MaMa Kelly Speaks About Meghan Markle
Will Racism Ever Go Away?
There are many people talking and writing and podcasting and YouTubing about racism, so I mostly mind my business. But, when Oprah unleashed Harry and Meghan, unfiltered, on the world, and then, according to Gail, went back to sit on the porch to read a book, I had to write something.
I was sad watching Meghan, with her perfect and pretty self, gripping Prince Harry’s hand. I’m not attracted to white men — Mr. Kelly is dark sweet chocolate — but that Harry has a brother’s swagger. And in that grey suit, let’s just say, I’m glad he’s in America! I understand why Meghan fell in love.
The nerve of the Firm and the Royals discussing what shade of color Prince Archie would be. Shame on them. And would someone please tell me who’s in the Firm. Are they Scientologists?
Prince Archie — that’s what I’m going to call him — could have been anything from a deeply roasted chocolate to pudding vanilla. When God mixes the colors, he surprises you. You don’t know what you’re getting until the baby comes out. So, I understand their apprehension. But, turns out, Little Archie is white as can be, at least right now he is, although he could change.
But, who and the heck cares about the shade of the Chile’s skin color? That’s just sick if you ask me.
The world’s obsession with the color of a person’s skin is just insane.
I’m glad the Duchess of Sussex packed her bags and hit the road jack and is not going back, just like Ray Charles sang. I don’t blame Harry and Meghan for leaving England to come to America. Montecito is one of the most beautiful places on the planet because the sun shines 364 days a year where Queen Oprah sits on the porch. It’s a piece of heaven.
And although I’m like Oprah, sitting on my own porch, minding my business, I’ve lived. I’ve lived in Los Angeles, England, and a few other places. I started writing in England, and I wrote for 180 days, and it rained for 168 of those days. I lived in a house that was a replica of Shakespeare’s house, and it had dark beams and a fireplace that was big enough to fit Sweet Daddy’s barbecue pit, comfortably. And I had hi-tea every afternoon, and it was fun while it lasted.
Anyway, while I was there, no one messed with me. But then I wasn’t knocking on doors asking for a job or working for any white people. White people get tired of Black people when we’re always around. That’s why I stay right here on my porch. I did the same thing in England. I minded my business.
The British were nice but a bit rigid in their ways, and it must’ve been hard for Meghan and Harry to represent the new world order while living in the old, cold Windsor Castle.
I know they didn’t live there, but that’s where they got married, and that’s where I was, taking my boys to the Windsor public pool and roaming the grounds of the Windsor. This was after I graduated from UCLA but before I went to grad school.
I was a free Black woman, and everyone treated me nice. And, no, Mr. Kelly wasn’t there.
But this is the thing. Racism is a fact of life. So, Black people, live your life and pray you don’t get shot.
Some white people — not all, thank God — just have a problem with our skin being brown, our hair being nappy, and everything else about us. Once I was working for this wealthy executive, and he said, “Your voice.” It was the way he looked when he said it that stuck with me. He then said, “Please, be quieter? And I almost answered, “Hell no,” when my head swung around. But, I caught myself, knowing it was only a matter of time before I left that place.
After a life-time of racism, I’m beginning to think it may be a mental illness that makes them hate brown-skinned people so. They asked me to be quieter, and they asked Meghan to be fifty percent less.
I’ve encountered racism in my own family. My brother went on a cruise and started having too much fun with a White girl from Calabasas. My brother, a medical doctor for this story’s purposes, had so much fun with Ms. Calabasas, a manicurist, that they got married on the ship. Come to find out, Ms. Calabasas was from a long line of manicurists. Her Mama was a manicurist, and her Mama’s Mama was a manicurist too.
Anyway, I got a whiff that MaMa manicurist wasn’t happy about the fun her daughter manicurist had with my brother, the doctor, and I wanted to hear her concerns for myself so I gave her a call.
And sure enough, as I am Black, she said to me, “Well, I’m upset because your brother is Black.” I dropped the phone and had to walk around my dining room table. Then I picked the phone back up and said, “And I’m upset that your daughter is a manicurist, as I slammed the phone down!
My Mama, for the purposes of this story, was a General in the army. I’m not one to brag, especially since I’ve been sitting on the porch minding my business like Oprah after she unleashed Meghan and Harry. But I ask you, isn’t a General more critical than a manicurist?
So, my Mama and I went to the Judge and said, “Your Honor, they had too much fun on the ship, and would you, please, dissolve this marriage,” and the Judge screamed, “what?” like a reality show Judge. But then she picked up her gavel, hit her desk, and dissolved that marriage, which was the end of that story.
Skin color is a silly thing to hate a person over.
I’ve had so many White friends, I can’t count them on one hand. Two or three were my best friends. And let me add that any white person who hasn’t been friends with a person of color or a Black person is just sad and missing out on all the fun this world has to give. We Black folks know how to have a good time.
I distinguish between a person of color and a Black person because that’s a separate rung of society, so says Isabel Wilkerson in her book Caste. If you haven’t gotten it, get it.
It’s time for me to close because I’m over my 800-word limit for these, but I sure do wish Meghan, Harry, and Archie all the happiness in the world, and I want Meghan to listen to the Lullaby for Black girls by Tasha. That song makes me cry.
Meghan must always look in the mirror and say, “I am beautiful. I am perfect.” Every women of color and every Black woman must repeat it ten times before they leave the house or five times before they get on Zoom.
My advice to the Brits is that they get off their high-tea having, white horse riding butts, and come into the Corona-19 Virus, 21st Century, like the rest of us. And put on their masks before they join us.
Asking about that baby’s skin color is just shameful.
Finally, I hope someone finds Piers Morgan and tells him to sit down and button his lips. He’s done enough talking for a life-time!
That’s it for today.
So, from my porch to yours, sending you a big ole hug and a lap full of love until next time.