While the Queen was flat on his back (get your minds out of the gutter, Miss Things) during his bout with cold/flu/dysentery–whatever the hell it was–the world inexplicably kept on moving. So many things happened. Let’s discuss:
The Queen realizes that there are some people I never think of as dying. And I also realize that it is often a list of people we’ve come to know by one name: Liz, Etta, and now Whitney. There is a certain immortality that we bestow on our collective icons. And I guess, in a way, a true icon DOES live forever. So is my hope for Whitney Houston. I pray that her daughter is constantly wrapped in the arms of someone who loves her as she navigates through her grief and emotions, until she comes out stronger on the other side. And from one Fierce Black Queen to another: Whitney-thank you for so many contributions to the soundtrack of my life. Don’t hog all the solos in that big Gospel Choir in the Sky.
This is so friggin’ late. I should let it go. But it’s been in my craw along with the Royal Scepter ever since the Super Bowl.
The Queen–like just about every queer in America–has had to deal with his share of bullying and homophobia. The lion’s portion of which, has always come from my straight black brothers. Black Men seem to spend an inordinately greater percentage of time defining ourselves by standards of faux-masculinity than our white counterparts. Maybe that’s because of our history in this country. In order to maintain power, the dominant culture had to emasculate us. I’m not going to spend a load of time in this post psychoanalyzing reasons, or dissecting my love/hate relationship with black men. This post is just to tell my brothers like Roland Martin to be real men and stop trying to put a spin on their shit. For whatever reasons, they have a problem with homosexuality. Just say that. Own it. Revel in it. Don’t go quoting Scripture as a way to justify your fears and questions–ESPECIALLY when you use a chapter that some scholars believe is proof that Jesus was accepting of homosexuality.Don’t use some lame excuse regarding your feelings about Soccer, when you’re really just jealous of David Beckham. Just pull your fat ass off of the couch, and away from the game a couple of days a week and do some crunches. Lay off the friggin’ potato chips once in a while and you too could have women (and even some fierce black men, if you’re lucky) oogling YOUR pics and drooling over your beauty.
In a day and age in which we have a President who identifies as Black, and country headed towards equality for its gay citizens–surely my Strong Black Brothers can step up the dialogue about homosexuality in the African American culture. Don’t make me have to tell many of your mamas about the times we spent in the basement as teenagers sucking face.