Drake has a white baby mama, and it matters

IMG_1660

Drake was just the man about a week ago. He was the Canadian that could do no wrong—especially when it came to black women. He seemed to be the only major figure in rap that would consistently praise black women in his music. Remember his line from the 2011 hit Make me Proud: “Like you went to Yale but you probably went to Howard Knowin’ you.” The song is about women who accomplish major goals but don’t get the recognition that they deserve from men. What this line does is it makes the song solely about black women considering the fact that Howard is an historically black college. Drake has kept this same energy (publicly at least) through his last video for “Nice for What” where he has cameos from almost every single black woman making power moves in Hollywood right now and Olivia Wilde, which is kind of weird but you get the point.

He’s also been linked to romantic relationships with Serena Williams, Rihanna, and dancer Miliah Michel. All of this seems to confirm his devotion to black women. That is until Pusha T exposed him for having a child with soft porn actress Sophie Brussaux who I’m sure is a very nice girl but, to be frank, she’s white. And you know what? It matters. Now I personally am not opposed to interracial love. It’s all good. I mean that’s how light skinned black folks were created and I have plenty of light skinned friends. More importantly if it were not for fair skinned groups like DeBarge and light skinned athletes like Steph Curry and Clay Thompson my childhood would have no soundtrack and the Warriors would have never won a championship—but I digress. The point is that for Drake his impregnation of a white lady matters because he has made an entire career out of uplifting black women in a genre of music that has amassed a fortune by degrading them over dope beats. It matters because Drake is wealthy enough to choose any woman that he wants but he always seems to choose the sistas, and sistas rocked with Drake, and downloaded his music, and filled his concerts and went through great lengths to see him in person (see season 2 Ep7 of Atlanta). Now it seems as though it could have all been a front.

Another reason that Drake’s vanilla love matters is because it matters to black women. I don’t care how educated and free thinking a black woman is if she sees a handsome, successful black man with a blonde haired white woman then it will bother her to her very core. Facts! I have an aunt who had children with a no-good man. He abused drugs, she forgave him. He went to prison; she wrote him every day. He had an outside child, she reasoned that her father had done the same thing to her mother so they worked through it. He beat her, they separated but got back together. She caught him creeping around with a white woman, RELATIONSHIP OVER! Within hours all of his clothes were on the porch. That’s just the way I was raised. If you get caught fooling around with a white woman, the consequences can be severe. In many cases this can be an unforgivable crime in the world of black women.

 

So, where does this leave Mr. Champagne Papi? Only time will tell if his music is powerful enough to give him a pardon but let’s not act like his core fan base isn’t devastated right now because something like this matters and it matters a lot. It just does.

 

Fucked Up GIF - Find & Share on GIPHY

 

-YB

Advertisements

Holding it all In

Forgive me. I’ve been going through one of those phases in which I do everything in the world except write. I mean I’ve been bringing work from my job home like everyday, I’ve been going out way too often, I’ve been doing my laundry regularly, I’ve been working out six times a week, and I’ve been spending way too much time on social media (honestly I’ve checked my Facebook about 12 times while writing this).

I haven’t been journaling, my manuscript is somewhere deep inside my thumb drive collecting massive amounts of digital dust, and of course I haven’t been blogging. I did host a reading series on May 18th entitled “Soulful III: Revolutionary Dreams” which was massively successful, but other than that I’ve been void of all artistic expression. I’ve had several super-dynamic, poetic thoughts that have popped into my head but I haven’t had the composure to actually sit down and write them out of my consciousness.

A man was killed by the Oakland Police this past Wednesday, the date was 5/29/13 and I had strong feelings about how the story was unraveling. Apparently the man had a gun and he, as well as the other occupants of his vehicle, was being pursued by police. At some point they all jumped out of the car and flea on foot. One of the men got into a confrontation with police and wound up dead…end of story. I wanted to write about how bizarre it all appeared to be. I mean, either you’re going to run or you’re going to shoot. It always seems like the Oakland Police Department is guilty of murdering those who are running. It’s just kind of strange to me. I was going to write about it but I decided to post the article on Facebook instead.

Then I saw a groundbreaking Cheerios commercial, which featured an interracial couple and their biracial child. The commercial is centered on how the little girl tries to rid her father of future heart disease by dumping a box of cereal on his chest—it’s amazing. Not only because the content is amusing but also because it features a freaking interracial couple. Wow! That is something that rarely ever happens within the confines of the multi-billion dollar behemoth that is American advertisement. But of course people just saw it and hated on it. I suppose these are the same people that believe their evil side-eyes in restaurants, and movie theaters are going to stop interracial couples from loving one another and procreating—yeah right. People can be so self-absorbed and disconnected from the general urge of humanity to elude all of societies expectations that they waste their energy hating what they can never change. This was another topic I was going to write about, however, by the time I got back from work the blogosphere was going nuts over the commercial. I felt like I didn’t really deserve to put my two cents in because I’m not biracial nor am I in an interracial relationship. So I just read about it, commented on it, and kept my mouth shut.

Then there is the whole thing about me being 31 years old and therefore losing every trace of my metabolism. As much as I work out I still feel like a fat ass because no weight is coming off. I’ve gained about fifteen pounds since my amateur boxing days. Maybe the people who I run into on the streets can’t tell but I sure can. It’s wild because the older I get, the more I need to work out but I can’t because I don’t have the time due to work. Work sucks! At any rate I was going to write about it but I was busy sweating it out at the boxing gym trying to lose 10 pounds for the summer. I have also sacrificed my beloved brownie bites until further notice because each time I eat one it goes straight to my hips.

So yeah there you have it, a fist full of excuses as to why I haven’t been writing lately. I guess the next logical thing to do would be to make a commitment to incorporate writing back into my daily life and I promise that I would do that but I can’t write now because my clothes are done drying. I have to get up and fold them immediately. See ya next time.

Peace,

YB