On the Verge of Dating White Girls: My Mama is Black History

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My Black History

I wanna give a special shout out to my mama who has a restricted home telephone number and doesn't use the Internet much (but she does, and she does have an email). I would call her a Crazy Beautiful Black Woman but she never left us at home while she was out clubbing, and never smoked mentholated cigarettes. Plus it wouldn't do her justice considering she is an upper-level professional with a Master's Degree--based on results, she knows what she's doing...

Although I don't know her to ever cook asparagus, she is my only only successful convert from milk to rice milk and she happily makes my macaroni and cheese with soy cheese (thanks). And Although my dad was an invisible, absent, alcoholic-loser, she never hated on him and she named me after him with GOOD intentions.

Yes, she made pull my pants up in high school but now she tells me my pants don't sag enuff. (?)...
I want to use this space on my blog to acknowledge the wonderful job she has done as a single mom to raise me and my twin brother, and Grandma' aka "Nona" to my son and nephew.
Thanks for slapping the shit out of me when I tried to start sucking my thumb in Kindergarten (I understand now) and stressing the importance of being on time.
And thanks for making an exception to let me take my girlfriend to my room that time. It really meant a lot to me and I have vivid memories of that whole day. And by the way, I didn't "hit it" then and there (she wouldn't let me).
As a 30-something parent of a 9-year-old, I get it: Choices.

Meaning there is nothing in this world I "should" do, but I can do all the things I want. Thanks. To say the least, you've influenced me.

*I do have one confession: Remember when you took away those Too Short tapes that me, my brother and our cousin bought from Too Short on the back of the bus? Well we dubbed them and listened to them when you went to sleep.