The Whole Lemon

Racism Free

Written By: Shirley Lemon

11/19/2023

Recently I watched a video where a young woman from Nigeria was being interviewed about her life outside of Africa. She looked to be in her mid to late twenties. The interview was interesting, but my attention span is short these days, so I was about to move on until she made this statement. “I never knew what racism was until I left my country.”

The statement hit me like a ton of bricks. “What does that mean? Is there really a place in this world where a person of color can go and feel no racism?”

I don’t know how to digest that statement. It is a phantom idea.

I was born in Detroit, Michigan in the early 1950’s. When I came out of my mother’s womb, even before I was born there was already prejudice against me. Why? Because of the color of my skin.

My father was from Mississippi. He told us that after he was discharged from the army where he served during WWII, he had to leave his home state because he knew if he stayed, he would be lynched. My five older siblings were born in Mississippi or North Carolina where my mother was from. It was before my birth that they packed up the family, said goodbye to the south and moved to Michigan. The good old mid-west.

We moved from a blatant, out right, full blown, unadulterated show of racism to a form that was more under cover, more civilized in the racist mind, but possibly more dangerous.

It is better to see the enemy coming so you can know how to prepare, than to have them lurk in the dark and catch you unaware.

The Civil Rights Movement began in the 1950’s. I grew up watching the struggle. My father marched with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and I watched as our leaders were gunned down and killed in cold blood. Not only Black people, but White people who sympathized and joined the crusade were not spared.

How can there be a place on earth where there is no racism? I do not understand what that means. I don’t know what that might feel like. Oppression, hatred, and deceit are inherent in the fabric of this country. Just when it looked like maybe because of the sacrifice of blood, sweat and tears of so many of our ancestors, our patriarchs, and matriarchs that there might be light at the end of a very dark tunnel, that maybe we could breathe air that is scented with non-bias, racism has risen its ugly head higher and gained momentum and is surging forward to blot out all hope of equity for all. It’s the American way.

Do I sound a little perturbed? That’s because I know with all certainty that in my lifetime there will always be racism, and I will feel it. All the positive thinking and hoping in the world will not change that.

I will have to wait until I reach heaven before I experience a life without racism.

My children and grandchildren were born into a racist world. But what about my great granddaughter who is soon to make her grand entrance into this world? She too will be born into a racist world.

The young woman who did not experience racism until she was well into her twenties was blessed to have had such an experience in her life.

For us, going back to our homeland in Africa to experience a place where you don’t feel racism is a noble idea. But staying here, fighting for the freedom from racism that we have earned because our blood is inherent to the existence of the United States of America, that is a more magnanimous ideal.

Not In Front of Company

Written By: Nakema Lemon

comment on her appearance.

For context, the young Black woman was dark skinned with typical Afrocentric features including a wide nose and big lips. In the original video she didn’t appear to be wearing any make-up, and her hair was short and natural. There was nothing off-putting about her appearance. She looked like a regular Black girl.

However, as mentioned, the original video had nothing to do with her or anyone’s physical appearance. She was talking about a social/political issue. Unfortunately, I see this often in the comments of Black women. They could be talking about any topic under the sun, and there will be a comment criticizing their appearance or telling them they are going to die alone (this one deserves another article). For the appearance comments, I used to think it had to be kids. Teenagers, and middle schoolers who just like to make fun of people behind the anonymity of the internet. Unfortunately, it turns out that a significant percentage of people making negative comments about Black women turn out to be Black (grown) men.

The irony of it all, is that most of the men that make these types of comments, don’t be what one would call a “looker” themselves. I’ve always believed that a rich man is not going to get on the internet bellyaching about gold diggers, just like a fine man is not going to make fun of other people’s appearance (unprovoked) on the internet. So often when you see a man making “fat” jokes in a Black woman’s comments, when you go to their page, you see that they also could benefit from a gym membership. In other words, there are just as many black pots (if not more), as there are kettles out here.

In the past, when a Black man would leave a vile message in a woman’s comments, that Black woman would in turn, repost a picture of the man, and then read that man for filth, inviting the rest of the internet to do the same. They would not only make fun of his appearance, but also his whole family. His wife, his mother, his children. Nothing was off limits. Even his little dog could get it. It would actually be quite entertaining, because these men would really deserve it. Because who asked them?

But this girl took another approach. The person that attacked her appearance, found a picture of the biggest, burliest Black NFL player he could find, and then insinuated that she looked like the football player. Instead of going off on the man, she reposted the picture of the football player and then walked through his features, and then questioned why this Black man would think this other Black man was ugly. Further, she pointed out that yes, she and the football player have similar facial features, as most Black people including the man making the insult.

This reminded me of that time when some Black woman, commented on Twitter that she didn’t think Issa Rae was attractive. It was random and unprovoked. Issa Rae saw the comment, and responded with “Ok, but we look the same…not my cousins publicly disrespecting me.”  It was a classic comeback, and the internet went in on that woman for some days.

After this young woman pointed out the similarities in their appearance, she then decided to use the rest of the video to show pictures and videos of herself looking beautiful. She was tall and statuesque, and if it weren’t for the fact that she hadn’t been born yet, you would think that R&B/Soul classic “Brick House” by the Commodores, was written about her.

I love seeing these young Black women out here, flipping the narrative, and letting the world know that “all” Black is beautiful. That is not to say that every Black person has to think that every Black person is beautiful. But no Black person should be getting on these internets calling their “cousin’ ugly. We don’t do that in front of company.

Unsolicited Advice

Written By: Shirley Lemon

10/1/2023

There are some topics that I choose not to address. Mostly because they no longer have any effect on my life specifically, so I don’t feel the need to discuss them. I watch and listen to the younger generation of women as they navigate through their life experiences. Their opinions matter. And I must say that I am so proud of young Black women. They are conquering heroes that deserve the best in life because they have worked hard to achieve their goals and attain their status in a hostile environment. That status being the most educated people in the United States of America.

For so many years Black women have been at the bottom of the food chain in this country. White men, white women, people of every other race and creed, Black men, and then Black women. Black women were insignificant and invisible to everyone except themselves… until they were not. They did what they have always done. Survived, thrived, surpassed. I watch, I applaud, and I pray for them. They are my daughter (although she is a half century old, so I don’t know if she qualifies as young) my granddaughter and my soon-to-be born great granddaughter. They are my nieces and cousins. They are my friends. They are every young Black woman in the U.S.

The reason I decided to write this is because it was brought to my attention by my daughter the tic-toc addict that a certain Black male billionaire decided that he would give Black women some advice. After a few minutes of his diatribe, I didn’t hear him anymore. All I heard was “yall Black women should reach back behind you and accept Black men who have not fought the hard fight that you have fought but expect to reap the benefits of your hard work. They deserve that.” That is what I heard before my brain almost exploded.

I guess when you are a billionaire you feel like you have to look out for your Black brothers. Right? And the best way to do that is not to offer them advice on how they can achieve what Black women have painstakingly accomplished. No. rather, the advice goes to the Black woman to accept them as they are. Accept Black men as they are and have no expectation that you deserve a like-minded companion.

So, seeing that I’m not a billionaire, millionaire, or any kind of aire, and I cannot speak to what a man should do, I will just say a few words to Black women.

First, whoever you choose as your life partner is your business and yours alone.

Secondly, the conversation brought back memories of days gone by. When I was a younger woman, I remember when Black women would sacrifice themselves for the sake of their Black man. Usually, the two would make these plans together. If she were already more financially stable than him, she would help him pay off his bills that he had before he met her. Then she would put her career on hold so that she could finance his. If she were not financially stable, she would work two and sometimes three jobs to help him advance while he concentrated on becoming upwardly mobile.

Everything went according to plan until he got his degree and job where he could put on a suit and be important. The Black woman who by now was tired and worn out from pushing him forward, was left behind. She no longer fit the image of the woman he wanted in his life.

For the record this is not my story. But I was a witness to my generation and my daughter’s.

 Whoever you decide to choose as your significant other, or if you choose no one at all, Black women, I know that you are strong, brilliant, and fierce enough to deal with the consequences of your preferences. There are really nice men all over the world at every financial level. The younger generations of Black women have removed the barrier that they imposed on themselves to strictly favor Black men. They are now open to the possibilities of dating other ethnicities.

My final thought. Remember Lot’s wife. She looked back and turned into a pillar of salt.

Oprah

Written By: Nakema Lemon

10/1/23

I remember when Oprah first burst on the scene as the first Black woman to host a nationally syndicated talk show in 1985. She was so relatable because she had very humble beginnings like many of us, and most importantly she looked like us. She dominated the field for twenty-five years. She made us laugh; she made us cry. Her guests and interviews were legendary. She was the queen of surprises and giveaways. Everyone remembers the “You get a car, and you get a car!”  That episode is still referenced in skits and memes to this day. At her peak her star was so bright everything she touched turned to gold. All you had to do was get an endorsement from Oprah, get your product on her show, or her list of favorite things and you were an overnight success. She literally changed hundreds if not thousands of people’s lives.

When she became a billionaire in 2003, we all celebrated her. She was the quintessential “rags to riches” story, and she was generous to a fault. Her mission always seemed to be about giving back and pulling up others behind her.

That was over twenty years ago. Those of us who have been with her from the beginning still admire and support her. But the younger generations who have only known Oprah as the billionaire mogul that she is today, are not buying anything she is selling. Literally, every time she announces anything, she gets trounced on the internet. The vitriol is next level. This latest fiasco with Hawaii was the perfect example. They ripped her to shreds on Twitter and, as far as I’ve seen they have not let up.

There are many reasons, I believe, as to why she gets so much hate. The first one, is the obvious, she is a Black woman. If you read my mom’s post, she states it out loud. Black women are the most hated demographic in this country. The second reason is that they have tried to link her to Jeffrey Epstein and the likes of Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk. They have labeled her as elitist. However, while Oprah has certainly benefited from Capitalism, she and those white men are not the same. Which leads us to a third reason. The younger generation’s disdain and resentment toward Capitalism. Many Millennials and Gen Zers are more educated and make more money than their parents, and grandparents, yet they can’t afford the cost of living in today’s economy. It’s unfair, and I certainly empathize.

Another reason is that she is out of touch. This is the one that resonates most with me. During the Hawaii debacle, one of her first missteps in my opinion was showing up with cameras. Now back in the 90’s, we would have all been glued to our televisions watching Oprah as she gave us exclusive access to the devastation. This was of course before cellphones and the way we consumed news was vastly different. We were at the mercy of the news organizations that had complete control of how much or how little information we received based on that organization’s political point of view. So back then, Oprah was one of the few voices that we actually trusted. But we do not need her in this capacity today. With the invention of cellphones and the internet, anyone can be a reporter. And the younger generations would have preferred to hear the news from the locals that were impacted instead of the rich person whose multimillion dollar property on the island was not touched. Now a lot of people tried to say she was doing it for clout. But she is Oprah freaking Winfrey. She doesn’t need clout. I actually thought she meant well. She believed she was doing us a service. However, what worked in the 90’s is out of touch today.  

Then she established a fund for people to make donations to help the people in Hawaii. She saw it as a way for her to help. While many people say they want to donate, they are often hesitant to give because they don’t believe that the victims will actually benefit from the donations. So, Oprah established this fund with a guarantee that the money would go directly to the people. However, it backfired spectacularly. It was the right idea from the wrong person. They accused her of asking for money from poor people, when they believed she could afford to help all those people herself. She is a billionaire after all.

Now of course, this is way more nuanced than discussed here.  But the bottom line is this. Oprah is doing what Oprah’s been doing since 1985.  Like it, love it, or otherwise. She has not changed. But the times have. I think in her mind, she believes that she is keeping up with them, but the internet clearly does not agree. She is a rich boomer trying to be relatable to Millennials and Gen Z, which I’m not sure is possible (this is the same problem with trying to drum up excitement with young people for an 80-year-old presidential candidate).

So here is my unsolicited advice to Oprah. Ignore them internets and continue to do you, but don’t look for acceptance. Your legacy is set and etched in the history books. But let the young folks, and the new wine have it.

The Bigger Picture

Written By: Shirley Lemon

9/3/2023

When I was a young struggling single mother in my twenties I would have discussions with my parents about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. My father’s perspective was always grounded in biblical analogy. The answer to every question was found in the bible. I believed him because my father was a very wise and sanctified man. But that is not what I wanted to hear at the time of our discourse.

 Since I was always the one to bring up the subject matter, I would express my views based on where I was in my life, how I was feeling at the time and what was happening around me at that given moment in time. Whether it was personal, political, or spiritual, I wanted them to understand that in that moment what I was saying was the right answer to the dialogue. 

My mother would listen intently as if every word I said was of great interest. And then she would reply with one sentence and a smile. “Child, just keep on living.”

I was not really happy with that answer either. Sometimes I would look at them both and wonder if they had some kind of running joke between them as to what I would bring to the discussion table next and how they would answer. I had the feeling that as soon as I left them, they would look at each other, shake their heads, laugh, and continue whatever they were doing before I showed up with my rhetoric.

When you are going through something and feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders you seek immediate relief. You don’t think about what will happen tomorrow or next week or next year. You see the world in terms of today.

Fast forward fifty years later. I understand what my parents were saying. Especially my mother.

There are two things I have realized along the way.

First, “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.” Ecclesiastes 1:9

Secondly, the words of a song written by Bernard Ighner, sung by George Benson and Stevie Wonder, “Everything must change, nothing and no one stays the same” ring true.

The older you get the bigger the picture you see. You have more information and experience to base your actions and reactions on. You understand that all issues cannot be solved in a day. You understand that no matter how intense your feelings are today they will change in time. As you go through the battles of your life you get stronger and more confident with each triumph. You get more humble with each blessing. You feel joy over minuscule things.

erything you have been through someone has been through before. You will watch your children and grandchildren do the same. Love, hate, work, illness, marriage, raising children, divorce, life.

The difference will be in the packaging. We baby boomers have had to adjust to the 21st century communication highway called the internet. We learn different ways to approach those things that are not new. Technology is better, information is more easily accessible, and we can reach people around the world from the comfort of our living room.

And yet, the drama, trauma and joys of life are centuries old.

We are not as frustrated or overwhelmed by life as we were in our youth. These days, when my granddaughter launches into debates about the situations of today,

I find myself repeating my mother’s words of wisdom. “Child, just keep on living.”

Traditional Women

Written By: Nakema Lemon

9/3/23

I saw another TikTok where a young man was lamenting about the women of today. He said something about “How come these younger women, are not traditional like their grandmothers?” Basically, he has memories of his grandmother cooking and cleaning and being submissive to his grandfather.

What this young man does not understand is that the reason why the young women of today are not like their grandmothers, is because their grandmothers (even grandfathers) have raised them not to be. One day, my grandfather and I were sitting in his truck chatting it up (if you’re a descendant of Elder B., you’ll get the hilarity of that sentence). But he was bestowing some of his wisdom on me, and I was soaking it in. He said, “Make sure you get all your learning, so you can get a good job and be able to take care of yourself. That way you will never have to be dependent on anybody else.” Those words came out of my granddaddy’s mouth. A man who wouldn’t allow his own wife to work outside the home, or even get a driver’s license. Now to be clear, by the time the grandchildren came along, my grandfather was treating my grandmother very well. Me and my cousins grew up watching my grandfather fawn over and cater to grandma. So, from my point of view, he was the ideal husband.

But what I think my grandfather realized was that they didn’t and still don’t make them like him anymore. He watched the women in my mother’s generation, get divorced but then rally to take care of themselves and their children on their own. So instead of encouraging his granddaughter to find a husband, he encouraged her to be self-sufficient. And my grandmother espoused the same message.

So, I marched forward with my grandfather’s instructions, and I raised my daughters to do the same. My question is, while the girls were getting the message to be self-sufficient, what message was the boys getting?

They are whining about the lack of traditional women when they are not even traditional men. My grandfather was a good traditional man. He provided for his family. He sometimes had to work more than one job. I’ve heard stories about my grandmother mending his clothes and shoes over and over again, because instead of buying things for himself, he made his family his priority. There are no stories about him mistreating her, or him carrying on with other women. And as I mentioned, I grew up watching him treat her very well. He cooked for her, helped out with household chores, made sure her hair and nails were always done and he kept her dressed to the church lady nines.

Never, would a good traditional man like my grandfather allow a woman to be the bread winner, or even go 50/50. Never, would a traditional man insist that he eat before his children, and never would a traditional man put his own needs above those of his family.

Today’s women are no longer traditional. They are being taught to be independent and self-sufficient. But these non-traditional women still want husbands and families. They are looking to redefine what the nuclear family structure looks like. Two paychecks, upward mobility, and partnership in raising the children and taking care of the home. And most of these women would be more than willing to let their husbands take the lead.

However, instead of stepping up and matching the progression of the women from generation to generation, these young men are sitting around lamenting about why today’s woman is not like their grandmothers.

In the words of the great Lauryn Hill “It could all be so simple, but you’d rather make it hard….”

Silence Of the Birds

Written By: Shirley Lemon

8/23/2023

I lived close to sixty years of my life in the Midwest. From Michigan where I was born to Indiana and then Ohio, the one thing that was always the same was the birds.

In most places where I lived there was a tree outside the window of the living room or my bedroom of the house or apartment. I did not consciously select my abode with that as a factor but maybe subconsciously I did.

In the fall I would watch the birds gather in masses in the trees, on telephone poles or building tops. They were getting travel instructions and assignments. They were preparing for the journey south to escape the cold relenting winter. I watched as they ascended into the sky, merged into their V echelons, and headed south. It was always sad to see them go because it meant winter was approaching and the world around me would now be silent and cold. And it was silent. Not only were the birds gone but all of the little creatures of nature were hibernating or possibly dead.

Then after months that seemed like years of snow and sleet and freezing temperatures, Spring announced its return. I would see little, tiny buds on the trees. And then one day I would hear a chirp. It was always a moment of joy. I would rush to tell my children “The birds are back!”  We would laugh and cheer and clap as if a long lost relative had returned. We took our happiness from wherever we could find it.

For the past thirteen years I have lived in Arizona. I don’t know if any of the birds from the Midwest come this way, but I seriously doubt it. It’s too hot. Occasionally in the summer I have seen pelicans, storks, and swans that I think are passing through.

But there might not be enough room here for vacationing birds. The birds of Arizona never leave. They are the loudest birds I have ever heard, and they talk constantly.

Sometimes it sounds like I live in the jungle. Some of the birds make sounds that are similar to monkeys. And there are so many different sounds. I really enjoy the acoustic sounds of nature.

Except for the woodpeckers. The woodpeckers are constantly banging on the house, and we have to have conversations with them about this. My favorite bird is the humming bird. They are so cute. Then, there are the road runners, like in the cartoons. I have to stop often while driving to allow mother road runners and babies to cross the street. They don’t run. They walk in an orderly fashion as the mother looks back to make sure all are accounted for.

Loud animal noises can be heard all year round. The sounds of the birds are heard until darkness falls, and they settle down for the night.

Except this year, this summer the birds are quiet. I noticed that recently. We have had temperatures above 110F for thirty one days straight. It has usually been around 114 to 116F on a good day. It is oppressive, searing heat. And the birds have gone silent. I don’t see them or hear them. Maybe they fly to higher elevations in the mountains because it’s cooler there. Or maybe they fly north for a long needed vacation.

So, if you see some really loud birds that never shut up, people up north, be kind to them. It’s been a brutally hot summer. Dealing with this heat has been hard on all living creatures.

Millennials VS Gen X

Written By: Nakema Lemon

8/27/23

 I took a break from social media for a couple of weeks because I needed to bring a little quiet to my brain. Although I love TikTok, I realize that the amount of information a person’s unconscious mind consumes in just scrolling from post to post for a few hours a day is overwhelming to say the least. While I mostly watch toddler and puppy videos, I also find myself getting caught up in the drama. There is always a battle between the races or the sexes, and there is always some Black trauma, childhood trauma or relationship trauma (no wonder everyone is suffering from anxiety and depression) that will have me engaged on the platform for an unhealthy amount of time.   

So, I took the break, and after a couple of weeks I noticed I was sleeping a little better at night. Unfortunately, I got back on TikTok just a couple of days ago. I had to because I needed to find a topic to write about this week. At least that is my story, and I am sticking to it. I saw there was (is) another battle, and this time it is generational. Apparently the millennials have a bone to pick with Gen X, because they don’t want to help them take care of their grandkids, or something like that.

I personally am very perplexed by this, because every Gen Xer I know, does a lot for their grandchildren. They help out financially, they babysit, help out with picking up/dropping off at school, and many of them are full time caregivers and are literally raising their grandchildren. I myself am about to become a grandmother. Currently my daughter lives in another state, but I have been having a lot of talks with Jesus, because I really don’t won’t my new born grandbaby to go to daycare. I desperately want them to move here (AZ), and I even suggested to my mom that we could consider moving there (OH) for a couple of years so we can take care of the baby while her parents’ work.  For the record, my momma ain’t down with us moving to OH at all. Anyway, the point is, the Gen Xers that I know live for their grandchildren.

For some context, many Gen Xers are not grandparents, in fact they are still raising their own minor children. Gen Xers were born between 1965 and 1980, and Millennials were born between 1981 – 1996. You can see the overlap.

Now when I was a kid, I spent a lot of time at grandma’s house.  My parents divorced and my mom had to work, she could not afford daycare. So, until we were old enough to stay home alone, we spent weekends, holidays, and summer vacations at grandma’s house.  My mom was the primary caregiver for both her granddaughters through most of their childhood. My grandmother was a stay at home mom, and my mother was able to stop working after her second grandchild was born. Now I can’t speak on my grandmother’s behalf, because she took care of all the grandkids, but I know my mother would count herself as fortunate to have played such a significant role in her grandchildren’s lives.

So back to the TikTok debate. The origin, from what I gather was that a young lady was upset because her Gen Xer mother would not watch her kids for the weekend, and she therefore declared that all Gen Xers suck. In response, many Gen Xers came back with reasons as to why they might not want to babysit their grandkids.

1.       As stated above, many Gen Xers aren’t even grandparents. So, they can’t all suck.

2.       Unlike the grandparents of yore, many Gen Xers work full time jobs. They may not want to use all of their off days to take care of children. And the older you get, the more rest you need on those off days.

3.       A lot of Gen Xers are still taking care of or contributing to the care of the millennial. If you ask your parents to help pay your bills, then turn right around and ask them to watch the kids so that you can go hang out and party or whatever, well, you can see why that parent might say no. Because they know you are going to be back asking for financial help after you’ve spent all your money hanging out and partying.

4.       Because all millennials are trying to heal from childhood drama and break generational curses (which I fully support by the way), some of them are raising disrespectful and unruly children. I believe that children should be able to express themselves and have a voice. And I am against spanking. I spanked my daughter once (I’ll tell you about it sometime) in her whole life. But many millennials don’t believe in any kind of discipline at all. What grandparent wants to work all week, and then have to spend their only days off watching your bratty child.

5.       Sometimes the millennials just have too many rules, and they want to dictate every second of the child’s day while they are with their grandparents. From diet restrictions to the amount of screen time, and bed time rituals. I believe that grandparents should respect the wishes of the parent when it comes to the grandchild’s dietary needs and such. But if I can’t go through a drive-through from time to time, after working all week because the child can only eat “organic” meals made from scratch, then the kid just needs to stay at the parent’s house. And I’ll just visit and bring gifts.

6.       And then some Millennials treat their parents like crap. Even if it is warranted, you can’t be disrespectful and talk to your parents any kind of way, and then turn around and ask them to watch your children. Most Gen Xers that I know ain’t having that sh!%.

Long story short, I may need to take another social media break.

The Cheerleader

Written By: Shirley Lemon

7/29/2023

We are approaching the 4th anniversary of LaiQuan’s transition from this world. I can tell you that the pain of her loss is as palpable today as it was on the day it happened.

That said, I try to reflect on the good memories as much as possible. One such memory is LaiQuan’s journey as a cheerleader.

 For some reason known only by the heavenly host and perhaps my sister Carrie who was a high school cheerleader, both of my granddaughters chose to be cheerleaders. They never had any interest in playing basketball or soccer or any other sport. It was only cheerleading. And yes, cheerleading is a sport.

 It all started in middle school. She was in the 8th grade when she first announced to us that she wanted to be a cheerleader. We laughed. My baby girl had many great attributes but “cheerleader personality” was not one of them. Or so we thought. Her personality was much like mine. Not a people person. She was an introvert that liked spending time alone and kept a very limited number of good friends. We did not discourage her. But if I had been a betting woman, my money would have been on the dalliance into cheerleading not lasting very long.

 I would have lost all of my money. Her determination and skill proved us wrong. She was very good at it.

Her sister’s cheer team focused on dancing. Whereas LaiQuan’s team focused more on gymnastics. That’s what she loved about cheerleading. During the summer I would take her to a gym to practice. I watched her in amazement. She put herself through the paces over and over. She excepted the criticism of the trainer with humbleness. That was not the LaiQuan I knew and loved! And she was really happy when she mastered a new move. I always took a book to read when I went the gym because I thought I would be bored and counting the minutes until she was finished. But that was not the case. I was in gramma mode cheering when she succeeded and sympathetic when she did not.

 When she was in high school LaiQuan continued her cheerleading pursuits. Her best friends were on the cheerleading team. They were her only friends. The issue that bothered her was that they were a year ahead of her, so when they graduated, she would be all alone. That eventually did happen.

She spent that summer hanging out with them, saying their goodbyes and then they were off to college and adult lively hoods, and she was indeed facing her senior year alone. She seemed determined to wallow in self-pity. And as she bewailed her unfortunate circumstances of life alone as a senior, she proclaimed to us in grand Sagittarian style that she was quitting cheerleading. (She was definitely academy award worthy).

 We let her rant. We sympathized and consoled. We never interceded at the time that the girls were acting out their dramas. They just wanted empathy. That is an easy task for a mother and grandmother. Then just before school started, I sat my baby girl down for a teeny tiny talk.

I had a few questions. Nothing too serious.

 “Do you still like cheerleading?”  The answer was a resounding yes.

 “After all the work and energy, you have put into your craft don’t you think you should reap some of the benefits? Don’t you want to wear your varsity jacket and letter to school to show what you have accomplished? To do the ceremonial walk down the football field at the end of the season and get recognition for your hard work?”

 She said, “Yeah Gramma I would like that.” 

 “Then don’t quit the team yet. You have the whole semester to change your mind and quit if you are not happy with the new team.” 

 Staying on the team was one of the best decisions that LaiQuan made in her short lifetime. She made new friends that year, and she loved her coach. She became the captain of the cheer team and was even nominated for female athlete of the year. What she thought would be a terrible sad and lonely ordeal turned out to be one of the happiest experiences in her life.

 Our remembrances of LaiQuan are confined to twenty years. It will go no further. But every memory is precious, and they keep her alive in our minds.

 We are thinking of you on this day Baby Girl with hearts full of love.

LaiQuan Lemon

December 6, 1998 – July 30, 2019

Never Letting Go

Written By: Nakema Lemon

7/29/23

A lot of “Ghost” related movies are based on the premise of a person dying and getting stuck in limbo. They usually cannot fully transition over because 1) They have some unfinished business, 2) They need to expose their killer, or 3) There is a loved one, who refuses to let go.

When the girls were younger, and both living at home, we used to have “Family Nights.” Once a week, usually on a Friday we would prepare or buy some of our favorite foods, the girls would get their favorite snacks, and we would watch movies and/or play games. On game nights, we would play board games and card games. The girls would get tickled when me and mom started accusing each other of cheating. One of our favorite games to play was Taboo. We made up our own rules for the game. Each person would pick a card when it was their turn, and the rest of us would try to guess the word on the card based on the clues they provided. As the game went along, we would each get sillier and sillier with our clues, and there would be several fits of laughter throughout the game. I truly cherished those moments. Spending time and having fun with the girls have been some of the best times of my life.

A few weeks ago, Boss Baby visited me in a dream. In the dream, she came to our house to have another Family Night. It was the four amigos, once again and we sat around the table playing Uno and Taboo. Boss Baby regaled us with stories of her adventures, and she kept us laughing all night. She and Ja’lah made a few dance videos for TikTok, while mom and I cheered them on. It was just like old times. Eventually Boss Baby informed us that it was time for her to leave. We were sad, but grateful that she had come to visit.

As she prepared to leave, she went around the room and hugged each of us. She held on to us and whispered something in our ears. I could not hear what she said to Ja’lah or my mom. But when she got to me, before I hugged her, I said “I hope that you have not been stuck in limbo, because I have not been able to let go. I think about you all the time and there is not a day that goes by that I don’t feel your presence. But I would hate the thought of you being stuck somewhere, so what should I do?” LaiQuan, wrapped her arms around me and held me tight. The hug felt so real. After several seconds, she whispered in my ear, “Auntie, don’t ever let me go.”

Then I woke up with tears streaming down my face, just like they are right now as I write this.

We love and miss you, Boss Baby, and we are never letting go.

LaiQuan Lemon

December 6, 1998 – July 30, 2019

0key Doke

Written By; Nakema Lemon

7/8/23

What is wrong with this sentence? “Lately, I find the discourse between Black men and Black females to be extremely distressing.”

Almost every week, there is some incident that goes viral that leads to a ridiculous battle of the sexes. If you are a man that defends or takes the side of the women, you are called a “simp.” Apparently a “simp” is a man who shows excessive attention or sympathy to a woman in pursuit of a sexual relationship with her. If you are a woman who defends or takes the side of the men, then you are labeled as a “pick-me.” It is essentially the same thing as a simp. The woman tries to appear that she is in agreement with the men, in the hopes that one of them will “pick her.”

Last week there was the very sad story of the fourteen year old boy who shot and killed a man who was assaulting his mother. The original details of the story painted the mother as the villain. When more details came out, the other men who were present and watched the woman get assaulted, became the villains. Once the mother and son were released from jail and all charges were dropped, there was still a debate regarding who was to blame. The debate was mainly split down gender lines, with some men even suggesting that the mother and her son should be harmed for revenge.

This week actress Keke Palmer, went to an Usher concert in a “revealing” outfit which upset her baby daddy, based on a social media post he made. Days later, the people are still arguing about it. The women are dragging the baby daddy because clearly Keke is the one with the wealth and fame, and it is assumed that she is the main provider for the baby and the father, so how dare he say anything. Then there are men who are calling Keke everything but a child of God and saying how dare she disrespect the father of her child and the man in her life by swooning over another man in public.

First of all, the man was Usher. They were at an Usher concert, and Usher is known for pulling women (famous and not) up on stage and serenading them. Now I don’t even find Usher all that attractive, but trust me, even at my big age, if Usher pulled me on the stage and started singing “There Goes My Baby,” I would …. Well let’s just say, I completely understand Keke’s reaction to Usher.

The point is the rhetoric around this situation has devolved into men threatening violence against women and women referencing the threatened violence to support their “hatred” of men.

But why is this happening? Why does there seem to be such a huge chasm between men and women, especially in the Black community. From the “passport bros,” to the Kevin Samuels apostles there are hundreds of podcasts and social media posts that promote and support hatred towards Black women. They consistently criticize and even demonize “single mothers,” but not “absent fathers.”  I saw a YouTube video where a man stated that the source of all the problems in the Black community can be traced to Black women, and the only way to fix the problems is to cut off the source. And that is just the overt misogynoir. Let’s not forget about the more covert anti-Black woman forces out there. Like the way we are treated by the Church and all the respectability politics related to our appearance and the way we carry ourselves. Don’t get it twisted, the endless debates about bonnets and twerking ain’t nothing but anti-Black woman.

I mostly blame the internet. I’ve always said, “The internet is the devil.”  The powers that be blamed Russia and China for using the internet algorithms to influence the elections in 2016 and 2020, and I don’t doubt it for a second. The way the internet got folks believing that power lines are demonic, covid was a hoax, and Diddy sicced the Illuminati on Jaime Foxx, they also got us believing that Black men and Black women hate each other. The question is who, and why? The answer is we know who and we know why. But unfortunately, we are falling for the okey doke.

So, what is wrong with that first sentence? It is just a pet peeve of mine. Both men and women do this, and it irritates me to no end. In the sentence we refer to men (human) and females (sex/gender). And if you still don’t get it, then you too, my friend, have fallen for the Okey Doke.

Motherly Suggestion

Written By: Shirley Lemon

July 8, 2023

 A twelve-year-old boy wanted to buy a birthday present for his father. He was so excited! He saw his father looking at a certain thing, saying how much he had wanted it for a very long time. It was a gold watch. The father never bought it because it was not a necessary expense. He had a wife, two children and elderly parents to support. But the son loved his father so much. He wanted to give him something really special.

The boy and his mother went to the jewelry store to pick out the watch. He was full of joy as he described to his mother how he imagined his father would react when he opened the gift. They looked carefully at the showcase of watches until they found the one, he had been searching for. He purchased the watch; had it beautifully wrapped and left the jewelry store with a huge smile on his face.

The boy had taken all of his savings and even borrowed from his future allowance to get this watch for his father.

On the day of his father’s birthday the whole family was gathered. They had a special meal with a big birthday cake. You know, all the trimmings of a family birthday bash. After the meal people presented their gifts to the father. The boy held back because he wanted to present his gift last. When it was finally his turn, he held out the beautifully wrapped gift to his dad. His father took it and looked at the boy with a questioning expression. The room went quiet as the family observed the exchange between the beaming boy and his father.

The father opened the gift, saw the watch, then turned to his son and asked, “Why did you buy this? It is too expensive.”  He then put the watch down and turned to the family and proceeded to talk as if the boy hadn’t given him the gift at all. The boy had a frozen smile on his face, he looked down at the table and nodded.

Now, I know that based on the Father’s Day message I wrote about not too long ago, because I am a woman, I can’t tell this father how to raise his son. Although because I grew up with a father and a mother, I do have some experience on how a father might react to a gift given by his children. 

When I was a child, and I admit it was a long, long time ago, all of my older sisters and brother and I were given a dollar or two and we went to the five and dime store to purchase quality gifts for my parents. For my mother I always bought some shiny dangly 20 cent earrings or a bracelet that was breaking up and turning green before we left the store. It didn’t matter that my mother had never worn dangly earrings in her life, they were shiny and pretty so I bought them. For my father it was a necktie that had all manner of weird stuff on it, birds, or fish perhaps. I was a little kid, and I cannot be held accountable for my taste. Plus, the five and dime store had a limited selection.

When we presented our impressive gifts to my parents, they may have been acting… but they seemed appreciative. My mother would put on the earrings and turn her head from side to side with a smile on her face. We would tell her how beautiful she looked. Although she took them off quickly and they were never seen or heard of again, everybody was happy. My father would hold up his tie and we would look at it as if we could imagine how, it would look on him in his Sunday suit. He smiled and nodded, and all was right with the world. I don’t think I ever saw him actually wear one of those ties either. They did that for each one of us.

I felt anxiousness and profound sadness as I watched the interaction between the father and the son. What could have been a bonding experience and a lifetime happy memory for that son was turned into an embarrassing heartbreak.

Since I can’t give advice because I am not a man, I will give a motherly suggestion. I am qualified. I am a mother, grandmother and soon to be great grandmother.

Think before you act. All that young boy wanted was to see his father happy. It was an expression of love. The father could have shown the boy his appreciation for the thought and effort he put into his gift selection. How many twelve-year-old boys do you know that would give up all of their money for a gift like that? He could have waited until the party was over and privately explained to his son that he didn’t want him to spend all of his money on gifts like that for him. They could have gone together to the store, returned the watch and picked out something reasonably priced so that the son could still say that he had bought his dad a watch. It would have been a learning experience for the son. Bonding would have been off the charts! He could have kept the gift and given his son money for special chores around the house to replace the money he had spent. There are many ways the situation could have been handled that would have given that young boy a wonderful memory of his father and son relationship.

Life is short, mishandled opportunities can cause a lifetime of guilt and grief. It’s not always the big things. It’s the little, everyday occurrences that shape the memories of our youth. Children need to know that when they express love to you that you will express it back one hundred percent. Embrace and celebrate the good things your children do, every chance you get. Applaud today, teach tomorrow. There is nothing more beautiful and memorable than the expression of love between a father and son.

Juneteenth

Written by: Shirley Lemon

7/12/2023

My son lived in Texas for many years. Every year he would tell me about the Juneteenth festivities. Black people in Texas took Juneteenth very seriously. I listened to his description of the activities that took place. I assumed that Juneteenth was just a Texas thing. As with any serious holiday there were barbecues, parades, church ceremonies, and all kinds of group activities. My grandchildren embraced it and took part in the performances. They may have tried to tell me what it was all about but, in my ignorance, I only focused on their involvement. Gramma is always so proud when the grandchildren do anything.

Then I started hearing about other states who wanted to make Juneteenth a national holiday. What?! Maybe I needed to look into this Juneteenth and see what it’s all about.

June 19, 1865 was the day that federal troops went to Galveston Texas to take control of the state and ensure that all enslaved people were freed. Although President Abraham Lincoln issued The Emancipation Proclamation on January 1, 1863, to free all slaves in Confederate states, Texas got the message the same as all the other states, but they were not happy about it and therefore decided not to tell the slaves that they were free. It took two and a half years for them to find out the truth. In some places it was later than that because harvest season was coming and so slave owners needed the blood and sweat of the slaves without them having the pesky idea that they were free. Slavery was formally abolished in the U.S. in December 1885 with the adoption of the 13th Amendment.

Like many Black people I had not heard anyone I know talk about Juneteenth until after the George Floyd murder by police in 2020.

It turns out that Opal Lee, a former teacher, and activist in Texas started a campaign to make it a federal holiday. She was 96 years old and dubbed the “little old lady in tennis shoes”. She walked through her home city of Fort Worth, and then through other cities, arriving in Washington, D.C. with the support of celebrities and politicians. Because of her efforts, Juneteenth became a federal holiday June 17, 2021.We owe her much thanks for bringing this celebration to the forefront and educating Black Americans on our history.

In the racial and political climate, we live in today in the U.S. it behooves us to remember our history.

“Those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it.” Edmund Burke

Build Back Better, Make America Great Again sounds suspect. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to go back. We can “be better” and “be great” without going back.

I will celebrate Juneteenth from now on with the appreciation of knowing where we have been, where we are now, and what we are still fighting to achieve. Have a happy Juneteenth ya’ll!

Third Man Syndrome

Written By: Shirley Lemon

6/10/2023

What is third man syndrome?

Third man syndrome describes the strange phenomenon experienced by explorers or others during survival situations in which a presence intervenes at a critical moment to offer encouragement, guidance, and support. Those who have experienced third man syndrome report feeling a presence despite being alone.

“Sir Ernest Shackleton, in his 1919 book South, described his belief that an incorporeal companion joined him and his men during the final leg of his 1914–1917 Antarctic expedition, which became stranded in pack ice for more than two years and endured immense hardships in the attempt to reach safety. Shackleton wrote, "during that long and racking march of thirty-six hours over the unnamed mountains and glaciers of South Georgia, it seemed to me often that we were four, not three".[1] His admission resulted in other survivors of extreme hardship coming forward and sharing similar experiences.”  Wikipedia

People, it’s not a syndrome. It is an act of God.

I believe that there is a God the Father, Jesus the Son and there is a Holy Spirit. I believe that there are angels assigned to us by the Father to help us in our times of need.

This experience that these people describe only justifies and strengthens my belief.

2 Kings 6:15-17 NIV

When the servant of the man of God got up and went out early the next morning, an army with horses and chariots had surrounded the city. “Oh no, my lord! What shall we do?” the servant asked.

“Don’t be afraid,” the prophet answered. “Those who are with us are more than those who are with them.”

And Elisha prayed, “Open his eyes, Lord, so that he may see.” Then the Lord opened the servant’s eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.

What is puzzling to me is how people who go through these experiences don’t come out on the other side believing that there is a God, that there is a spirit realm, a higher dominion that works outside of our limited scope of reality. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. People think that their experiences are only about them.

“Just as ripples spread out when a single pebble is dropped into water, the actions of individuals can have far-reaching effects.”  Dalai Lama

God uses people for His purposes. In his time. So even if they don’t believe in Him, God might send the Third Man to help the non-believer for His purposes.

I don’t know if the men on the Antarctic expedition believed in God, but we have no idea how much their lives may have impacted the lives of other people. In other words, their lives may have been important not because of who they were but because their destiny was to play a part in the life or lives that God was using for his purpose. They didn’t have to know the people they affected. They didn’t have to want to help the people they affected. They didn’t have to know how their actions would impact someone who crossed their path. They only had to do what they were put on this earth to do. And so, they had to live regardless of their belief or doubt about the existence of a higher power. Whether the experience with the incorporeal companion had a profound effect on their minds or none at all may be irrelevant.

For those of us who believe in God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, who believe that He assigns angels to protect us, The Third Man is a no brainer. He exists. I am thankful.

For those who don’t believe, I am thankful that you come into the lives of those that God assigns you to, at the time and for the purpose that destiny has called you to, because of The Third Man

TikTok Testimony

Written By: Nakema Lemon

6/9/23

I was on that TikTok again, and I came across a beautiful testimony. A young black man who appeared to be in his thirties, told a story about how he had been gifted a new pair of shoes. He stated that he had just started a job that required him to dress in business casual. This job was different from the types of jobs he had in the past where he didn’t have a dress code. He had decided to take this one because he wanted to do something that was not as taxing on his body and allowed him to spend more time with his wife and kids.

On his second day at the new job, his direct supervisor mentioned that the big boss had questioned the young man’s shoes. He asked if the young man had another pair, because the ones he was wearing looked unprofessional. In the TikTok video the man showed us his shoes and they were indeed old and scuffed up. At first, he was embarrassed and a little offended. He had cleaned the shoes up the best he could, and he thought they were decent enough.

Later that same day, the young man found himself in the office with the big boss on another matter, and the subject of the shoes came up. The young man of course assured the big boss that he would buy a new pair of shoes right after he got off work. However, it must have dawned on the big boss that it was only his second day. So, he asked the young man if he could afford to buy new shoes, since he had yet to receive his first paycheck. The young man stated that his first instinct was to lie and say that he could afford the shoes out of pride. When in reality he didn't have the money. He would have had to make a sacrifice in another area. He would have to take money earmarked for a bill or something for his wife or kids to buy the new shoes. But in that moment, he decided to be honest and admit he could not afford to get the shoes until his first paycheck. The big boss was very understanding and told him not to worry about it, and that he could get the shoes when he could afford to. However, before the young man left the big boss’s office, he asked what size shoe he wore.

As I’m sure you’ve figured out, before the end of the day the big boss presented the young man with a brand new pair of Stacy Adams. He told the young man that he seemed like a nice guy, and he had been impressed by his work, so he wanted to gift the man the shoes.

The story gets even better. After sharing this story on TikTok a popular influencer reached out to him and said he wanted to bless him with $500. The man was overjoyed because he only had one pair of dress pants that his wife had to sew up more than once. The money would go a long way towards helping him improve his wardrobe for work.

The man was obviously grateful and gave all the glory to God during his testimony.

Moral of the story… don’t let pride block your blessing. Sometimes we are so worried about others “looking down on us”, that we are too prideful to accept help when it’s offered. We would rather let everything around us fall apart, than admit that we need help.

God loves us and He wants to bless us. We just have to get over ourselves and let Him.

Promises, Promises

Written By: Shirley Lemon

5/13/2023

As the never-ending political campaigning season gains momentum toward the 2024 election, I can’t help but think about all the promises made and never kept. 

Political promises are just jargon used to secure a vote. Once elected you are of no importance to the politician and “The American People” they speak of in their many speeches and mass townhall meetings turns out to be corporations and people of power. Don’t put your trust in a political promise.  It is vapor that will dissipate in the wind as if it never was spoken.

In the real world where the rest of us peons live, when a promise is made in sincerity, it is good to keep it. Credibility can be gained or lost based on whether you keep your promise.

Promises are made in our everyday life all the time. We make promises to our family, our friends, our jobs, and our God.

To make a promise on your job is not necessarily a promise. We say we have the required skillset for the job. There are a set of rules to follow. We sign a contract.  It’s not a promise. It’s a contractual agreement. If you can’t live up to it, you lose your job. Even so, there are times when we promise that certain things will be completed by a specific deadline or in a specific manner and if it is not done, we lose credibility and can be demoted or fired.

Promises to our family and friends is a whole other ball game. Making promises and not keeping them can cause misunderstandings, hurt feelings, anger and a slew of other complications in your life.

Sometimes people make promises because they want to impress, knowing full well they can never deliver. When the time comes to fulfill their commitment, they are nowhere to be found. Much like our political friends, it was a lie.

Sometimes people make promises with every intention to complete it. But circumstances get in the way.  They are profoundly sorry but cannot face the person they made the promise to. So, they say nothing, and do nothing in hopes that nothing will be said to them and that eventually the promise will be forgotten.  When there is no communication, because there is no explanation or action there will be no trust and possibly no respect in the future.

One of my greatest peeves is when an adult makes a promise to a child and does not follow through. It can leave the child disappointed and disillusioned. It can set them on a road to never believing anything that an adult tells them. Especially when the promise is broken by a parent.   

Every parent at some point in their lives finds that circumstances beyond their control cause them to not be able to deliver on their promise. That’s life. It’s how you handle it that makes the difference to the child. 

I found that with my children if I explained the reason, I could not keep said promise, if they could see that I was as disappointed as they were, we could work through it together.  If I gave them a replacement no matter how small, until I could give them what was promised, they would be satisfied. Children are forgiving and more understanding than we sometimes give them credit.

And finally, there is the promise we make to our creator. The Bible calls it a vow.

Ecclesiastes 5:4 “When you make a promise to God, don’t delay in following through, for God takes no pleasure in fools. Keep all the promises you make to him.” NLT

When you make a promise to God you should do all that you can to keep it. 

The good news is that God is a forgiving God. He knows we are weak and pitiful. He sent his Son to die for us and be resurrected to cover our sins. Sincere repentance is all that is required when we get in situations over our head. He will help you keep the promises you make to your job, your family, your friends, and Him. Just ask Him to help you.

Gold Digger

Written By: Nakema Lemon

5/11/23

“You cannot be a gold digger if you are making all the gold.” Nakema Lemon.

The other day I was on TikTok (I seriously have a problem), and I saw a number of posts about a woman who said she didn't want to date a bus driver. Now I never saw the original post, so I have no idea who the woman was. But from all the discourse on TikTok, the woman apparently makes a 6 or 7 figure income and is not interested in dating someone who isn’t in her same tax bracket. For whatever reason, this seemed to upset a lot of people. The prevailing theory was that she might be missing out on a “good man” if she was not open to dating blue collar workers.

I believe that people should be able to set whatever boundary they want to when it comes to choosing their partners. We hear all the time about how certain men will walk away from a “good woman” because she’s too big, or too dark or doesn’t meet some other aesthetic. There are a lot of women who refuse to date short or balding men, and so on. Physical attraction is important in a relationship, so we tend to be more accepting of these types of boundaries.

But what about finances? Men who make 6 or 7 figures (or more), don’t tend to be concerned about the income of the woman they choose to date, because they can be the main provider. In fact, it is accepted and expected that the man be the provider. However, if a woman makes that level of income, should she be concerned about the income of her prospective partner? Instead of offering my opinion, let me share a few stories.

In my first serious relationship as an adult, my boyfriend was a blue-collar worker. At the beginning of our relationship, I was a bank teller, so he made more money than me. However, I went back to school and started getting promotions and it wasn’t long before I started making more. It was clear to both of us that based on my career trajectory my salary would eventually far exceed his. When we started talking about marriage, we talked about finances and came up with a plan. While I worked and went to school, he would take care of the home. He would still keep his job, but his work schedule was more conducive to him being the primary caretaker and caregiver. Then after I finished school and reached a certain income level, he would either go part-time or quit altogether so that he could go back to school. It was a good plan.

Years later I started dating a man who owned a construction company. However, we met during the housing crisis and so his business was struggling. He would work odd jobs here and there to make ends meet, but he always seemed to be robbing Peter to pay Paul. I sympathized with his struggle. Mostly we dated within his means, but sometimes I would pick up the check. After we dated for about three months, his car broke down. It was an old car that would cost more than the car was worth to get fixed.  Now, I never shared my salary with this man, but he made some assumptions. So, when he came to the conclusion that he needed a new car, he asked me if I could either cosign for a car loan, give him $10k for a down payment or just buy him a car outright. He said that he had bad credit, and if I was going to be his woman, I should hold him down and help him build it back up. He let it slip that a woman had bought the previous car, his cell phone was in another woman’s name, and even his apartment was not in is his name. Needless to say, he lost me at “can you cosign for my loan.”   

I dated another man who said he could be my house husband. He made all kinds of promises of how he would make me breakfast every morning, rub my feet every night, etc. I entertained the idea for a hot second but then I remembered this woman I knew who, was a doctor, and she had a house husband. Of course, he cheated on her constantly while she was at work. When they finally got divorced, he got full custody of the children and she had to pay him a hefty amount in child support and alimony.

The last man I dated had a white-collar job. One day he shared his salary with me, and then he asked me if I made more than him. I was honest and said yes. He then gave me a range, because I refused to give him the exact figure, but I admitted that my salary exceeded that range. After that discussion he turned cold and distant. He began to find ways to criticize me and start arguments. After the second incident, I ended the relationship. When I explained why, he admitted that his ego could not handle the fact that I made so much more than him, so he took it out on me.

So, there you have it. I say, let people set whatever standards or boundaries they want to have when it comes to dating. If this particular woman doesn’t date bus drivers, that is her right. I am sure that there are plenty of other people who will. God Bless them all.

Let the World Do What the World Does

Written By: Nakema Lemon

3/31/23

I was on TikTok (way too much), and I watched a young lady make a plea to find a Bible study group that focused on the true meaning of the Word without all the religious dogma. She said, “I have been struggling with my faith for years because the Christians are ruining Christianity for me.”

There are several videos of people of all ages, but mostly millennials and younger having discussions about all the ways in which they were traumatized growing up in the church. And I’m talking about all kinds of churches from Catholic to Protestant, Evangelical, and Pentecostal. While my first instinct is always to defend my beliefs, because I believe in Jesus, I can’t deny that there is so much truth in what a lot of these young people are saying.

If you grew up in any kind of church, you know exactly what I’m talking about. How many things can you list that you were taught to believe, that you now know not to be true? How many times did someone say something hurtful or even harmful to you under the guise of “holy correction”? Someone once said, “There is no hate, like Christian love”. Isn’t that sad.

We have a crisis. Young people are flailing in their faith. They are searching for a community that wants to teach and learn about God in an authentic way. But they are turning away from Church and Christianity because they don’t want to get caught up in religious politics and they don’t want to be misled by manmade rules that promote guilt and fear.

Since I’m always on TikTok, I see a lot of posts related to “deconstructing religion”. People from all walks of life, are forming groups and cultivating followers to challenge the concepts of church and religion. Many of these people are extremely intelligent, and they are presenting their cases with Biblical and historical facts. Not dogma and rhetoric. I often find myself nodding in agreement with a lot of their arguments. However, not all of these groups believe in God. And that’s the problem.

But what is the church doing? The church is ranting and raving about pop stars and music award show performances. They are literally standing up in pulpits across America, or going live on the internet, telling people they are going to hell if they go to a concert.

How does that make the case for Church or Christianity? How does demonizing “the world” draw people closer to God. If I’m that young lady (at the top of this post), looking to reestablish my faith or reconnect with God, and I come to your church or happen upon your sermon on YouTube and you spend the whole time harping about secular artists, I wouldn’t come back to your church or your YouTube channel. Not because I just love secular music, but because I was looking to get closer God.  

We as Christians are going to have to redirect our focus. We have to let the world do what the world does. We do ourselves no favors condemning everything and everybody. Because when we do, it goes viral and the Church gets “cancelled” while the very thing we condemned gets millions of streams, likes, follows, and shares.

Right now, the world is not only using facts and figures, but they are also using the actions of Christians themselves, to make the case against Christianity and the Church. And it is working. The only way to fight it is to make the case for Christ using love and compassion. Not by judging the world.

While You Are Sleeping

Written By: Shirley Lemon

3/31/23

On the subject of being “woke” …  Why is it so hard to understand what that truly means? It is so simple that it is stupid to keep having this conversation. But on the other hand, this situation emphasizes how scary and dumbed down our world has become. And by world, I mean the U.S. of A.

The simplest definition of “woke” is to cease to be asleep. Most of us go to sleep at night after a hard day’s work. When we are sleeping, we are lying in bed in a suspended state of consciousness. We are vulnerable. We are defenseless. We are unaware of what is going on around us as we dream of grand and wonderful things. Anything could transpire. A tsunami, a tornado, a world war. We would not know what was happening because we are not conscience.

With the light of dawn, our pleasant dreams fade away. They are not real. The worlds we conquered, the heights we achieved in our dream world evaporate like smoke and sometimes we can’t even remember what they were.

In the morning when the alarm goes off, we wake up to begin a new day. (Are you with me so far?) For most of us reality returns. Now we can accomplish things. We can see what’s going on around us, make decisions to positively reflect our real-life situations and act accordingly. We can learn things; we can defend and protect ourselves and our loved ones. In order to get these things done we have to be awake. We are no longer immobile. We are on the move. We can see and hear what’s happening around us. We can do these things because our minds and bodies are no longer dormant. We are not anchored in oblivion.

Everything we achieve in life happens to us when we are awake. 

To be “woke” means that you are not asleep. 

Now, I know that the conservative people are chomping at the bit.

Another definition of “woke” is:  To be aware of and actively attentive to important societal facts and issues of racial and social justice.

How dare you pay attention to the things that matter in your life! 

Why should you have concerns about the community you live in? Is it safe? Is it thriving? Should you be concerned about being homeless or hungry? What about the quality of, or lack of healthcare? What if the wages you are paid is not enough to cover basic living expenses?

Do not concern yourself with your eroding civil rights that have never been equal but are still being chipped away and abolished at an alarming pace. And why would anyone be concerned about the environment and the retribution that is and is to come from Mother Earth?

If you are part of a marginalized group of people, our conservative friends do not want you to be “woke”.  They would rather your mind be detached from the reality that you live in. Believe what they say to you and do what they tell you to do.   

Why?

The history of marginalized people in the U.S. is filled with hate, corruption, degradation, and death perpetrated on you by those who exhaustively and consistently object to you being ‘woke’.

The opposite of woke is still asleep: not alert, indifferent, inactive, sluggish, dormant.

I Thessalonians 5:6 - “So then, let us not be like the others, who are asleep, but let us be awake and sober (NIV)”.

Be ‘woke’ my friends.

Common Sense

Written By: Shirley Lemon

3/24/23

I am perplexed as to why we use the term “common sense” the way we do. 

“Common sense” is an expression we like to throw out there when we are baffled about why someone did something really stupid when the logical action to take was standing there in front of them screaming; “Here I am, do me!”  We would say that that person has no common sense.

Who came up with that definition? Who decided that common sense was a good thing to have?

Good sense and common sense are sometimes in conflict with each other.

Let’s break it down a bit.

Good:

Possessing or displaying moral virtue

Superior to the average

Having a positive or useful effect

Common:

What occurs or appears frequently.

Widespread; general; universal

Common does not always equate good. Common can be good, bad, or not relevant.

It’s something that a group of people got together and decided that because it’s the way they do things, that’s the standard we should all adhere to.

Let’s look at a couple of analogies: 

You are driving down the street and are approaching a busy intersection. The light turns yellow when you are a few feet from the crossing. 

Good sense would be to slow down and prepare to stop. If the traffic is heavy, the safest thing to do would be to stop at the light. (Good job safe driver! You have possibly saved some lives including your own.)

Common sense would be to stay at your present speed or speed up in an attempt to beat the light before it changes. Sometimes you make it, but sometimes you end up giving everyone in the car whiplash from slamming on the breaks (Raise your hand if you know you do this.)

No sense would be to hit the gas and go through the light no matter what. You figure the oncoming traffic will see you and they will stop. (Rest in peace to you and all those people you possibly killed.)

For my Religious friends, consider the parable of the ten bridesmaids and their lamps. They were all preparing to meet the Bridegroom. And they needed to carry lamps as part of the process.

Five had good sense and not only filled up their lamps but they took along some extra oil in case of an emergency (because stuff can happen out there on the road in the dark). 

The other five ladies filled their lamps up but didn’t see a need to carry any extra. (What could happen? The Bridegroom lived just a smidgen down the highway and the byway.)  Common sense would say that one full lamp should be enough. That is enough to meet the basic requirements.

Well! It just so happened that the Bridegroom was late. Real late.

The bridesmaids waited so long that they all fell asleep with their lamps burning.  Sooooo…

When somebody woke them up and told them that He was coming, somebody was all out of oil.

Guess who? And then that five did another common sense thing. They told the good sense ladies to give them some of their oil. “We did what everybody usually does. It’s not our fault that the Bridegroom was late and we ran out of oil. So don’t be selfish. You should just give us some of yours.” The good sense bridesmaids said no. “If we give up some of our oil, we too will run out before the Bridegroom gets here.” They said “If you leave now maybe you can get to the oil store before it closes. Good luck.”

Of course, having good sense, they probably knew that the common sense ladies were not likely to make it back before the Bridegroom got there.   

And that is exactly what happened. The Bridegroom came, He took the five good sense ladies and went to the wedding. He didn’t look to see if the other five were coming and He didn’t wait for them. 

The story ends with the commonsense bridesmaids (I don’t know if we can call them bridesmaids anymore) knocking at the door of the wedding festivities and not being allowed to get in. They were not bad people. They just had common sense and it wasn’t good enough to meet the challenge set before them.

Common sense is like that sometimes. Just because everybody does it does not make it the best choice. Good sense knows this and is prepared for the situation at hand.

In years gone by common sense has been a benchmark in America. Look where that has gotten us. Good sense dictates that we let that go.

Nice and Kind

Written By: Nakema Lemon

3/24/23

Nice: Pleasant, agreeable, satisfactory

Kind: Having or showing a friendly, generous, and considerate nature.

Both words can be used as adjectives, and sometimes they are used interchangeably. However, there is a difference between the two.

If you’re sick, a nice person might say “I’m sorry you’re sick.” or “I hope you feel better soon.”

A kind person will bring you some soup or offer to take you to the doctor or to pick up your prescriptions.

It doesn't cost you anything to be nice. Saying or nodding hello. Using your “Please” and “Thank you.”  Giving someone a compliment. It takes minimal effort, but it is amazing how many people simply cannot be bothered. Or they actually exert energy to be the opposite of nice.

One time, I was in New York for work. I walked past a lady (she happened to be black), I smiled and said hello. She returned the greeting, but then stopped in her tracks. She turned to me and said, “You must not be from here.” I confirmed that I grew up in the Midwest. She in turn told me that she had been raised in the South. She had been living in New York for a couple years and it had been such a culture shock when she realized that people didn’t greet each other. Because in the South, according to her, people spoke. She went on to say that I had made her day. All I did was smile and say hello. It cost me nothing to be nice in the moment but being nice in that moment made someone’s day.

Now, I am not suggesting that everyone just randomly start speaking to strangers. It’s rough in these streets. But some of us barely speak to the people we know. You’d be surprised how much giving someone a simple compliment, word of encouragement, or compassion can turn someone’s day, week, or life around. Other times not saying anything can be the nice thing to do. Do you really need to mention someone’s weight gain or how unflattering their outfit looks? We all know the old adage that we learned from our momma’s “if you can’t say nothing nice…..”  Anyways, being nice takes little to no effort but could go a long way towards blessing someone.

Being kind takes some effort.

I had a friend that had some neighbors that most people would consider to be unsavory or a little sketchy. There was no doubt that a couple of the people in that household engaged in illegal activities. But they were always nice. Whenever our paths crossed, they always smiled and said hello. After a while, my friend grew ill. He became wheelchair bound, and he had dialysis twice a week. Of course the dialysis made him feel weak and listless after each session.

The unsavory neighbors, who were always hanging out around the front porch must have noticed. At first it started with them pulling his trashcans up to the house for him, after the garbage man came. During the winter they would shovel his stairs and walkway for him. They never said anything, they would just do it. Eventually, they noticed the difficulty he was having getting down his front stairs, so they asked him if he needed a ramp. They said they could “hook him up”. He was shocked, but grateful. He offered to pay them, but they said, “Don’t worry about it man, we got you.”  So, they hooked him up and built a pretty decent ramp. Eventually, the ADA came out and made sure the ramp was up to code, etc., but these sketchy neighbors were extremely kind. They were not looking for any type of reciprocity, they simply showed my friend kindness out of the goodness of their hearts. Now I know nothing about those neighbors’ relationships with God, or the state of their eternal souls. But if God knows your heart, then He knows theirs too.

So, when was the last time you were kind? When was the last time you extended yourself to help someone else? While there is a cost to being kind, it doesn’t always have to be financial. Giving someone your time and energy can be kind. We know the scripture, “you reap what you sow”, and some translations of the Bible include “kindness” as one the fruits of the spirit. There is an analogy somewhere around there about sowing seeds and bearing fruit that I can’t quite articulate right now, but you get my drift.

If simply being nice, can make someone’s day, imagine what being kind can do. However, the point, which is taking me forever to get to, is being nice and kind can be a blessing to others, but it will most assuredly be a bigger blessing to you.

We Can’t Stay Tired

Written By: Shirley Lemon

3/2/23

“So, let's not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don't give up. Galatians 6:9, NLT

I came into the year 2023 with a prayer of thanks and a sigh of relief. I made it. 2022 was a tough year. And if we have learned anything from the past few years it is that tomorrow is not promised to anyone. 

I wanted to be more positive. Leave the negative behind in the crusty dusty old 2022.  My plan was to just ignore the things that usually weigh me down and just focus on the good stuff. 

However. Is it too early to say that that didn’t work? The United States of America has gone to hell. No hand basket required. Every single day there is a mass shooting or a suicide, a vehicular accident, a fire, a tornado, a mud slide, an earthquake. Lives loss in tragic unimaginable ways.  And though we can’t control natural disasters, many of these tragedies were people made and didn’t have to happen.   

I was asking myself why I should bother to care about what is going on in the world.  What is the point? As Black History Month approached, I watched the crazies try to wipe American black history from the records. I watched as black men are still being killed for no other reason than that they are black men. I watched as it seems that we are losing the best of the best while the worst of the worst are thriving. 

I was feeling darkness invade my personal space. It is February and I am tired.

Then I saw the Reverend Al Sharpton preaching the eulogy at Tyre Nichols funeral on You Tube.  He looked tired. It has because a regular thing to see him preaching at the funeral of an innocent black person.

He talked about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and how he was in Memphis Tn., feeling tired and not wanting to attend a rally there. He told the men who had come with him to go and hold the rally and he would stay at the hotel and get some rest. But when they got to the church where the rally was being held, there were so many people there waiting for Dr. King, he got a call telling him he had to come. And so, he went. He was tired but he got up and went. 

It was then that he delivered one of his most powerful messages “I Have Been To The Mountaintop”.  He said that he was not afraid of death, that he just wanted to do God’s will.  He said that we have some difficult days ahead, he might not get there with us, but we will get to the promised land. Dr. King was killed less than 24 hours later. 

I felt the tears well up in my eyes, remembering seeing Dr. King give that sermon.  I thought about how he would feel if after all he had done and gave his life for, that we just give up and quit because it is hard.  And because we are tired. And not just him but those who came before and after him. How would they feel?

There are people in high places who want to take us backward not forward. There are those who would exploit us or kill us, whichever is most profitable. There are those who want to silence us, so that the shame that they carry from past generations will not be discovered.

But it’s too late for that now. The prophecy has been spoken.  We will make it to the promised land. You can slow us down, but you can’t stop us.  You can put up roadblocks, but we will get around them. You can lie and try to change history, but we will know the truth. 

So, I feel better now.  I feel hope renew itself in my spirit.  I feel the clarion call to push forward. As long as I live and breathe, I will stand with my people. It may be that I, like Dr. King might not get there with you.  But we will get to the promised land. 

So, I can get tired, but I can’t stay there.  There’s too much to do. The fight is not over.  The promised land gets closer every day.

Target Got Me!

Written By: Nakema Lemon

3/2/23

So, during Black History Month I trucked on down to my nearest Target and bought a bunch of items from their Black History Month collection. Normally, I wouldn’t engage in that sort of thing because of the commerciality and exploitative nature of it all. However, this time they sold me on their marketing campaign touting that everything in the collection was made by a Black owned business. So, they got me.

 But I think there is something else that drove me to walk up to the Black History section of my white neighborhood target and proudly present my Black History items to the cashier for purchase.

In the past, I have been very ambivalent about Black History Month. When I was in school, Black History Month was all about Harriet Tubman, Martin Luther King Jr., and Rosa Parks. As I grew older, I grew to believe that, while the initial concept may have been noble in its origins, by the time President Gerald Ford officially recognized it as a thing in 1976, I am almost sure he only did so as an appeasement to Black folks, as a way to distract from some real issue or cause that the “negroes were in an uproar about.” They probably thought “Let’s give them a whole month. That will shut them up for a while.”  I’m sure they also saw it as a money grab. Who do you think makes the most money off Black folks during Black History Month? Spoiler alert. It ain’t us.

By the time I entered into corporate America, I would just get irritated every February. I hated having to sit in any forum where they discussed Black History Month. Especially when I was the only one or one of the few in the room. To be clear I was never embarrassed for me. I was embarrassed for them. Because at the time, their efforts were less than pathetic. But I guess they got an “A” for effort.

In 2016 something changed for me. I have always been a proud Black woman. As the song says, “I’m Blackity, Black, Black.”  There has never been a space that I have felt uncomfortable to be in because of the color of my skin. In fact, I have been in hundreds of rooms where I’ve been the only Black person, and it never phased me one bit. However, in 2016, there was an election that bought out a lot of racial tension. That summer was extremely volatile with shootings of multiple unarmed black men by police, the Orlando nightclub massacre, the killing of the five Dallas police, and on and on. Then the election happened. When the results came in, I believe there was collective sense of dread and despair that fell over the Black community as a whole. Any progress, however minuscule, that may have been made during the Obama era was about to be wiped out.

That summer after the 2016 election, mom and I took a trip to Myrtle Beach. We normally fly to Charlotte NC, and then drive to the beach. There is no straight flight, so rather than sit in the airport for a few hours just to get on another plane, it makes more sense to just take the drive.

As we drove from NC to SC, we took a lot of back roads. We had taken this same route many times before. But for the first time, during that summer after that election, I started to notice all of the confederate flags on the houses that we passed. I’m sure they had been there before, but they grabbed my attention on this trip. During that drive, fear gripped me. I started to worry about what would happen if the car broke down in front of one those houses on one of those back roads. The next day after we had safely arrived at our hotel and went out to dinner, again, fear gripped my insides. We were the only Black people in the restaurant including the servers. I began to worry if someone might try to attack us, would the wait staff serve us, or would they do something weird to our food. My anxiety was through the roof, and I was suspicious of everyone and everything.

By the time the next election rolled around in 2020, so many things had taken place. I was in full blown menopause, we had lost our baby girl, there was a pandemic, and the death of George Floyd. The racial tensions were even worse. This time, however, I no longer felt fear. I felt pain, anger, resolve and even pride. Every time I see a “video”, you know the ones, at first my anger swells up and I have this urge to strike out, then my heart breaks and I just want to hold every black person and weep.

But then Kamala Harris, Ketanji Brown Jackson, Nikole Hannah Jones and all the other Black girl magic happened, and I was reminded of who I am. I am a proud Black woman, who is “Blackity, Black, Black”.

There was also Jan 6th, literal book banning’s in public schools and libraries, and politicians trying to erase Black history altogether.

So, I can no longer be ambivalent about Black History Month. I have to celebrate my Blackness, by celebrating our past, present and future.

Target can continue to take my money whenever they sell Black owned merchandise

Flour & Oil

Written By: Nakema Lemon

12/15/2022

My grandmother used to warn against praying for patience. She said that if you ask God for patience, He’ll answer with a situation that requires patience. So, I never pray for patience, which is probably why I don’t have any.

For 2022, I prayed for God to increase my faith. So, what did He do? He put me smack dab in a I King 17:12-16 scenario. Basically, the story is about a widow and her son who were about to run out of food. She only had a little bit of flour and oil left. She was literally preparing their last meal when Elijah came by and asked her to share. She explained that she didn’t think there was going to be enough. He assured her that it would be ok if she fed him, because God would take care of them. She obeyed and the three of them ate well for many days. And even after Elijah left, she never ran out of flour or oil again.

While I never got down to my last meal in 2022, I did think I was going to run out of money every other month. See, I am the budget queen. I budget my finances for several years out (I took a lot of accounting classes in college). When I looked at my budget this year, let me tell you the budget was not budgeting at all. Unexpected expenses kept popping up, and I haven’t learned how to say “no” when people reach out in need. So, every month, the numbers on the spreadsheet and in my account told me I was not going to have enough to cover the next month.

I could tell that God was working on me because, in the past I would have panicked or freaked out. However, this time I felt this powerful sense of peace over me, every time I told my mom that we were going to be broke the following month. Even though I could not see how, I really believed within my heart everything was going to work out. I just knew I had to trust Him.

 And you know what, every month, no matter how much I gave out, there was always enough to cover the next month. Everything got paid, on time and I never ran out of money. Since I understand how debits and credits work, I know it was nothing but God that took care of us. Not only did He provide for us in 2022 but He has already covered 2023. The budget looks good.

To me Faith is not just about asking for miracles. It’s really about believing in a higher power than yourself. Believing that someone greater is in control and they got your back. With all the terrifying things that are happening in our world, in our country and even in our day to day lives, we all need something to believe in. Because otherwise what is the point.

In 2023 I pray that we all find that “peace that passeth all understanding”, and that our faith continues to increase. Because as the songwriter said, “If we ever needed the Lord before, we sure do need Him now.”

Blink Of an Eye

Written By: Shirley Lemon

12/15/2022

This year has come and gone really fast. It seems like only a few months ago we welcomed in 2022 with a sense of anticipation and relief that we made it through 2021. There is a strange phenomenon where time seems to move faster and faster as I grow older. I went to bed on a pleasant night in February and when I woke up it was September. And now in the blink of an eye we are in December. The last few years have been very stressful not just for my family but for the whole world. Maybe time had to speed up so that we could survive the ever-mounting traumas of the present. But I would like for it to decelerate just a little bit so that I can take my time and enjoy my seventies at a nice slow pace.

There are things that I had to deal with and worry about in my youth and middle age that I am no longer concerned about. Senior citizenship gives me a unique perspective on a lot of things. I don’t have to work hard at anything anymore unless I want to. I can focus on the things that I really want to do and not what I have to do. God has been good to me.

2022 has been a blessing in many ways. It has been a time of healing for me. Since the summer of 2019, the sense of peace that I had in my life was gone. Personal tragedy, the pandemic, a country gone completely mad had eroded away all that I felt was good and turned my life into shades of gray. Dark grey. Many days I felt as if I was swimming in mud.

I have always believed in facing things head on. There was no medicine or self-help group or pep talk that would pull me out. I know myself well. I just needed time. And I needed prayer.

So, I have taken the time in these last few years to reflect on good things, to contemplate the bad things and to embrace those things that are most important to me. That being my spiritual life, my children, my grandchildren, all of the people I love. Painting, writing, and reading.

So, slowing the fog is lifting and I look forward to (I hope) many great years ahead.

I am thankful for so many things. My daughter and my son have supported my every whim and I love them both with all my heart. My oldest granddaughter has been my “ride or die” companion since she was a baby. Now she is on a journey of her own, but she has not left me behind. I feel so blessed to have her in my life. My youngest granddaughter has made her transition from this world. I think about her all the time and miss her terribly. But I am thankful for the twenty years I had with her and for all of the great memories that I have to hold on to. My two grandsons are beginning their teenage years (that’s scary) and I look forward to many meaningful experiences with them both as I watch them navigate their own destinies.

I am thankful to those special people who have been my anchors through every crisis and success in my life. You are the reason that I know for sure that God loves me.

For all of the loved ones that I have lost this year, I will miss you. It’s taken me seventy years to accept that we didn’t come into this world to stay. We are all just passing through. I know I will see you again on the other side. That is what warms my heart and gives me peace.

I look forward to 2023. I have many projects and ideas that God willing I will be able to accomplish. I hope to travel more, spend more time with family, and celebrate every day of life. Every person in my life and every minute of my life is precious to me. I will continually give thanks to God for everything.

For those who read this article I pray that 2023 will bring you your heart’s desire. God has enough blessings stored so that no one has to be left out. I pray that you and your family have more joy, and peace and prosperity than you can imagine. You deserve to be happy. And I pray that you will be safe from all of the crazy that our world has become. Have a blessed holiday season.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Written By: Nakema Lemon

12/13/22

My Dad’s birthday is coming up this month and he will be three quarters of a century years old! Every year God gives us with our loved ones is a blessing. I am so thankful that both my parents are alive, relatively healthy and love me very much.

I love my father and I love our relationship. While I may act just like my mom, I look just like my dad. He gave me and my brother his whole face. There is no “… daddy’s maybe” here. Of course, no parent is perfect. My father certainly has his flaws; however, I have never questioned his love for me.

We live in different states, so I don’t get to see him as often as I would like, but we talk and text all the time. And when we go too long without communicating, he always apologizes for not calling me sooner. He never guilt-trips me about not calling him. I find that to be very endearing.

When we talk, it’s the typical daughter/dad conversations. After we give each other updates on our health, he proceeds to repeat the same story he told me the last time we talked. Sometimes, we literally have the same conversation up to 3 or 4 times in a row. But I don’t mind it most of the time. I’m just glad he enjoys talking to me. He also thinks he’s a comedian. He is always trying to be comical. I won’t comment on whether or not he’s actually funny because some people (mostly my mother) have told me, that we have similar senses of humor. Since I think I’m hilarious, he must be too.

There were a couple of things he used to do that would embarrass me to no end, as a young girl, that I now appreciate as a woman. Well… they still embarrass me, but I am grateful, nonetheless.

First, he used to brag about me to anyone and everyone! He would say things like, “This is my daughter. She’s a straight A student.” Even to complete strangers. Like a server at a restaurant. It was so embarrassing! And he still does it today. He has to tell everyone about my degrees, my job, etc. I’ll be standing there looking at the person while turning beet red, and the person will be looking at me not knowing what to say. It was and is so weird and uncomfortable.

Second, sometimes he uses that “goo, goo, ga, ga” baby sounding voice when addressing me. “Aww look at my sweet, beautiful daughter.”  Now don’t get me wrong, I love being told I’m beautiful. What woman doesn’t? But could you imagine standing in a room full of people, and your father starts cooing at you, when you’re fourteen? Or fifty?!

As embarrassing as it all may have been, it was critical to forming the confident and secure woman I am today. I mean, can’t nobody tell me I’m not all that. My self-confidence is off the charts! Surely, I jest. But not really. Having my mom tell me I’m smart and beautiful was wonderful and necessary. But having my dad say it, just hit different. Daughters need to hear positive affirmations from their fathers. If the man that made you and claims to love you, never doted on you, or told you were beautiful, how will you come to believe that is what you deserve from every other man that claims to love you.

My father has never criticized my appearance or put me down in any way. No matter how much weight I’ve gained, there have never been any fat jokes or faux concern. Every time I’ve cut off all my hair, or changed up my look, he gives me nothing but compliments. Even now, whenever I see him it’s always, “Aww look at my sweet, beautiful daughter.”

While he’s never criticized my looks, he has referred to me as bossy and controlling from time to time. However, I don’t consider that to be criticism because he only says it when I fuss at him. In fact, I think he actually likes it when I fuss at him, because he brags about! “My daughter is sweet, but she knows how to get me together!”

Anyways, Happy Birthday Daddy! I love you. Thank you for giving me your face and your sense of humor. Thank you for giving me self-confidence and healthy self-esteem. And thank you for always embarrass…. I mean loving me.

Get Out the Vote

Written By: Nakema Lemon

11/18/2022

We survived the midterms! There was no red wave, and after a few shaky days on pins and needles, AZ went the way we wanted.

I didn’t want to go into a whole lecture about the importance of voting, but I’m going to anyway. I know people get tired of hearing it, but just go ahead and roll your eyes and bear with me.

Most people seem to think that the Presidential election is the only election that counts. So, they go out and vote every four years and then they get frustrated because they feel that their vote doesn't count whether their chosen candidate wins or loses.

I vividly remember the excitement during the 2008 election, when everyone was excited about the prospect of electing our first Black President. President Obama made a lot of promises during his campaign, and we were hopeful that life was going to get better. He actually started off with a bang. Obamacare was born. Universal healthcare for all. The Affordable Healthcare Act was signed into law in March of 2010.

But then the mid-terms happened and all the people that showed up to vote for Obama in 2008 failed to vote during the mid-terms. The Dems lost control of the Senate and the House, and the Republicans spent the rest of Obama’s Presidency blocking everything they could.

The people who voted for Obama blamed him because the change they thought was gonna come did not come at all. However, the fault lied less with Obama and more with us.

I am amazed at the number of people who do not understand how the government works. They have little knowledge of how the three branches (Executive, Judicial and Legislative) of government work to maintain the balance of power. The President’s power is checked by the Legislative branch (congress), the House of Representatives and the Senate. So, if the House and Senate are controlled by the opposing party then the President has very little chance of completing his agenda and making good on all his promises.

Now I am no fool. Politicians are always going to politic. Whenever they speak, especially when they start making promises, most of it is lies and half-truths. They are the ultimate Used Car Salesmen. When they don’t make good on their promises, we (the voters) should absolutely hold them accountable. However, we keep giving them a way out. We don’t vote in every election, and we don’t vote for candidates that will support our President. Ask President Biden. That has been his response (excuse), every time we call him out.

And even if you still feel like the game is rigged (it is), then you should at the very least, focus on voting in your local elections. Governors, Mayors, City Councilmen, Attorney Generals, Secretaries of State, Schoolboards, Judges, etc.… Even if the President makes good on all his promises, these folks can control who and how much you as an individual benefits. There are Governor’s in states right now, who routinely block or reallocate funds approved by the President, that were meant to help you! They do this because they don’t want the opposing President to succeed, and they know you won’t vote them out. So, at a minimum, you should understand how your local government works and vote in those elections. If you want to see changes in your schools, your streets and neighborhoods, and your local law enforcement, vote in your local elections!

Not voting is never the right answer, even if the choices suck.

Georgia, please vote in the runoff!!

This concludes my Ted Talk.

Tryna Out Jesus, Jesus

Written By: Shirley Lemon

11/16/2022

Now that this election season is just about at an end (Thank God!). I have one more thing to rant, I mean talk about before it’s over. Hopefully after this I can move into this holiday season with a peaceful mind and celebrate with a heart full of joy.

So, what is my tirade about today you might ask. 

People tryna out Jesus, Jesus. There were a lot of politicians doing that.

Let me start by saying that based on what I have read and been taught about Jesus Christ, not one of us can hold a candle to him. That’s why his name, his history, his legacy has been passed down for generations and our names might be mentioned for a few generations but unless you have done something really outstanding like Nelson Mandela or Mahatma Gandhi or something really dreadful like Caligula or Hitler, not too many people will remember you aside from your family and friends. And certainly not for two thousand years and counting. 

So, for those who want to out Jesus, Jesus, what would it take?

First, he was a God who became a man. I will go out on a limb here and say that there may be some people who think they are gods based on their words and actions. I would suggest that they see their doctor and up their medication. You ain’t a god. I know it’s hard to accept but somebody has got to tell you the truth.

Jesus was born in a stable with hay and smelly animals. I don’t even want to think of what his mother Mary’s labor and delivery must have been like. But I will say it was not like how women have children today in a clean and sanitized hospital with a doctor and nurses on hand to assist. And of course, drugs for pain and discomfort are supplied when needed. His birth had to be traumatic for both mother and son. And let’s not forget that he already had a death threat hanging over him by King Herod as soon as he was born. When y’all was born I’m sure that for most of you, your family was excited about your birth. And nobody was trying to kill you when you made your entrance into this world. 

Jesus was born into a family of carpenters. They were not rich people; they were a working middle class family. So, he could relate to the plight of the common man. So… trust fund babies that takes you out of the game. You are not like Jesus. Ok? And for some of you who have gotten rich off of the backs and sweat and pain of working-class people with no concern about their plight except that they meet your quotas and bottom lines, you are out too.

Let’s move on.  Jesus started his ministry at the age of thirty. He was crucified at the age of thirty-three. He was a busy man during those three years. He casted devils out of people, he restored sight to blind people, he raised people from the dead, he healed people who couldn’t walk, cleansed lepers, opened the ears of deaf people. He fed the hungry. He preached that no matter how hard things got there were better days ahead.

He did not ask people to give to him, he gave himself to the people. He told them about his Father and the Kingdom of Heaven. He taught about peace not confusion. He taught about hope not despair. And he taught about love not condemnation. 

And then finally He sacrificed himself by allowing the church people to humiliate Him, torture Him, and then crucify Him so that our sins would be forgiven, and we will have the right to eternal life. A good life without the utter nonsense and pain that this world provides.

 All you Jesus wannabe’s you getting this? Not once have I seen in the bible that I read that Jesus told people to hate those who are not like you, to take from the poor so that you can make yourself richer. Not once did I read where he said to stir up confusion wherever you go, to lie about everything, and to obliterate anything that you can’t control. And to have no shame in destroying the lives of those that look to you for truth and leadership. 

When I saw a politician stand at a podium (I am assuming it was in a church, but I can’t be sure) and point to a cross and imply that they and all their minions were just like Jesus and that they were being persecuted just like Him because of their Christian beliefs… 

I wondered if lightening might strike, and that person would go up in a vapor of smoke.

But then I realized that the Jesus that I know gives every person the freedom to make their own choices. You can believe whatever you want to believe. You can say whatever you want to say. Just know that in the end we will all have to answer for the path we decide to take. I don’t want to be Jesus. I just want to follow Him and make it home.

The Power of Words

Written By: Shirley Lemon

11/4/2022

I love to read. I have read thousands of books. I was introduced to reading in the 1st grade using the Dick and Jane books. Baby boomers will remember them. “See Dick run. See Jane run. Dick and Jane run fast.” Yeah. That’s where it all began. It was in the 2nd grade that we started going to the school library. That was the best time of the day for me. The library was a quiet place, where there were no demands on me and I could live in the world of fantasy for a while. I started reading fairy tales. In 3rd grade we were allowed to take books home from the library. Three books at a time. I was in the library twice a week and I read so fast that by the weekend I had nothing to read. Then I discovered the neighborhood library. That was a gift from heaven!   Libraries are limited in what they can carry and I didn’t like reading the same books over again so I had to widen my horizon of what I would read. I cannot begin to tell you how much reading has affected my life. I read everything. Books took me to places that I will never go to in my lifetime. I learned about history, nature, people, and so much more. It didn’t matter to me what I was reading, I just wanted to read.    

The reason I am mentioning books is because the words, the way they are presented in a book determines whether they are informative, interesting, memorable, and enjoyable. Reading books shows you how to use words effectively and to build your vocabulary too.  

Are you still with me? Now, let’s talk about the power of words. Habitual reading affords you some insight into the power of words. Words can make you happy, sad, afraid, depressed, hopeful… you name it, it all comes down to the power (effect) that words have on our being.

Lots of people use curse words to convey their thoughts. If that’s your thing that’s fine. All words have value. Some people say cursing is therapeutic. For them, it can take the edge off of a tense situation. It helps to release pent up emotions that could possibly be on the verge of detonating. They are also used to express happiness or surprise. They cause people to pay attention. At the very least, cursing does add color and tone to a conversation. Words are meaningful. But at the end of the day those words only give an exaggerated expression of what you feel. They don’t add any insightful or intellectual value. We still have to look between the expletives to find out what you are really trying to say. 

Over the last few years we have seen a flagrant attempt by the powers that be, to dumb down America by diminishing the use of words. There are people who are using their words (as limited in scope as they might be) to deceive, to cause confusion and stir up anger among the masses. They want to take away the gift of reading, the gift of words from your children and grandchildren so that future generations cannot expand their knowledge base. They want to stifle their imaginations and repress their views. In doing so, these people can infuse their lives with the narrow perspective of their choice so that they can lead your children around by the nose like sheep being led to the slaughter. Yep, I said it. They like to use that phrase because it is one of the few things they understand and it is at the top of their agenda.

If these people suppress your words, they take away your voice and capacity to experience the widening of your mind. How can you express what you feel or think except with your words? How can you explore any possibilities for the future if words do not give you a discourse of what has succeeded and what has failed in the past? How can you create a better world if you can’t first express it with your words?

Reading is essential to learning and learning is essential to our existence. It all comes down to words.

Change is Gonna Come

Written By: Shirley Lemon

11/1/2022

 I was talking to my preacher brother the other day about the state of today’s church. I speak of church in the broad sense across all denominations. The blueprint is the same. The power structure is the same. 

The discussion was about why so many young people are leaving the church. We both agreed that many young people are disillusioned by what they see and hear. The spotlight on churches of late have shown so many negative attributes. Politics, racism, hatred for anyone with a different train of thought or action. Molestation, incest, adultery, the list is long. The church says they are dealing with it but nothing really changes. Young people can’t be fooled. They see that many times the church will change their cover, but the content remains the same.

There is a scripture in the bible about people falling away from the church:

I Timothy 4:1-2: 1. Now the Holy Spirit tells us clearly that in the last times some will turn away from the true faith; they will follow deceptive spirits and teachings that come from demons. 2. These people are hypocrites and liars, and their consciences are dead.

There are those who believe that this is the reason that people are leaving the church. “The Bible said this would happen!” I don’t believe it. I think that the people this scripture is referring to are still in the buildings, alive and well and in charge.

I think that my preacher brother would agree with me on that.

My preacher brother believes that things will one day get better in the church as it is. He has faith that things within the structured church will change. It will just take time.

The old guard die will die out. They are set in their ways and see no reason to do things different. In their minds it’s not them who are lacking, but it is those rebellious heathens who will not submit and obey. But the new guard will come in and make things better. Reformation.

It is reasonable for preacher brother to think that way. Why be a part of something that you think has no hope of success? 

I don’t see it that way.  Today’s church is the “old wineskin.” 

Matthew 9:17: And no one puts new wine into old wineskins. For the old skins would burst from the pressure, spilling the wine, and ruining the skins. New wine is stored in new wineskins so that both are preserved.”

The old guard cannot teach the new guard something it does not know. Yes, they know the word of God, but they do not know how to reach the hearts of today’s youth. 

If they did then why are the youth not coming into the church?

I believe that we’re getting to the point where we will see a different looking church. I don’t believe the structure will be the same. We are already seeing more people go to church online.  But I think it will go much further than that. And I think that will be a good thing. The format will change. The old wine skin will not hold. The expectations of the congregants will change. The hierarchy will be different. That’s my hope. The church can’t progress without change.

Young people are crying out for help. What they need is to know that there is unconditional compassion and help available. They need to know that love is not an abstract word that you just spew out of your mouth because you think that’s what they want to hear. It has to be real. And they need to know that their foundation is not crumbling around them. At the end of the day they will not hold our weaknesses against us as long as we tell the truth and do what is right. They are smart enough to know that we are all imperfect. If we don’t know the answer to the question, say so. Don’t make stuff up that will totally come back to slap you in the face. You can take joy and pride in finding the answer together. Pray a lot for patience. It is needed. Be a living example of the real message of Jesus Christ. The size and capacity of the building doesn’t matter. Your title doesn’t matter. Your love and kindness are the most important things.

Matthew 22:36-39: 37. Jesus replied, “‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind. 38.This is the first and greatest commandment. 39. A second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’

I don’t know if my preacher brother can see this vision of the church the way I see it. I wonder if it happens in my lifetime will I recognize it and know it is good? I don’t know. I am definitely a member of the old guard and change is hard for the elderly to take sometimes, but I get excited at the thought of the new wine.

Granddaddy

Written By: Nakema Lemon

10/6/2022

Of the beings that I hold in the highest of reverence, my granddaddy is right after Jesus. I think most of his grandchildren feel that way. He was majestic.

When we were little, we were always happy when granddaddy got home from work. He would sit in his chair, and he would let us scratch his scalp with a comb and rub his feet. I don’t know why we found these tasks to be so thrilling, but sometimes we would even fight over who got to do it next. If we did a good job, he would call us “smart.”  Let me tell you. I lived for that “Smart” word of approval from my granddaddy.

Over the years after I became an adult, my grandfather and I would have a lot of in-depth discussions. It made me feel like I was Socrates or somebody whenever my granddaddy wanted to discuss religion or world events with little ole me.

Other than my mom, he was always the first person I called when I needed help, with just about anything.

When I decided to buy my first car, I asked granddaddy to go with me. I was twenty-one and I was extremely excited about owning my first car. I only asked him to go because, I believed him to be the smartest man on earth and if anyone could help me get a good deal, it would be him. So, he took me to a couple used car dealers. The first car we looked at was an old beige sedan that looked like an old lady car. My grandfather picked it out. He suggested I check it out. I indulged of course because it was him, but the whole time I was thinking I had made a mistake in bringing him. After I inspected the car, I said I wanted to look at more options. So, he let me pick out another one. I saw a bright yellow Camaro that looked perfect. He wouldn’t even let me go near it. He said, “No. That is not the car for you.” So, we left that dealership and went to another one.

When we arrived at the second dealership, I immediately spotted my car. It was a raspberry red Dodge Shadow. I wanted that car so bad, but I was so worried that my grandfather would say no (did I mention I was grown?). So, I decided to act like I didn’t see it at first. But as we walked around the lot to my surprise, my grandfather pointed it out. I was thrilled but tried not to show it too much.

Once we agreed on the car, it was time to discuss financing. I had a certain amount for the down payment, but I had absolutely no credit at that time. I sat there silently begging Jesus for a miracle while we waited on the salesman to run his numbers. But of course, after they ran my credit, they said I would probably need to double my down payment and even then, the car payments were going to more than I could afford. So, I felt horrible. I started apologizing to my grandfather, for wasting his time. I told him I was going to need to save up a few more months before I could get the car. I was ready to walk out the dealership with my tail tucked between my legs. But before I could get out my seat, he stopped me. He told the guy to re-run everything with him as my co-signer. Of course, this brought the car payments way down. Then he took my down payment and doubled it to bring the payments down even further. Finally, he called his insurance guy and paid for the first six months. I was so shocked and happy; I think I embarrassed him in front of the salesman. I never expected him to contribute anything. It had never even occurred to me to ask. I just wanted him there to keep the people from cheating me or selling me a lemon. (Pun intended)

 I was determined to pay him back, so I set up a payment plan and he agreed. However, after I made the first few payments, he told me I didn’t have to pay back the rest and to consider it a gift.

My grandaddy was always there for me when I needed him. Whenever I called, he came. If my car broke down, he would fix it. If I got stuck in the mud or snow, he would pull me out. One morning (while I was living with my grandparents), I got stuck in a ditch. There had been an ice storm. The roads were so slick, I slid right off into the ditch. I was alone on a dark country road. It was early in the morning, the sun hadn’t come up, and we didn’t have cell phones. I sat in the car for over thirty minutes, unsure of what to do. It was too cold and too far to walk home. I started to imagine all kinds of scenarios that ended with me dying alone on the road, frozen to death. I started talking to Jesus again, but I was freaking out.

But just before I could work myself up into a full-blown panic, I saw headlights in the distance coming towards me. For some reason, I already knew it was my grandaddy, and sure enough it was. I was thirty minutes late getting home, so he came out in the wee hours of the morning in the middle of an ice storm to find me.

That is why my grandaddy is right after Jesus on the list. There were many times when I would talk to Jesus, and He would send my grandaddy.

Happy Birthday Grandaddy! I miss you.

My Dad

Written By: Shirley Lemon

10/04/2022

It’s October and my thoughts always turn to my father. His birthday is October 6th. He was, in my opinion the greatest man that ever lived. (Except for Jesus Christ) I’m sure lots of people feel that way about their dad.

 My father was the foundation from which my siblings and I drew our strength, our confidence, our endurant nature, and discernment. We were in awe of him and always proud that he was our father. My dad was an astute and reflective man. He spoke softly but he was heard loud and clear.

 My dad was good at everything. He was a jack of all trades and a master of everything. You could ask him anything and he knew the answer. He could fix anything that was broken. He was great with finances. He was a great cook. He had a profound sense of logic. He would have put the greatest lawyer or detective to shame. He was patient and calm in the most challenging circumstances. And he was the most organized and disciplined person I have ever known. Need I go on?

He worked tirelessly and never complained. He put God first in everything he did. And he practiced what he preached.

When I was a little girl, he didn’t have a lot of time to spend with us. He was either working, sleeping or at church. There were nine hungry children that had to be fed, clothed, and housed. Still, he made time for family. We went to the parks, to the waterfront, to every Thanksgiving Day parade. The real biggies were hauling the whole clan to the Dairy Queen in the summer and to the White Castle. And I can’t forget the yearly trips to the State Fair and the Detroit Auto Show.

In those days he seemed fierce. Of course, in those days I was a little kid trying to stay out of trouble and never succeeding.

When I became an adult, I saw him in a totally different light. He was so easy to talk to. I called him often to get his take on all kinds of things, family, local, government, politics, religion. You name it, we talked about it. I really appreciated that he listened to me and gave my observations his full attention. He made me feel like my opinion mattered. Maybe that’s just a daughter thing.

When I needed my dad for anything he would find the time to help me. He set the standard for my expectations of how I should be treated as a woman.

It’s interesting that I could call my mother my friend, we did so much together, and we talked about everything. But my father held a spot that was more venerable. Sure, we laughed and joked about things sometimes, but when he gave advice or spouted words of wisdom it felt different. It seemed profound.

Once we left home, he never gave us advice unless we asked for it. And he never condemned us even when we really messed up. He believed we would find our way eventually. How could we not with such a great role model? Although knowing that we had disappointed him in some way seemed to hurt us more than it hurt him. It felt worse than the whippings we got as children.

For a long time, he had some Mississippi style chauvinistic ideas about how women should act. He was really perplexed when none of his daughters played by those rules. (He was born in Mississippi) “You raised us to be independent thinkers and achievers. Why are you surprised?” I asked him that many times.

He taught us that although we are not better than anyone else, nobody is better than us. Be confident in what you do and don’t worry about what others think. Basically, “Just do you.” And that is how we live our lives today.

As the years passed, he affirmed our choices and encouraged us to stay true to our convictions.

He told me many times about how proud he was of his girls. That made me immensely happy.

There is not enough time or space on this blog for me to express how much my dad meant to me. So, I will conclude where I started. He was the greatest man who ever lived.

I love you daddy and I miss you every day.

Jimmie Boyd

October 6, 1922 – July 3, 2006

Church

Written By: Nakema Lemon

9/30/22

I know I’ve joked about being raised as a heathen because my mother did not make me go to church. But in all seriousness, I love the Lord with all my heart, and I know I would be nothing, do nothing, or have nothing without Him.

While I personally, may not be a fan of the entity known as “Church,” I am saddened to see that many young people feel so discouraged by the Church that they are being driven away from God.

Recently, I heard a sermon from a well-known preacher about tithing. He said that tithing was no longer required under grace. I listened to the whole thing, and lest you worry, while he doesn’t need your tithes, he still wants those offerings. But he did say one thing, that I agree with and have been saying myself for years. Religion is sustained by guilt and fear.

I’ve always been perplexed about what I’ve seen in churches and how people wield the banner of Christianity and how none of it seems to correspond to what I read in the Bible. I’ve read and studied the gospels many times, trying to reconcile the Jesus in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, to what I see transpiring in pulpits across the country. And the math aint’t mathing y’all. So, I started researching the origins of Catholicism and Protestantism because I really wanted to understand how we got from the churches that Peter and Paul established in the New Testament to the Vatican and the Mega churches of today. I’m still doing my research. But the one thing that has become abundantly clear, is that religion is not being used to save souls or bring people to the Lord. Instead, it is being used to control. And how is it being used to control? As the preacher said, through guilt and fear.

If you can convince a person that you have been called by a higher power to lead, you can use fear and guilt to control them. This is not restricted to just one religion. I plan to expand my research to other religions, but I would be willing to wager that “Control” is the common thread in most, if not all.

So, let’s get back to the Church and why the younger generations want no parts of it. For one, young people are no longer feeling bound by the fear and guilt that was inflicted on us growing up. We raised our children to think for themselves, and to question and pushback (it’s our own fault really).  And now there is the internet. When young people start to question things, we don’t have good, logical answers, and they won’t just blindly accept “because that’s how we’ve always done it.”

My grandmother used to tell stories of how the church mothers would be hard on her when she was a young woman. She made it seem like it was some sort of honorable rite of passage, where she had to pay her dues. But WHY? Why would being mean and cruel to a young woman in the church be a rite of passage? When they talk about being persecuted for Christ’s sake, I didn’t think they meant by the Church itself.

Church should be a place of refuge. A place where you can praise and worship God. A place where you grow and learn and receive counsel, healing, and compassion. But instead, you’re either being indoctrinated into some sort of racist nationalist ideology in the white Evangelical church that preaches Jesus, Guns, and Babies. Or you are getting verbally abused at the Black Pentecostal church. In just the past few weeks, Black men and women of God have gone viral for calling church members, ugly, mean, nasty, poor, and my favorite “broke, busted and disgusted.” In church! At the pulpit!

Even if you’re not being radicalized or called names, most of the churches in this country want all your money. From the prosperity gospel to the “the poor will always be with us” gospel, it is all about the Benjamin’s baby.

Let’s ask ourselves, if Jesus, the Son of the living God, Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace, attended one of our churches next Sunday, what would He think? The same Jesus that told Peter “…Upon this rock I will build my church (Matt 16:18).” Do we honestly think our churches are the kind of church Jesus was talking about? Or do we think He might start turning over tables and calling us a brood of vipers? Before you answer, go back, and read the Gospels. Really study Jesus’ ministry. Do you see the correlation between the Pharisees and Sadducees and the modern-day church?

So, how do we get the young people back to the church? We are going to have to change our approach. We can’t berate and belittle, under the guise of Godly correction. They are not going to tolerate it. The one scripture they do know, is “Judge not lest ye be judged (Matt 7:1).” And we can’t hoodwink and bamboozle them with promises of it coming back “a hundred-fold.”  They have watched their parents and grandparents give all their money so that the Pastor can have a private jet. They ain’t falling for it.

 Fear and guilt will no longer work. So, maybe we should try faith and love instead.

Faith: John 3:16 - For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

Love: Matthew 22:37-40 37 Jesus replied: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. 38 This is the first and greatest commandment. 39 And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself. 40 All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

Imara the Tree

Written By: Shirley Lemon

9/20/2022

There is a tree that sits right outside our back yard in the wash. I named it Imara.

When we first moved into our home eleven years ago, Imara was full, green and healthy. She was a lovely tree. She was the home to an army of birds that roosted in her every night. At first, I thought that was really cool. Imara was gracious and very accommodating.

Every evening just before dark ascended, the birds would line up on our fence to be counted. Probably to see who made it back from a day of running from hawks and turkey vultures. There were about thirty or forty birds.

Clifton, (the Bird General) always arrived first. He wife Samantha was with him of close behind.  

They all chatted amongst themselves as they awaited orders to find their spot in the tree and bunker down. It got pretty noisy out there because Arizona birds are loud by nature and also, I think some of the birds had some serious life and death stories to tell. The noise was short lived because they were all tired and, in the tree, asleep in no time. It happened every night. 

I really did think it was cool… until I had to wash down the fence. There was so much bird poop! I spoke to Clifton and Samantha many times about the situation. “Why can’t they do their business someplace else before they settle down for the night?”  

About the tree. For three years she stood tall, continuously growing, and housing the bird brigade. Then one day during a really bad monsoon storm Imara was struck by lighting and caught fire. It burned for a good while before the heavy rain put the fire out. When it was over, there was not much left of the tree. Imara had become a blackened unsightly trunk. It was so sad to see.  

If she had been in my yard, I would have cut her down because I thought it was the end for Imara. But she was in the wash, right outside our fence and I had no control of her. The bird brigade still came by during the day to drink from the pool, but they had to find housing elsewhere.

I ignored Imara after that. She was just an unsightly burned down tree. A few years went by. One day as I was cleaning bird poop off the fence, I noticed that there were a few small green growths on Imara’s trunk. I wondered if it was just some moss that sometimes gets on wood after a rain. The rain comes and goes quickly where I live.  In a few hours after the rain, it is as dry as if it never happened. I decided that wasn’t it. Could she be coming back to me?  I started paying attention to my girl. Over the next few years, I watched Imara as she slowly came back to life. She is a desert lady. She is tough. Today she is fuller and more beautiful than she was before. I can still see some scaring on her. She wears it as a badge of honor. She is a survivor.

When I look at her now, it causes me to reflect on this journey we call life. Aren’t we all just like Imara? We weather the storms of life and sometimes get burned to the point that we feel like it is all over. But as the years pass by slowly, we get up, start again and eventually come back wiser and stronger. We carry the physical, mental, and emotional scars to remind us of the struggle and the victory.

While Imara was in tree rehab, I found a way to deal with Clifton, Samantha, and the bird brigade. Reflectors. When the wind blows, the reflectors move around and scare the birds away.  No more bird poop!

Framing Our Lives

Written By: Shirley Lemon

9/13/2022

There are many circumstances that contribute to what we are and what we become in this journey we call life. Thinking about the pandemic babies, as I’ve heard them called, (born after March 2020) I wonder what long term effect this epidemic will have on their lives. 

I have read articles that speak of the long-term effects to their health, development, and wellbeing. In addition to dealing with those issues, they will have to navigate through the craziness of the U.S.A. People embrace vulgarity now. Yes, means no, up is down and nobody tells the truth. People just make stuff up as they go along. If you don’t like it, shoot it. If you do like it, shoot it anyway. You probably won’t like it tomorrow. It’s a tough world to be born into.

In retrospect, every generation has had to contend with something. 

My parents were born to the silent generation. They dealt with WWII and the Great Depression.  The Jim Crow laws were in full effect. Times were hard. 

My generation, the Baby Boomers had our share of traumas. Many people died in our fight for equal rights. Medgar Evers was assassinated in 1963. Then, in that same year the President of the United States shot was and killed. I remember vividly when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. I was eleven years old. I remember being really afraid. “If they could kill the President are any of us safe?” I was shaken by that for a long time. It was just the beginning. Malcom X was assassinated in 1965.

 Civil rights riots broke out across the country. They hit Detroit on July 23, 1967. 

My family came out of church that Sunday and on the drive home we were surrounded by military tanks. It looked like we were at war. There were no cell phones or tablets in those days.  My father tried to get some information on the car radio. He couldn’t. We had to wait until we got home to find out what had happened. Our house was in the middle of the block but that night we could hear the gun shots and see the smoke of all of the businesses that were looted and set on fire. Many people died and many homes and businesses were destroyed.

Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy were assassinated in 1968. The Vietnam War was on going. The bodies of our fathers and brothers and sons were being brought home in caskets from war that none of us understood.

The one ray of sunshine and hope was the Civil Rights Movement. The Black is beautiful cultural movement made me happy. It gave me strength. I felt proud and happy to be who I am. 

Next came the Gen X generation. They have been called “the ignored generation” and “the middle child generation.” They were also called the latch-key kids. Their parents got divorced in masses. There was the Jonestown mass suicide, the energy crisis, and the Watergate scandal. In our neighborhood we were introduced to drive by shootings. Gen X’ers simulated unhealthy behavior they saw in their Boomer parents, anxiety, depression, drug and alcohol use and smoking. The effects on them were decidedly personal, physical, and often devastating. The positive thing was that black children were going to college. It didn’t even out the disparity, but it made it better.

The Millennials had to contend with the attack on the World Trade Center.  I remember my granddaughter saying that she and all of her classmates had gathered and sat in the school hallway. She said they all thought they were going to die. She was in the third grade. She only understood that our country was under attack, and they might die. It hurt my heart to hear her say that. The whole country was in shock. We realized that our country was vulnerable. Not only did we have to deal with us killing each other, but now terrorist from other countries had joined the party. There was the Iraq war and the gulf war. Then there was the emergence of mass shootings. It’s no wonder they choose to live for the moment. These children reaped the benefits of their parent’s education. They were given more and could afford to travel and explore the world.

Generation Z (Zoomers) have their own things to contend with. The number of mass shootings are now off the charts. There is no remedy for them and no end in sight. Guns are legal for anybody who wants them.

Their biggest friend and possibly greatest enemy are the smart/cellphone/computer and all the apps that go with it, Snapchat, Instagram, and Twitter. Cyber bullying is a way of life for them. Sadly, another critical element for Gen Z is that young people are dying by suicide in unprecedented numbers. 

There are no limits on who you can interact with around the world. If you think it, it can be found on the internet. Although the powers that be, want to stifle the “Z’s” acquisition of knowledge by banning books and reframing historic reality, “It ain’t gonna happen!”

The effects of the pandemic weighs heavily on this generation. It interrupted their educational pursuits, and many are so far behind they might never fully recover.

This group of young people have an awareness about life that those of us before them have never experienced. They are smart and resilient. They are technologically advanced and have already made major contributions to society because of it. They have not been allowed to look at the world through rose-colored glasses. I hope they will make this world better because of it.

There will be no nirvana on this earth. The fight for equality will continue. As knowledge and technology advances there will aways be those who will exploit it for the advantage of the few to the detriment of the many.

What else will the pandemic babies have to deal with? I don’t have the answer. My expectations for change from the 1960’s until now have been greatly frustrated.

I’m just waiting for the “Rapture” to take me away from here.

Arizona Here We Come

Written by: Nakema Lemon

8/25/2022

If you’ve been following our blog, you probably already have come to the conclusion that I am a huge fan of my mom. Growing up, she seemed to be invincible. I believed that there was nothing she couldn’t do. It has only been in recent years that I’ve fully come to comprehend that with aging comes some physical limitations, even for my all-powerful supermom.

Picture this: Columbus, OH, 2010. My mother was fifty-eight at the time. We were making the move from OH to AZ. I was given a reasonably healthy moving allowance, so I decided that if I cut costs on the packing and moving side, I could have enough left over to furnish our whole new apartment. I was being a little cheap. Anyways, we went with the service where you load up your furniture into a pod, and then the moving company will drive your stuff to your new location and then you’re responsible to unpack the pod.

Everything went smoothly in the beginning. Mom and I were hauling boxes and furniture up onto the ramp of the pod and packing it in. You would have thought we were professional movers. Then we got on the road and drove across the country to AZ over the course of three days. When we arrived at the new apartment, our pod was waiting for us. We had three days to unpack it. Now our apartment was on the third floor (no elevator), and it was 90 degrees outside. I was convinced that if we just took our time, we could unpack it ourselves. We had three whole days. We could do it! We could do anything! My mother didn’t say anything at first, so I thought she was down for it. Let me tell you, Shirley Ann has been down for whatever since we became BFFs in 99. I’ve been able to get her to do some really interesting things over the years.

But apparently her silence was not agreement. When I stepped away to use the restroom, she asked the apartment manager if he knew of any movers that could help us. He gave her a couple business cards. When I came from the bathroom, she handed me the cards and said, “You are going to call these people, and pay them to help us. I am fifty-eight years old, and there is no way I can carry all that furniture up three flights of stairs in this heat. I just can’t do it.”

At first, I was shocked. I had never heard her say she couldn’t do something. I started to protest. “What do you mean, you can’t do it. You’re only fifty-eight. You’re still young. You just have to believe in yourself. We’ve got three whole days. We can do it!”

Then she looked me straight in the eye and said, “I cannot do it Nakema. I am just not physically capable.”

When what she was trying to convey finally penetrated my thick skull, I felt horrible. I was this terrible daughter who had just uprooted and dragged her practically 60-year-old mother across the country working her like oxen the whole time. So of course, I paid the movers to unpack the pod and move us in.

This incident was an eye opener for the both of us. She was just as shocked as I was to admit to herself that she couldn’t do something. It was dawning on her just as it was dawning on me, that as she gets older, she will have more physical limitations. Since then, we’ve gotten better at being more cognizant of this fact. But sometimes I still have to remind her to slow down and sometimes she has to me remind that she needs to slow down.

It's interesting to watch because I’m right behind her. In seven years, I’ll be fifty-eight so we will see.

First Impressions

Written By: Shirley Lemon

8/23/2022

My first impression of Arizona was not good. 

My sister and I were heading home to Michigan from California. As we drove through some mountains we ran into a wildfire. We sat on the highway as airplanes flew over our heads dropping water on the patches of fire that were sprouting up all around us. At first it was fascinating. I had never seen anything like it. But then I thought about all the documentaries I had seen about wildfires and reality set in. Wildfires can be deadly. Firemen were everywhere chopping at the patches and the planes flew overhead continuously. It wasn’t getting better, the fire seemed to be growing. It became really scary. After two hours of no traffic movement at all because the fire didn’t see fit to let us through, we were told to turn around and get off the mountain. We did. We found a really nice hotel, had a great dinner, and went to sleep. The next day, thankfully, the fire had been contained just enough for us to get through and we were on our way. 

We had just crossed into Phoenix when we hit a speed trap. Now you might ask… was I speeding? Yes. But so was everyone else. I was keeping up with the flow of traffic. But we drew the lucky number chosen to be given a ticket that day.  

Two police officers got out of their car and approached us. One on each side of the car. I let the windows down and got out all pertinent information they would need to see. As soon as the window went down the heat flooded into the car. It was unbelievably hot! The officers asked some questions and we answered.

 “Where are you going?” 

“Detroit”

“Where are you coming from?”

“Los Angeles”

“What’s in your backseat?”

“Some books, some food, pillows and blankets and trash.”

“Ok.  Get out of the car.”

We were surprised. I’ve gotten tickets before, and I have never had to get out of the car to get it.  So, I asked why. The answer was that they wanted to check our car for drugs.

We were two middle aged black women. So, I asked. “Officer, do we look like drug dealers?”

I was driving a Kia Spectra. It was an old Kia Spectra.

I went on to say that it would be really stupid of us to drive an old feeble car that was being held together by the prays of the saints to transport drugs across the country. I also said that the real drug dealers had probably just sped pass us in an Escalade or a Lincoln. 

They were not amused. They told us to get out of the car or they would call for the drug sniffing dogs. We got out of the car. As we stood there on the side of the road the heat was unbearable.  It was hard to breath. It was 115 degrees. One of the officers shared that information with a smile. We stood there for about fifteen minutes as they rummaged through our belongings. 

When they finished my sister asked them if they had stopped us because we had a Michigan license plate. The answer was a very smug yes. 

Apparently, we looked like two drug smuggling grandma’s that had to be stopped.

My sister decided that this was a good time to talk to these wayward officers about Jesus. She offered them both a pamphlet from the Morris Cerullo conference we were coming from. I think she was going to preach a sermon then, but they told us to get back in the car and drive carefully. 

When my daughter decided she wanted to move to Arizona I really didn’t want to go. However, first impressions are not always the best impressions. In the twelve years that we have lived here I have endured the heat with the same mindset that I did the cold in the Midwest. “This too shall pass.” It only lasts a few months and the rest of the year the weather is wonderful. There have been many wildfires here but thankfully not where I live. The police have assisted us in ways that we could never have imagined. When my granddaughter was killed in a head on crash by a drunk driver, the police were there for us. When my son had a heart attack the police were at our house it seemed like in minutes. We were very thankful.

Arizona has been good to us. It is a beautiful place and there is so much to do here. I’m glad we made the move.

You Bring Me Joy

Written By: Shirley Lemon

8/2/22

There are a few things in life that bring me peace no matter what the circumstance of the day may be. The first is, I know that there is a God, my maker and King. I know that he is in control no matter what I see and hear. I know that there are better days ahead. The days that we spend on this earth with our ups and downs, joys and sorrows is really short in comparison to the eternity that will follow.

Secondly, nature is the perfect fix for a hard day, a sad day, or a long day. It is also the perfect setting for any celebration.

Sitting by a large flowing body of water has brought me tranquility at my most difficult times. As a young woman I would find a spot beside the Detroit River. Watching the movement of the water as it crashed against the large boulders that lined the shore would heal my soul. When I grew older the river was replaced by the oceans. Surrounded by endless shades of blue waves as far as the eye could see, the sound of the water as it moves around me and the perfect blend of sky and clouds and sun. Heaven on earth.

There are spiritual qualities in these bodies of water. Calming, healing and tranquil. I feel like God made them just for me because He knew there would be many days filled with joy and laughter but also many days that my heart would need healing.

While basking in nature I don’t have to use words. I can just breathe, relax, and drink from the continuous fountain. I don’t need music. If I am quiet, I can hear nature’s symphony. Nature is also a magnificent palette of colors. Perfect harmony. Last fall while on a road trip I tried to count the colors of the foliage as we drove. It was so beautiful. There were too many to keep up with as they changed the further, we drove. Fall is the most beautiful time of the year for a road trip. We were coming from the Arizona desert heading to Michigan.

I think fondly of the four seasons. Spring is my favorite. Rebirth and renewal after a long cold winter. Fall is next as the land prepares itself for the winter ahead. Summer is good. I never complain about sunshine. Winter is beautiful after a fresh snow fall.

I moved to Arizona with my daughter twelve years ago. I didn’t think I would like it here. It’s really hot! But in no time, I became fascinated with the fact that something is budding here year round. The plants and flowers are uniquely different from those in the Midwest. The mountains are majestic. They tell the story of the past and present.

The oceans and rivers conceal history with the sweeping of the waves. They have an ethereal quality, and I can bask in the deceiving tranquility. Mountains are rugged, sometimes brutal, always beautiful. The evidence of history can be seen in the stature of the mountains. Standing tall, unbending, never weary but always telling the truth. I have always loved the water, and now I also love the mountains. I did not know the joy and peace I would experience communing with the strength and the breadth of the mountains.

I am thankful for the beauty of this world. It brings me joy.

Baby Sis

Written By: Ja’lah Lemon

7/30/22

So, listen…

When I found out I was going to have another sister, I was so excited. My sister, Asia, and I didn’t grow up together. So, up until I was seven years old, I was pretty much the “only child.” 

Quan was such a beautiful baby. She had these big brown eyes, a head full of dark curly hair, milk chocolate skin, and one dimple. She looked like Gramma, honestly. But Auntie always said she got the dimple from her. I just wanted to dress her up like she was my own personal little doll. 

I remember when she was a few months old, we were at my uncle’s house in Detroit with my dad, and she was sitting in her car seat on the counter. I got really close to her face and tried to get her to say my name. I would say it reeeeaaaalll slow so she could mimic how I moved my lips. She eventually let out, “Jay,” and that was perfectly fine with me! Her first word was MY name - regardless of what anyone else says. 

As she grew into her toddler years, I remember always braiding her hair in some unique style. She was basically my practice mannequin. I never really did anyone else’s hair, but I loved to do hers and she was really good about sitting still, surprisingly. 

But then she kept growing. There was one time where she was going through a stage of calling everyone “b!tch” ummm ma’am, where did you learn that word?! I’m pretty sure I cried when she used the term towards me. I ain’t even do nothing! 

THEN this one time she stole my whole bowl of cereal! Y’all remember I said I grew up as an only child. What’s mine was MINE! I had made a bowl of cereal and went in the room with her to watch TV. I don’t know why I got up to leave but I did. And I remember hearing a sound - it sounded like a spoon hitting a glass bowl. I ran so fast to the bedroom only to find that the cereal was missing from that bowl and my sister was looking dead at me with those big brown eyes. 

As we both got older, we kind of drifted apart. She would move around a lot - living with either us, our dad, or her mom and other siblings. 

Fast forwarding to her teenage years, she was back! We were all in AZ (Gramma, Auntie, LaiQuan, and me.)

At that time, we grew closer. I would go to the games she cheered at in high school, I would visit her in college, and once she hit 18, it was on and poppin! We hung out a lot when she became an “adult.” We were trying to figure out what to do for her 21st birthday when she was unexpectedly taken from our world. 

I think about that girl daily and try to imagine the type of woman she’d develop into. I miss her deeply and the love I have for her, will never cease. She’ll always be my baby sis. 

We Miss You, Boss Baby

Written By: Nakema Lemon

7/28/22

When she entered the scene on 12/6/98, it was clear that she was not going to be an ordinary baby.

We used to joke that she was a 35-year-old woman, trapped in the body of a baby. In fact, you cannot convince me that the whole Boss Baby franchise was not based on our baby.

When she was just a few weeks old, we were at a watchnight service at our church in MI. My grandfather was at the podium delivering his inspirational “New Year” sermon. Our baby must have assumed that he was talking directly to her because she talked back. Apparently, she felt led to give a word that night. She was so loud, my mom decided to carry her out of the sanctuary. However, my grandfather stopped her. He said “It’s alright. Let her be.” After her great-grandaddy gave her the greenlight, she proceeded to talk back at him through the whole sermon.

That wouldn’t be the only time she and my grandfather had such an in-depth conversation. One day, when she was around 3 or 4, I walked in on the two them sitting across from each other with their legs crossed having a deep discussion. My grandfather, who had Alzheimer’s at the time, was listening intently clearly enraptured by her words of wisdom. I couldn’t exactly follow the conversation, but I wasn’t meant to. This was a special moment between our baby and her great-granddaddy.

My grandmother thought she was a baby genius. We started getting her puzzles when she was around one or two and my grandmother would always be amazed with how quick she could assemble them. Gramma would say, “Oh my goodness! Look at that baby go!” And go she would. Even with puzzles that were meant for much older children, she was quick with it. So that became a thing. Whenever, gramma visited, our baby would get her puzzles, sit front and center, and put them together as fast she could. Then she would relish in the delight and praise of her great-gramma.

Even though she was always the tiniest person in the room (from the day she was born, until the day she died), she always had the biggest presence. Every year, as we approach the anniversary of her death, I feel her presence even more strongly. I try to find some comfort by focusing on her memory. I reminisce about all the fun times when she made us laugh with her antics. But, in the dark corners of the recesses of my mind I cannot ignore the fact that there will never be any new memories, antics or laughs.

Even though the pain of her loss is now a part of my forever DNA, I find some solace in believing that she is with my grandparents in heaven. I picture her having intense philosophical discussions with my grandfather, and in her spare time, she is wowing my grandmother by assembling trillion-piece puzzles in record time. I imagine her being surrounded by a host of family members who are loving on her constantly, and she is keeping them entertained.

While you will always live in our hearts and minds forever, we miss you, boss baby.

The Popcorn Tin

Written by: Shirley Lemon

7/26/2022

LaiQuan is my granddaughter who has left me much too soon. She was twenty years old when she transitioned from this world. As I approach the third anniversary of her passing my heart still hurts as if it happened yesterday. That will never go away.

 LaiQuan had the soul of an old person from the minute she entered the world. She had the body of a baby, but she was at least 35 at birth. As she grew older her age continued to progress much faster than her body did. By the time she was 3 she was about 50. We had many discussions even at that early age as to which one of us was the adult and which one of us was the child. I finally had to tell her that I was the boss, period, no more discussions. It was years later before she accepted that that was the truth.  

She was a very small person, but she had a very large presence.

For half of her life, she was the youngest amongst her four older siblings. In many ways she had a maturity that matched and even surpassed them in some instances. She was really excited when her younger brothers came along when she was ten. She finally had somebody she could boss around. “Oh, Happy Day!” And boss them around she did. She was the one person that could keep the boys in line. They listened to her and did whatever she told them to do. We affectionately called her “The General” and sometimes “The Drill Sergeant”. At fourteen she became an Auntie to her nephew. Another soldier in Lai Quan’s Boot Camp! She was ecstatic.  

At three years old LaiQuan seemed to have some kind of secret agenda that required her to leave the house at night when everyone was asleep. Maybe she was really a fully grown adult international spy and was only pretending to be a little kid. Maybe she had a job where she worked the midnight shift. Or maybe she just wanted to take a walk by herself in the middle of the night when nobody would bother her, and she could think about her life.

Regardless of her reason she definitely tried to escape from our apartment many times.  

The first time it happened I thought someone was trying to break into our home. I’m a light sleeper and any small noise would wake me up. I heard some noise coming from the living room.  Somebody was trying to turn the knob and open our door. I got up and began looking for something to defend myself with. I had to pass by the kitchen so I figured I would grab a knife.  As I came around the wall that separated the two rooms, I could see that there was no need to be alarmed. There was LaiQuan standing on a popcorn bucket (You know the kind that you get as a Christmas gift) trying to open the door. She was too short to reach the handle, but she had figured out that standing on the bucket would give her the height she needed. What she didn’t know was that the door opened inward so the bucket would actually keep her from opening the door. (Thank God!)

I asked her what she was doing. She didn’t answer. She didn’t feel the need to explain herself.  The mission was aborted. She was in her pajamas so it must have been a casual affair. I put her back to bed and she went willingly with no fuss. I was awake for the rest of the night just thinking about what could have happened if she had got out of the house.

 LaiQuan didn’t give up. She tried it many times after that.  Just in case she figured out that the bucket was blocking her getaway, I made my bed on the living room sofa for weeks after that.  LaiQuan never threw a tantrum when she got caught. She didn’t cry or even get mad. She conceded until the next time. I imagined her thinking “You got me this time Gramma but that’s ok. One of these days I will make my escape!”

  I laughed every time because she really thought that she could sneak quietly past me with her bucket. The bucket was almost as big as her. She made a lot of noise dragging the big bucket across the room.

 I always let her get to the door and mount her popcorn can before I thwarted her plan. I laughed really hard every time we played out the scene. I wondered to myself if she was ever going to give up. She never laughed with me which made it even funnier. I understood her dilemma.  Gramma was blocking her action. The deal couldn’t go down because the old lady was in the way. 

 Eventually after months of this, she lost interest. She probably lost her contract because she never made it to her appointment. She didn’t lose interest in the popcorn can though. She found other uses for it. She used it to climb up on cabinets and at the refrigerator to get food. She used it to look through drawers and find stuff to play with. And finally, it became the seat we used for her to sit on when we combed her hair. I don’t remember who gave us the popcorn but thank you!

 As I reflect on this memory I wonder even now, where was she trying to go? In her mind what was waiting for her on the other side of that door? I still laugh when I think about it.

 She will never need her bucket again. She won’t have to try to escape. My baby girl has gotten out and kept her appointment. Her assignment on this earth has been completed. She has reached her final destination. I know that where she is now is all that she could have hoped for it to be and more. 

I miss her every day.

LaiQuan Lemon

December 6,1998 - July 30, 2019

Making Fun of Old People is Foolish

Written by: Nakema Lemon

7/14/22

 Social identity theory, which was formulated by social psychologist Henri Tajgel, describes how social identity impacts ingroups (us) and outgroups (them) behavior. In general members of an ingroup will seek to find negative aspects of an outgroup to enhance their own self-image. Essentially, this theory describes how prejudice leads to racism, xenophobia, homophobia, fatphobia and so on. Because of this, we are socialized from a very early age to think negatively, speak negatively, and in extreme cases act negatively towards other outgroups.

Agism would also apply here. But having and showing prejudice towards the elderly is illogical. To put it in simpler terms, making fun of old people is foolish. Everyone will eventually become a member of the elderly outgroup unless fate intervenes. If you don’t live to be old, it is because you died young. That is the only alternative.

One day, when I was a teenager, I was tasked with helping my grandmother get dressed for a certain event. She was probably in her sixties at the time, and I had to help her put on all her support wear. As we squeezed her into her girdle, I remember thinking to myself, that my body is never going to look like that. Now to be sure, there was absolutely nothing wrong with her body. It was the normal body of a woman in her sixties who had birthed ten children. I on the other hand, had the body of a teenager and in my youthful arrogance, I believed that it would look like that forever. Boy, was I foolish.

The thing about aging is that it will eventually happen to you (unless you die first). Everything about you will change. Things are going to droop, sag, and wrinkle. You’re going to move and think slower. You will be out of touch, and not with it, and nothing young people do or say will any make sense. It is inevitable.

Now there are things one can do to try to delay the ravages of aging such as staying active and maintaining a healthy diet. You can spend thousands of dollars buying products and/or getting procedures to look younger. You can live on TikTok and follow the Shaderoom to stay current. You can buy your clothes at Fashion Nova and Forever 21 to keep up with the latest fashions. But to young people, there is nothing more pathetic than an old person trying to act and/or look young.

You will not be immune of the ridicule of old age (unless you die first). Someone is going to roll their eyes at you when you start talking about “back in the day.” Someone is going to lose patience with you because, you’re moving too slow. Someone is going to treat you like a child, because they think you’re losing your cognitive abilities. Someone is going to look at your physical appearance with disdain and say, “I will never look like that.” Someone is going to make fun of you simply because you’re old.

In my mind the views of society are backwards. Aging should be honored and celebrated not shamed and criticized. We should be looking forward to the first gray hair or wrinkle. Just like we look forward to the prospect of being a senior in school, we should look forward to being a senior in life. There are so many blessings that come with growing old such as retirement, grandchildren, senior discounts and just being free of the trappings of youth. If you live to be old that means you didn’t die young.

I am now in my fifties and my body looks nothing like it did when I was a teenager. I’m even a little shorter. Now, I will say. I have been blessed from the “Black Don’t Crack” in my gene pool. People tend to act surprised when I share how old I am. But I am embracing my age instead of running from it. I am on the other side of middle age and moving on down the hill. I am thankful for every year God allows me to live.

My grandmother aged gracefully. She lived a full life surrounded by hordes of descendants that loved, cherished, and respected her. She was the wisest woman I knew, and she was beautiful in every way.

Able To Get the Eggs

Written by: Shirley Lemon

7/12/22

Life is full of illustrations to reflect upon. Sometimes it can be the simplest thing. Nakema and I were shopping for groceries one day a few years ago. As we walked toward the eggs section, we noticed a little old man in front of us. He was small, slightly bent over and he looked fragile. He was pushing his cart, moving very slow also heading for the eggs. We slowed down so as not to appear to be trying to rush him or disturb him. I have always respected older people and know that we have to have patience when dealing with them. He looked to be in his late 80’s or possibly older. At that time, I was in my early 60’s, healthy and did not consider myself to be old.

As we watched him, we had to come to a complete stop. He was moving so slow that it was like he was not really moving. Really. A snail could have beat him to his destination. Yet as we watched him, we were both fascinated. The look on his face was set at total determination. He was going to get those eggs. Each step he took looked painful. But he kept moving. Really slow. We stood still in the aisle watching him for a while so as not to crowd him or make him feel rushed. We looked around to see if there was somebody with him. He seemed to be alone. When he finally reached the eggs, we breathed a sigh of relief for him and us. But then he began his bending descent to reach over to actually get the eggs. His movement was actually slower than his walking! We looked at each other and made the decision that we would come back later. He was going to be there for a while. As we did some other shopping to pass the time, we hoped that other people would give him space and time to complete his mission. And we laughed.

We were not laughing to make fun of the man. We were in awe of him. He was doing what he had to do. He did not complain or ask for help. He needed to buy food and that’s what he did. Maybe he had a wife at home that he was taking care of, and she was indisposed. Maybe he lived alone and was just living his life. Nakema and I speculated about his story for a while, but at the end of the day we both decided that when we get old, we want to be like him.

I am 70 now. I am in good health, thank God. But I do exhibit some of the signs of “olderness”. (HaH!) I move a little slower. After sitting for a while, it takes a few minutes to work out the stiffness and back pain. I am living through the process of ageing in real time now. I see my limitations as they emerge upon me and look for ways to accommodate and work around them.

My parents were my greatest role models in the eloquence of aging gracefully. They embraced it and celebrated it. But this little old man who struggled and yet persevered to get those eggs also had an impact on my ideas about ageing.

However long I am blessed to live I want to always be able to get the eggs.

Being A Grandmother

Written by: Shirley Lemon

7/5/22

I didn’t have the relationship with my grandparents that I wanted to have. Circumstances just didn’t allow for it.

 My father was raised by his grandfather. He never talked about his dad. His mother lived with us when I was a little girl. She was sick. My job at four years old was to walk with her from the bedroom to the bathroom to make sure she didn’t fall and hurt herself. I was the bathroom guard. I always held her hand and we walked slowly. She was bedridden and always in a lot of pain. She died from a brain aneurysm before I turned six.

 My mother’s parents lived in North Carolina, and we lived in Michigan. Although my father had a good job, he had a continually growing family. We couldn’t just pack up and take family trips in those days. My grandparents couldn’t travel to Michigan. My mother would go home every two years and she would take one or two of us with her. When I was nine or ten my turn came around. We travelled by train. That was exciting. I only remember that the south was starkly different from Michigan. I followed my brother as he went and fed the hogs. We picked grapes off a vine. There was a lot of open land and a lot of space to play. I didn’t have any personal time with my grandparents because there was a whole lot of cousins living around them. Kids were everywhere. They were all very close to my grandparents. I think that was when I became really conscious of the fact that they weren’t in my daily life. I was painfully shy as a child. If you didn’t talk to me, I wouldn’t say anything to you. Maybe that’s how I missed my chance to get close to my grandparents. But after that visit whenever I read a book or saw a movie or heard other kids talk about going to their grandparent’s house for the weekend or the holidays, I felt a little sad. I wished I could do that.

I was an adult when I next saw my grandparents. They visited my mother once and then sadly the next time I saw my grandmother was when I traveled to North Carolina to my grandfather’s funeral. Again, I wished I could have had a closer relationship with them when I was a child.

 Flash forward to the day I found out I was going to be a grandmother. I was 39. It took a minute for it to sink in, but it didn’t take long for me to get excited.

I wanted to have the kind of relationship with my grandchildren that I had fantasized having with my own grandparents. With my two girls who came first I was able to do just that. I love being called gramma. I loved being with them as they navigated their way through life. The girls are eight years apart. The first boy came ten years later with his brother following two years after that. The joy of being a grandmother is beyond my expectations.

 My parents were wonderful grandparents. They had a slew of grand, great-grand, and even great-great grandchildren before they both transitioned from this world. Although they will not meet the generations still making an entrance into existence, they have a legacy that we will be sharing about them forever.

 That’s what I want to have with my family. Great memories and some positive effect on their lives for many years after I’m gone. I am waiting with much anticipation for my first great grandchild. Then I will be called GG.

There is a scripture that says that grandchildren are the crown of the aged. I completely agree.

Tribute To My Mother

Written by: Shirley Lemon

7/1/22

It is not actually possible for me to turn into my mother. The bar is set much too high for me to reach. She had the patience of Job. The wisdom of Solomon and the inner strength of many of the strong women that came before her. Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, and Rosa Parks. Though she did not walk down the same road that they did. As I observed her over the years I marveled at her intellect. She could have been a doctor or a great politician. She could have been a trail blazing civil rights leader. It was in her. We had many deep conversations about the world situation, the family situation and about life. Her insight was amazing.

She, however, chose a different path.

It is her inner strength that I am speaking of.

She is the mother of many children. She gave birth to ten. She also has one son by a different mother, but he is hers, nevertheless. She has many grandchildren, great grandchildren, and great, great grandchildren. I dare not give a number because it is increasing even as I write this. She was a matriarch in every sense of the word.

My mother was a little over 5 feet tall. She was a beautiful woman. Her presence was felt whenever she was in the room and many times when she wasn’t.

My father was the Rock of the family. My mother was the Soul. As a child it always appeared to me that his word was final. Daddy made all of the decisions in our family. That’s what I thought. But as I got older, I realized that things are not always as they seem. Momma was in agreement with most of his decisions. They held a solid front against the brood of terrors better known as their children. But on the occasion that she didn’t agree with him, she found ways to make her point. My rock of a father gave her what she wanted. There were never any arguments. Maybe it was because she didn’t ask for much, so when she did, he let her have her way. That could be it, and pigs are polka dot green with eagle wings. My momma was strategic with her words and actions.

I was very close to my mother when I became an adult. We were great friends. But she always wore the crown. And in her absence the crown hovers over my head, low enough to remind me of the impact she’s had on my life. The love she gave me and the wisdom she shared with me has made me the woman I am today. The crown hovers high enough to remind me that she is still the Queen. I cannot match her glory. I can only live my life to reflect her spirit, her power, and her grace. I hope that she is looking down at me and saying, “well done”.

I am so thankful for the time I had with her. I miss her every day.