’t-shitness—can feel like a sign of kinship, a victory, a mark of someone deserving of trust.
I get the fatigue from contending with normalized terribleness and buffoonery and reading about and coexisting with people who vote for professional life ruiners. Truly, I do.
But stop inviting everybody to the motherfucking cookout. Love yourself and respect your blackness a little bit more. For the kids, the community and the perseverance of the already limited supply of ribs. As I told Tonja Stidhum (one of the writingest wimmenz I know), I’ll be damned if I miss out on the macaroni and cheese because you niggas are out here inviting everybody who smiles at you and hugging Nazis at the cookout. Go-go gadget: higher standards.
Read the rest over at Very Smart Brothas.
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