A Letter to The President

It’s significant to me that the presidency for America’s first African-American president will come to a close next Thursday, January 19, 2017. It’s significant to many, many people in my life, throughout the nation, and around the world.

It’s significant to pause and consider America changed her history eight years ago and elected her first-ever African American president and person of color president. That’s worthy of celebration. America CHANGED HER HISTORY. She showed that race and color could no longer be a barrier to how she would be led by her own people.

That had never happened before on a presidential level. 

I’ve had the honor to vote in five elections in my lifetime. 1st time in 2000, as a 20 yr-old. And eight of those 16 years that span my voting experience were lived during America’s 1st African-American Presidency. That is historic. That gives me pause.

These eight years and this presidency were not without their challenges, questions, and at times disappointments. But this is life. And we grow through how we learn, listen, and use moments to shape us for more opportunities in the future.

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Seeing President Barack Obama, First Lady Michelle, and their beautiful daughters Malia and Sasha in The White House the last eight years = significance because seeing them means I see me. I see an affirmation of brown skin and black culture that poured confidence and belonging into my soul.

I see tender respect for family, marriage, parenting, and love. I see my President and First Lady, but I also see a dad who hilariously imitates his teenage daughters on their cell phones texting to their friends, “Girl, I couldn’t believe it…” and a mom who goes to CVS to get earphones for her daughter. I see America. Diverse. Not all the same and learning to respect the differences in others. Bridging the gaps. Crossing the divides.

When reports surfaced throughout these eight years at different times of American citizens publicly and often via social media calling The First Lady a “first chimp” or a “monkey” and The President a “spider monkey” or a “nigger” it digs into the significance that grew my confidence through this presidency. It hurts. It makes me mad. People are still calling black people animals some 154 years after the end of American slavery and the declaration of The Emancipation Proclamation. Still seeing us as not human, not enough, less than simply because our skin is a different shade. That hate for The President and The First Lady is unconsciously absorbed by me because I look just like them. I’m black. The hate that so easily spews from ignorant minds towards the leader of the free world can just as easily come my way.

This callous racism surfaces because of the color of the President and The First Lady’s skin, parts of their physical makeup and identity they had no choice in selecting. God created them in His image. He chose their brown skin. He chose my brown skin. He chose all the skin colors in this world. Before the world knew any of us, He knew us. He was present as we were being knit together in our mama’s wombs. He knew US. And this is why the dig of racism is so vitriolic, so sinful, and very demonic: It calls what God created with intention and from love defective and unworthy. And this kind of severe brokenness can only be redeemed through the power and the blood of Jesus Christ.

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Racism forces me to stop and accept that though America did change her history, many people don’t want to live in the present. They lust for the prejudice and bigotry of the past. I hate that people want hate more than they want racial diversity, cultural understanding, and relationships with others who don’t look like them or come from the same background as them. I hate that ignorance is just as alive and well in 2017 as it was after Civil War Reconstruction and early Jim Crow laws took their death grip across the American South and other parts of the nation.

Hate had grandchildren and her sister racism did the same and now we are here. We are here dealing with their kids and we are here trying to protect our kids and we are here fighting to be human.

And yet hate will not win. She’s riddled with deficits.

Love has already won this war and the banner of victory rests beautifully on the shoulders of Jesus, the Messiah. He fills in all the gaps that hate leaves empty and deformed. He is The One who holds all things together:

15 He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. 16 For by[f] him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him.17 And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together.

Colossians 1: 15-17

His love reminds me to have hope. That hope inspired me to write a letter of thanks to The President and First Lady this week. In the face of intense realities these last eight years, they both served in their human giftings and also human limitations, with faith and diligence, as they opened their lives and shared their family with millions in our country and around the world. They showed up for the challenges and are leaving next week, having woven some new tapestry into the fabric of America’s ever-evolving story.

In my 37 years of life, this is the first time I’ve written to The President of The United States. The first time I’ve mailed something to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW, Washington, DC 20500. Yesterday, I kept looking at the envelope with my handwriting, touched the stamps, and thought to myself, “I’m mailing a letter to The President. Wow.” I feel like I’m a part of history. I’m grateful for that.

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My Mama Taught Me to Kick Butt & Take Names

“I don’t think it ever occurred to me before how much and how often women are praised for displaying traits that basically render them invisible. When I really think about it, I realize the culprit is the language generally used to praise women. Especially mothers.

She sacrificed everything for her children…She never thought about herself…She gave up everything for us…She worked tirelessly to make sure we had what we needed. She stood in the shadows, she was the wind beneath our wings. 

Greeting card companies are built on that idea.

Tell her how much all the little things she does all year long that seem to go unnoticed really mean to you.

With a $2.59 card.

Mother’s Day is built on that idea.

This is good, we’re told. It’s good how Mom diminishes and martyrs herself. The message is: mothers, you are such wonderful and good people because you make yourselves smaller, because you deny your own needs, because you toil tirelessly in the shadows and no one ever thanks or notices you…this all makes you AMAZING.

Yuck.

What the hell kind of message is that?

Would ANYONE praise a man for this?

Those are not behaviors anyone would hope to instill in their daughters, right?

Right?

I’m not saying MOTHERHOOD shouldn’t be praised. Motherhood should be praised. Motherhood is wonderful. I’m doing it. I think it’s great.

There are all kinds of ways and reasons that mothers can and should be praised. But for cultivating a sense of invisibility, martyrdom and tirelessly working unnoticed and unsung? Those are not reasons.

There are all kinds of ways and reasons that mothers can and should be praised. But for cultivating a sense of invisibility, martyrdom and tirelessly working unnoticed and unsung? Those are not reasons.

Praising women for standing in the shadows?

Wrong.

Where is the greeting card that praises the kinds of mothers I know? Or better yet, the kind of mother I was raised by?

I need a card that says: Happy Mother’s Day to the mom who taught me to be strong, to be powerful, to be independent, to be competitive, to be fiercely myself and fight for what I want.

Or Happy Birthday to a mother who taught me to argue when necessary, to raise my voice for my beliefs, to not back down when I know I am right.

Or, Mom, thanks for teach me to kick a** and take names at work. Get well soon.

Or simply Thank you Mom, for teaching me how to make money and feel good about doing it. Merry Christmas.

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Where are the greeting cards for the kind of mother I try to be? For the kind of mother I need my kids to see? For the kind of mother I want my daughters to one day be?

And if there is no greeting card, what is there?

There is me.

I have to be my own greeting card. And to do that, I have to at least be able to take a compliment.” – Shonda Rhimes, “Year of Yes.”

I would like to take this beautiful moment in time to honor my mama Gloria, who’s taught me to kick butt and take names in all aspects of my life:

Find your inner warrior: “Life may get you down Mel, but it never has to get you out.”

Dealing with challenging humans: “Who she THINK she IS? She ain’t no betta than you.”

Maintaining better health: “Did you take a cod liver oil pill? I keep telling you to do this.”

Being aware of one’s surroundings: “Mel, secure your pocketbook, lock your doors!”

Perspectives on social media: “I think I may want to get on Spacebook.” (Um, it’s Facebook woman).

Mama, I honor you on the day you entered this world and celebrate your birthday with many who love and thank God for you. You are a jewel – a hilarious, sometimes crazy, but always brilliant one! Happy birthday to the woman who’s been a real-life greeting card in my life, showing me what womanhood, personal excellence, and #blackgirlmagic looked like before that hashtag even came to be.

I love you mama.

You are my #1 she-roe.

Always your girl,

Melody Latrice

5K and Ludivine

Runner = Melody. An equation I never saw coming.

After childhood, I ran only if somebody was chasing me. Running on purpose and because I liked it was not me.

But something happened in 2014. I intersected with Black Girls Run!, a national movement of women who meet weekly in different cities for exercise and community.

I discovered new sisters who trained with me, ran races alongside me, and cheered my every step and mile. There were women who’d lost nearly 100 lbs because they started walking and running with Black Girls Run! (BGR).

My first meetup in August was encouraging. I learned more about BGR Orlando as I walked through Jay Blanchard Park with my friend Jessica (who encouraged me to join) and ladies in the Eastside group. A week later, I joined the Eastside sisters for a run with BGR Melbourne. I did a three-mile walk and jog with new friend Beverly. It was the first time I’d ever done that kind of mileage.

But work and priorities soon hit keeping me busy and tired. For a year, I fell off the BGR wagon. September 2015 arrived and I decided, “Mel it’s time to get connected again.” I discovered a BGR meetup five minutes from my house, and life has never be the same.

From September to December 2015, I completed two virtual 5Ks, ran 83 miles, and walked 29. My speed improved as I moved into a 14 minute mile and sprinted 13 and 12 minute miles for short periods.

Hot ChocolateMelody became a runner. Melody is a runner. What the what!

January 24, 2016, in my hometown of Atlanta, I completed my first live race, the Hot Chocolate 5K/15K. It was 30 degrees and the course was hilly, but I beat my previous 5K time. I had one 12 to 13 minute mile, and  two miles under 30 minutes. I also finished under 45 minutes, a new personal record for me.

This also was a huge milestone in life, PERIOD. Running changed me. It’s helped me see my determination and how much strength my soul contains. You have to be determined and strong, and maybe a little bit crazy to run outside ON PURPOSE in 30 degree weather.

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A few days after the race, I read a hilarious article about a dog named Ludivine who accidentally ran a half marathon and came in seventh place. Ludivine inspired me to make plans for my first half marathon this year. I told Jessica and the following text conversation ensued:

Mel: “That dog ran a whole 13 miles and came in 7th place. That’s freaking amazing.”

Jess: “He’s a dog though. They love running.”

Mel: “You should be excited that I am inspired.”

Jess: “Teresa encouraged you, I encouraged you. But nope, the dog inspired you.”

Mel: “For 13 miles (that dog ran). And by the way he is a she.”

Jess: “I’m glad you’re inspired though. All dogs look alike to me. Until she puts a pink bow in her hair she will be a he.”

Mel: “Her name is Ludivine. She’s southern. From Alabama.”

Jess: “Looooooooooool I’m done.”

Jessica can throw shade on Ludivine all she wants, but I’m proud of her! And I’m excited to see where my 5K, 10K and half marathon adventures take me this year. I’m confident with my BGR sisters we’re gonna stomp plenty of pavement.

Mamas & Aunties

When I’m wanting her to listen to me or give me something I want or have her stop telling me something I told her I already know, “mama” is what I call her. Mamas just have a flavor about them. When I’m laughing with her, laughing at her or giving her my perspectives on the world and just shooting the breeze, “momma” is how I see her. She’s the same lady that called me one day and asked, “Is your phone — that 229 number — still working?”

Me (curiously): “Um, yes.”

Momma: “We’ll, I’m just checking ‘cause it just rings and rings AND rings…”

Me: “That’s ‘cause I didn’t HEAR it so I could pick it up!”

Momma: “Oh, okay, well I’m just checking.”

She is a verified hot mess. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. My mom is one of my best friends. She gets me and I get her. I learned from her early on how to carry myself with grace, poise, intention and also enjoy life with plenty of humor and tons of wit. She is one of the wittiest people I know! She is the Queen of Wit. Man, she is sharp and brilliant and loving and so wonderfully amazing. She’s been a great mom to me.

Not everyone can raise a daughter as a single parent with God’s guidance the way she has with me. Every accomplishment, success, endeavor and privilege I’ve been afforded took place from the lift she gave me to climb upon steps she laid in advance for me. She sacrificed her needs to make sure I had mine met.

My mom was one of the first two African American civilian employees to integrate the City of Atlanta’s Vehicles for Hire division in the 1970s. She’s an Advanced Toastmaster and can lay it down with her oratory and sharp communication skills.

She’s served as the president of her homeowner’s association for several years and leads with style as an usher at her church. Oh, and the woman can bust a baaaad Michael Jackson moonwalk-ish routine when Thriller comes on. I have the video evidence to prove it. Incriminating? Maybe. Hilarious and will I plan to keep it to show my kids one day? Absolutely.

As I get older I’m thinking not just about the family I desire to build in my life but also the ways I plan to care for her and bless her as she gets older. When one of my books come out and it’s best selling and good things begin to happen, I can’t wait to give back to her plus so much more all that she’s blessed me with through her love and sacrifices. I am the woman I am today and in all the days that will come because of my mama.

We have a regular time to connect each week and chat about life, usually Sunday evenings. I missed last week and was trying to find a time this week to talk. She was picking Friday and Saturday night and I was like, “Mama, I am young and single. My evenings are busy…I’m am not sitting around with nothing to do.”

Her reply: “Well alright then Mel (in a slightly little huffy voice)! When do you want to talk???”

Me: “In the morning!”

We both are a mess.

I don’t know when I knew to call her auntie but I was young enough to know that’s who she was and who I needed her to be. My mama’s younger sister. The woman whose birthday is just two weeks ahead of mine. The breast cancer survivor. The one who shares a similar gentleness and heart on her sleeve as I do for the world around us. The lady who wants people to know about Jesus and uses opportunities to keep telling the world about him.

The lady who has the same eyes and smile as my mom. The one whose kitchen cabinets I would crawl in when I was very little and play in after I’d go around, ask for and get the fuzzy fuzz lint balls in my Uncle Randy’s pockets. The woman I respect as my aunt but love as my “Auntie.” Aunties just have a swag about them.

She’s the same lady that told me once, “All these men who are downloading…this is just horrible Melody, downloading and all this stuff.”

I believe she meant to describe men who were on the “down low” hiding their bi-sexuality from the women they were sleeping with. But I knew what she meant and I was not going to say anything different.

Mamas & Aunties. They are some kind of amazing.

Originally written August 30, 2013.

Thank You Herbert!

There is a white, fluffy and gregarious poodle in my neighborhood named Herbert.

Yes, Herbert the poodle.

Herbert is the size of a small horse.

Okay well, not really but he is tall for a dog. He is also very friendly. So friendly he might scare the pee out of you if you’re not paying attention and he comes galloping your way.

While walking with my neighbor Tamara one morning earlier in June, we were galloped at by Herbert. Good thing we were paying attention.

Here’s to all the Herbert poodles of the world: Thank you for bringing smiles to our faces. Sometimes it’s just the little things that we need. Little things that can be wrapped up into the exuberance of an energetic dog who makes you remember to be THANKFUL.

THANKFUL for what you have, which means gratitude has a home in your heart.

THANKFUL for what you need, which provides space for your dependence upon someone else, allowing humility and vulnerability to grow in you.

What are the “Herberts” in your life? How are the “little things” shaping your view of the world?