Sir. Inside voice.
I love my people.
The above statement is something you’ll often hear me saying. And because I have problems, it is usually preceded by my brothas/sistas doing something foolish.
Regardless, in honor of Black History Month*, I figured I’d express said love of the way we sometimes do things. The kinds of things that make us go “Wow, only us…”
One thing I absolutely adore about my peoples is our ability to dramatize just about any and every thing. And this adoration for drama isn’t just because I effs with melanin or because I’m a Leo**, it’s because it’s entertaining. And anything entertaining is lovable by default. I think that’s an addendum to Murphy’s Law or something. o_O
Anyhoot. Here are a few ways in which we STAY overly dramatizing (what you’d think was) mundane ish:
– The Laugh. This goes for the sistas, especially. On a recent commute back home, I heard a particular laugh that was so theatrical, it stayed with me. I got off the train, and saw a couple of ladies chattin’. One of em’ laughs in the most over-the-top way, that I couldn’t help but to laugh myself. In fact, they kinda inspired this post. So… thanks, ladies! I mean, that laugh was like, “Ha-HA-Ha-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-HAHAHAHAHA.” That ish was like a choreographed 8-count routine. Laughs, in general, are quite infections, but of course my people have to take it to a whole ‘nother level. The way we can turn something as simple and natural as a laugh into an entire production is pretty fabulous. You mad?
– The Cry. Naturally, I had to follow “the laugh” with its opposite. And yet, they have one thing in common when it comes to us. DRAMA. Case in point. Another case in another point. Ok, you get it. The point, I mean. The case, too. Ya’ll thought we only ham it up when we’re full of glee? Children, lemme learn you something. There are no limits to our foolery. The stereotypical mother-figure falling all over the casket at a funeral? I know this in my life. And I’m eyerolling just thinking/typing about it right now. Bottom line, you know a cry is way too dramatic when it actually makes you wanna laugh. Even when you feel like an asshole for doing it. But, hey, they started it.
– The Playing Of Games. I don’t care how many oxygen bars you frequent, you have not lived until you witness and/or participate in a “game night” hosted by and filled with my people. Spades and Dominoes, especially. There is no such thing as throwing out a Big Joker. No, Einstein, you SLAP down a Big Joker. In fact, you better make sure you’re standing while doing so to add more “in yo face”-ness. And sure, slapping down a double-six dominoe will make more noise, but does that matter? Course not! We’re a loud people, right? Even our library- whispers damage eardrums faster than an iPod with Skullcandy earphones. Please proceed to recognize. And don’t even get me started on the 49379395759 different rules to Hood Monopoly…
– The Praising Of Him. Brother Franklin***, anyone? Reminisce with me for a second. You’re a little kid, sitting in the pew, about to go to sleep. The preacher is droning in a language you’ll never understand and you’re stealing glances at your parents, praying (The entire universe saw what I did there) they won’t catch you drifting off. Oh, wait! That’s not happening! Because our people even tend to dramatize worship. Turning something as intimate as worshiping a higher being into a damn near party is… hilarious, to say the least. The sights I’ve seen at various churches as a child cannot be topped. Oh wait, yes, it can.
I love us.
Pinchers, got anything to add? I know there’s more. Yes, yes, I’m aware we’re not all like the above listed. Not a monolith and all that jazz… but, how bout we bond over something for foolery purposes? God is love, Rev Run.
Love ya like kids love to not share cereal with a rabbit that actually appears on the damn cereal box,
Cheekie
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Hahahaha Cheekerz I’m over here HOWLING at this. You are SO funny and SO right! Black people are some dramatic somethings.
And I love it! Don’t you? Yes.
Just like I was telling you how I was laughing at the lady on First 48 when she found out her son got killed. ow obviously I recognized the tragedy and all, but her cry was so dramatic it almost felt like a joke, so of course I had to laugh. Even though I genuinely felt bad that she lost her 10 page rap sheet drug dealing son, really, I was. (-_-). Yes, I know how fugged up that sounds. #shruglife
You’re a very bad person, Alise. I mean “bad” in that jive turkey slang way, though.
Great entry as always. And an absolute cosign on that last point. Black church folk can be a riot (literally) sometimes. That “Money Cometh” video was a bit disturbing though.