My mother was much bigger on BEING a friend than she was on having them. She was one of those folk EVERYONE relied on and knew they could count on. All that being said, my mother wasn’t a real chummy sort. You need something call Momma Ink. You wanna hit someone on the celly and gossip. Don’t call Momma Ink.
My father wasn’t even that.
My father was his own island. He was a nice man, a kind man who never raised his voice. When the mood struck, he was as charming as they came.
That mood struck slightly more often than Halley’s Comet.
I was reading Post-Bourgie today and he posted an ingenious video referencing a reality show called My Black Friend. I’ll pause while you rush over there to watch.
*hums a few bars of Friends by Whodini in the meantime*
So, upon watching that video, I am reminded why it is I have so few white friends. It is the same reason why I have so few actual friends.
We cannot be friends until I have ascertained that the level of foolishness you bring to the table is tolerable to my relatively foolishnessless existence.
Of the people that I count as genuine friends…not ONE of them carries more foolishness that naturally occurs in life as a responsible adult.
I have two sons I love with all the passion that God has allowed my heart to bear and I don’t tolerate foolishness from THEM and NEITHER of them has been blessed thus far to reach double digits in years on this earth.
If you think I am going to welcome white folk into my intimate circle just because they have a wild hair up their ass to earn some kind of merit badge of Eurocentric Diversity, you might wanna ask those black folk who got pissed at me because I didn’t ride with their foolishness in the name of racial unity how that worked for them.
My father, who NEVER said a bad word about Black folk in polite company, was RUTHLESS on them in private. He was one of those cats who took that “we descended from Kings and Queens” pathos QUITE literally and said he expected more from Black folk than white folk because we were the cream of the crop.
While I am not as inclined to swallow that entire ideology, I admit that I expect BETTER from my own than I do from others. I am that way with my sons, so it would naturally follow that I would be that way with my people.
And make no mistake…warts and all…Black people ARE and will always BE my people. And I will ride for them to the extent their foolishness and my ability to stomach said foolishness will allow.
White folk? I love y’all with the love of the Lord, first and foremost. You need me to put five on _________ wedding gift at work even though I am a little short on my lunch money and don’t really know ______ all like that? sure thing.
You want me to COME to said wedding/shower? Err…no. I don’t know you like that, just yet…but keep talking…one day I will feel differently.
Not Today. Not Tomorrow. But One Day.