The Plight of the First Generation Eldest Sibling*

*A/N: That title sounded bleaker than I meant it to but ...

Shout-out to all the firsts. 

The first to go to college, 

the first to get a job, 

the first to move out, 

the first to really succeed. 

The translators,

the navigators, 

the form filler out-ters. 

The ad-hoc financial aid counselors,

the conciliators, 

and conflict mediators. 

The big brothers and big sisters who are expected to come back

Who want to come back

Who can't come back

The ones to whom family is another full-time job

The ones who are raising kids they never birthed

But bathed

We were the first to leave and we're the first to return

We feel the weight of success 

And bear the burden of not having done enough

While trying to do the most

Shout out to the oldest (not the wisest) 

Shout out to the middle kids for whom this is true

And shout out to the only-ies, cause it's lonely

Shout out for the first but not the last

Sumptuous but Unsubtle

Tonight I had the oppurtunity to see a free screening of Anna Karenina starring Keira Knightley in the title role. It was definitely intriguing and at times spell-binding, but (as is my way) there were certain aspects of the film I just could not get past. Full disclosure: I have never read Tolstoy's novel (though now I am inclined to), so I have no knowledge of the source material. The only thing I knew going into this story was *spoiler* she throws herself on the train tracks in despair over her lover. So with that ahead are the things I loved and the things that made me go hmmmm ...

Media Reformation

In the article, How Luther Went Viral, The Economist shows us that what we today view as the grand experiment of social media is actually nothing new. In fact, Martin Luther's Reformation couldn't have happened without the social media mechanisms we currently take for granted (take a second to imagine Martin Luther and the Pope engaged in Twitter beef). But while we acknowledge how today's social media is just another link in the chain, we also have to take into account how the increased accessibility of today's social media makes it unique and also dangerous.

The Need to Justify

What is it that compels us to justify our choices in life? On the internet it can become a blackhole of back and forth but in real life, it seems to all boil down to some intrinsic need to prove our worth; to have other people understand our intent. But at it's core, it's impossible and most of all, it's tiring. After reading, Dodai's incredibly personal article, When Motherhood Never Happens, I scrolled through the comments and I realized that what was driving points on either side of the comments was the need to justify our life choices. 

Those that were for motherhood felt the need to explain why they had kids and let everyone know that "I still have fun!" and "My life hasn't ended!". At the other end of the spectrum were the cries of, "I can travel and drink and I'm happy!" and "At least I'm not overpopulating the planet!" You know who I respect? The people in the middle. The people who don't judge and don't justify. 

I'm going to turn 29 this summer. When I pictured my life, I always thought I'd have a family, a partner, and own my own home (typical, but true). But I never gave myself a time limit. I never set myself in a particular place. I just always thought that when I had acquired the resources to have those things (the right mindset, some accomplishments, financial stability) those things would materialize. I grew up having my mom drill into me that I wasn't supposed to get pregnant at a young age, I was supposed to finish college and get a well-paying job, I wasn't supposed to depend on a man and I followed that plan. Now as I head towards twenty-nine, my mom's story has changed drastically. "So when are you going to settle down?" is a question that comes up in our conversations. And you know what? I don't answer it. I'm not going to justify to anyone why I'm not living my life on their timetable or their terms or based on their morals. 

I recognize that there is a finite time period in order for me to have my own biological children but guess what? I can't force the pieces into place. And I don't want to. So we have to stop forcing everyone to prove their happiness. To justify their worth. Because that is what divides us. The minute you justify your childlessness by downing motherhood, you've lost the argument. And when you equate your worth to your choice to pop out a kid, you've put someone else on the defense (or honestly in the case of women who can't conceive potentially called someone else worthless because of something they can't help). So stop, just stop. Do you, be you, and justify it to no one. 

Why We Need More Screenwriters of Color

I'm what many would call a TV addict. I have DirecTv (with premium channels!), a Hulu queue that always hovering around 30 deep, a Netflix subscription and a Redbox account. I would say I consume about 40 hours of television a week not including the blogs and television news I consume, so it's probably the full-time job I'm not getting paid for. 

That being said, I'm not an idle watcher. I consume but I also critique and lately with all the Girls controversy and similar issues with one of my favorite shows, The Vampire Diaries, I've been doing some deep analysis of the current television climate and frankly, it's kind of sad. There was a recent study that said that all-white jury pools convicted Black defendants 16% more often than Whites. Furthermore, the presence of just one Black person on the jury made the conviction rates almost identical (even better in that instance White defendants were convicted at a 2% higher rate). I think this same dynamic plays out in the writers room. Just the mere inclusion of one writer of color can make the difference in how what we see onscreen plays out. 

I Need the GOP to Stop Caring About Me

I could wax rhapsodic about the paternalism of White liberalism. In many ways the party that boasts a high percentage of Black support can often be a place where actual Black people are treated like creatures too childlike and ignorant to help themselves. But despite the right's best attempts, they are not shifting this paradigm and helping Blacks get off the "liberal plantation" but rather attempting to install themselves as the new overseers. So to the GOP I have one thing to say: stop caring about me. 

In the past two months, Newt Gingrich has used his (failing) campaign, to expound on what the poor (read: Black) community "needs". Apparently with Newt by our side, we will be able to be janitors, learn how to wake up and earn a paycheck, and stop demanding food stamps. Thank you Newt, for saying the hard statements and asking the hard questions. I, for one, welcome our new master and hope to bask in the light of his .... I'm sorry my eyes just rolled back so far in my head I lost sight of what I was trying to say. Oh, yeah, I'm going to need you to have a seat and stop trying to "save" me.

You know what's a really good way to court the so-called Black vote? Stop treating us as if we're ignorant. Stop treating us as if we've a monolithic community who doesn't know how to help ourselves. Stop using your stereotypes to create facts that are untrue (in fact if any community needs to stop asking for food stamps and demand paychecks it's the White community). And most of all, stop trying to justify your blatant racism (which you can watch in the video below).

Frankly, it's insulting. You don't see me running up into their houses forcing White folks to face their privilege. Or telling the Republicans or Christian right that  I know how to help their community stop being such vain and immoral dicks. Whatever your qualms with Obama may be he's never stood up and said he knows what's better for the American people or any individual community than they do themselves. Even at times when it might have been easier to just say, "I'm smarter than you and this will work out if you let it". So I say again to the GOP, if this is how you care, I'm going to need you to stop.

Sisterhood ... Everlasting.

*Yesterday I began and finished Sisterhood Everlasting by Ann Brashares. It's the follow-up to her best-selling series Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants and fast-forwards to these girls (now women) at the age of 29 as they deal with where their lives have taken them as well as *spoiler* the death of one of their sisters. If you, like myself, grow attached to fictional characters let's just say I would not recommend reading this book in public. A bottle of red wine while reading in bed is highly recommended and you might want to grab a box of tissues too. Either way, I was inspired to write to (and about) my own sisterhood. I hope I can capture what they mean to me. 

I would say I came to the bonds of sisterhood late. I grew up a middle child. Not in the factual sense of the word. I was an only child for many years but I had one cousin who was older than me and one who was younger. They were my sisters for all intents and purposes. Quiana was the beautiful one, I was the smart one and Denise was the youngest who followed after the both of us. We didn't have a lot of other friends who were girls and I was often jealous of the friends they did have. In my head we were sisters. They were friends. It was not the same.

As we grew older, we grew apart. I went off to boarding school and suddenly I was surrounded by other girls. I had lots of friends, male and female. Then in our 11th grade year I discovered that I had more than friends. I'd found new sisters. That year was a roller-coaster of triumphs and tragedies and firsts and adventures. I found that my friends and I fit together like puzzle pieces. Even today, I mark myself by them. Not competitively but as a sign that things have really happened. Sheena, who came to every performance I had in high school, still cheers me on and I think moreso than myself she can enumerate all of my talents better than I can. Sometimes I wish she could do every job interview for me because I sound immensely better from Sheena's point of view than I do from my own. I'll never know if I'm on time unless Stephanie's late. Whenever we're together we fall into the same patterns. Steph is late and I sigh and complain but I never show up later than the time we agreed upon. One day she'll be there exactly when we said. Jadele is our moral compass, our spiritual leader. She creates from some deep place and reminds us that the rest of us were born to create as well. Nekia is the bitch and I mean that in every possible positive way I can think of. She keeps us in check. She tells us the truth. But she'd also give you her last and be by your side if you called her there. And I am the organizer, the gatherer. I drive everyone crazy with my plans. I live for romanticized grand plans and I make all of us sit in rooms together and badger everyone until they do what I want. These are my sisters. Forged through tears and laughs when we were just 16. I have the right to make us sit in rooms together. 

It's not to say that I haven't had other close friends. Other people that I consider part of my family. When I went to college I sought to replicate what I had at boarding school. And I found an amazing group of women who I love deeply. Luckily, and somewhat astonishingly, I've managed to move across the country from my sisters and find a great support system and people who have welcomed me into their lives. I guess more than anything I'm lucky that my sisters left me with two things: the ability to form a family wherever I go and a piece of themselves that I carry every day. Often, I find that I'm always a few minutes late. And I like to push and drive the creative spirit of those around me. I revel in all of my friend's accomplishments and life changing moments as if they were my own. I speak the truth even when it hurts. And my heart is always open. I'm always accepting more sisters.