My parents, Black love, and the struggle of Black history
My folks have been together a long time. Like, a very long time. On Feb. 11, they will be two years shy of their 50th anniversary. For as much as I admire their longevity (or, in some cases, the war of attrition), I can’t help at times feel inadequate in comparison. They’ve been together so long, and they’ve figured it out. And on the other end, after break-ups, “situation-ships,” or “you’re the perfect guy ... but just not enough to be with,” I wonder what’s wrong. In other words, I’m wondering how to understand my folks’ level of Black Love.
Now, not only is it the month of my parents’ anniversary, but it’s also Black History Month, so by default, I think more profoundly of the blackity-blackness for the occasion. In ‘Salvation: Black People and Love,” author bell hooks observes, “Wisely, Baldwin insisted that we are always more than our pain. Not only did he believe in our capacity to love, he felt black people were uniquely situated to risk loving because we had suffered.”
My family and I gather at the dinner table every Sunday for our Uno tournaments, and there are stories about that suffering every week. Stories of my parents picking cotton, stretching food (eat every part of the pig from the roota to the toota), and a period of not having indoor plumbing.
Think of a combination of “The Color Purple” mixed with “Good Times.” What is most notable when listening to my parents talk of these things is how they have a strange nostalgia for the struggle and, in some cases, seem as if there were moments within that struggle they preferred.
It hits me when examining them and the concept and strength of Black Love. In my personal experience with Love and dating, turbulence in relationships always lead to a dead end. Love ends when a woman says, “Things like love shouldn’t be so hard.”
My response is, “It’s always going to be hard, but love is finding the people you want to suffer with.”
On the surface, I know it sounds morbid, but something is endearing about knowing that someone is going to be there. The idea is knowing that the person you’re with will be there throughout struggles. More specifically, Black Love is most important to Black women.
I echo Daily Show’s Trevor Noah when giving his farewell message about who shaped him.
“I’ve often been credited with having these grand ideas. Who do you think teaches me, who do you think has shaped me, nourished me, informed me. From my mom, my gran, my aunts, all these black women in my life but then in America as well,” Noah said. “I always tell people if you truly want to learn about America, talk to Black women. Because unlike everybody else Black women can’t afford to f-k around and find out. Black people understand how hard it is when things go bad.”
I think of these words and also credit not just the Black women that are married but the Black women that are the foundation of so much. The evolution of Black Love isn’t just for people like my parents, who have been nearly together for five decades. I often joke with my mom that if they dated in the time of dating apps and Instagram, they might not have stuck it out for so long. But the choice to be who you are and where you want to be is just as revolutionary.
As I near 40 years of age, sadly, I will not be able to be married as long as my folks are. My parents grew up in a time when so much hatred and issues could have given them any reason not to seek or give love. Instead, seeing their love is an internal and rebellious act.
Moments like the murder of Tyree Nichols always make me wonder, “How can I find love or think of having a child in this world?” I then realized that my parents could have said the same thing. Between living in the Jim Crow South, poverty, and more, they still found beauty in the world to start a family. And for that, I am forever grateful.