This week I got a text from my girlfriend, Mo Betta Butta telling me how she misses me & hearing about the way I do what I do. There IS a huge difference from reading about the goings on I choose to share here & the way we get down with nearly 21 years of friendship under our belt. She’s my heart; 1 of a few women who were there for the Wonder Years & worthy of still maintaining real estate in my life. She’s seen me through my Goddess braids, my Poetic Justice braids, braces, red Guess jeans, a purple coat with a fur hood & cheetah lining. She’s been there for Peanut, Parrish, the Mikey saga, head over heels in love with college, & my entry into grown up EVERYTHING. We had our Womanhood Rite of Passage together. I stood on 2 different lawns in 2 different cities witnessing her union to the husband she’s still with. Two of her 4 children are light skinned and credited to me—with no clear idea where they came from. Before those babies was hot pants, roller skates, & cigar bars. & a slew of passed notes & letters on stationery.
She knew me back when I would wear these.
Well, not these exactly. The VANS I rocked were black, velvet to be exact. I went to school with a lot of white children. The few black students at school were busy trying to dress like TLC & Aliyah. Somehow, while not having the control or the cash flow to fully express it, I knew that doing what the pack was doing would get me lumped in with them. I was already short, underdeveloped, had braces, natural hair & was vegetarian. I needed something that was just mine—something that I chose for me instead of having it forced on me by DNA codes or parental rule. Da Mudda used to let me pick out my own shoes, if nothing else, as long as they made some kind of sense. Wow…that line was snatched almost word for word from my father’s mouth. Anywho…I opted for the black velvet VANS because I knew no one else would. Now, in the spirit of nostalgia & paying homage to the days when things were simpler, I’d rock the above shoe without pause.
VANS have come a long way & my life has changed so much. This is NOT the life I so thoroughly wrote out in my journal at the wise old age of 13. It sounds cliché, but aside from being boy crazy, I wasn’t your average 13 year old. I was serious about having a plan in order so some of the guesswork was out of the way. #controlfreak I’m not upset that my script wasn’t followed to the letter
The criteria have changed for finding friends & partners & frankly…I miss the good ol’ days. I’ve song Ahmad’s song in here enough, I won’t do it to you now, but DO KNOW the sentiment remains. I can’t do anything but reminisce
I miss us too, Girl.
Watch me move.