By Sheletta Brundidge
Guest Commentator
My momma called me the other day with tears in her voice. Her words broke up as she tried to explain the reason for her sorrow. And if my momma is crying, that means somebody is dead and she is in jail for killing them.
The woman is strong, and crying ain’t in her nature. She was brought up in the projects, raised her six siblings while my grandma worked two jobs, and was a single mom most of her life. She’s tough as nails, but something had cracked her stoic exterior.
“Is everything alright?” I asked before she could get a word out.
“No,” she said, her voice unsteady, “it’s not. She’s gone.”
“Lord,” I asked aloud, “who died? Big Momma? Grandma Freddie? Uncle Kathy?”
“Nobody is dead, baby,” she assured me. “But Brandy is gone from Dancing with the Stars.”
I snapped at her in frustration: “You called me crying ’cause Moesha done got kicked off of a TV show?”
“Listen, Sheletta,” my momma pleaded with me, “it’s not that she got kicked off. It’s the way they did it to her. The other night she was the best one—”
“Momma,” I interrupted, “you know I don’t watch those reality shows. I hardly watch any TV, and I ain’t seen five seconds of an episode of no Dancing with the Stars.” Yeah, that’s right, I said it: “I don’t care.”
“But you should care,” my momma insisted, “’cause Brandy was perfect. She got a perfect score.”
“So how could she get kicked off a show where they judge your talent if she was that fantastic?”
“Because them damned White folks voted for Bristol Palin,” my mother explained defiantly, “and that heffa can’t even dance! That Palin girl got more votes than Brandy did, and she wasn’t half as good.
Poor Brandy, she stood there and tried to hold it in, but you could see she was upset.”
“So let me get this straight,” I asked, trying to sort this whole scenario out.
“Even though the judges gave Brandy a perfect score, she got voted off by regular viewers of the show?”
“Yeah. I was hoping she’d win,” my momma continued with her pity party, “but they voted her off.”
“You were hoping,” I challenged her, “but did you vote?”
“No, I didn’t,” she confessed, “but I should have.”
“You mean to tell me,” I scolded her, “you watch this show religiously, never missing an episode, but you didn’t once think to pick up the phone or go online to cast your ballot to get Brandy to the finals?”
“Child, no,” my momma said reluctantly, “and I feel bad, too, ’cause—”
“See, that’s what’s wrong with you Black folks,” I cut her off. “Y’all hope something happens, but you don’t take a stand on what you believe in.
Y’all hoped Brandy would win Dancing with the Stars, but nobody picked up the phone to vote. Now y’all all complaining.
“White folks don’t hope,” I preached, “they vote! They take action. They call their friends and remind them to vote. They set up voting parties to make sure Bristol Palin makes it to the finals. That’s why we are always a day late and a dollar short. Too late to cry foul on the back end if we weren’t active on the front end.”
“You got that right!” she agreed.
“And that’s why Bristol Palin’s behind is going to win ‘Dancing with the Stars,’” I told her. “White folks don’t have time for hope, ’cause they voting, they taking action, they are casting their ballots, while we sit there with a prayer cloth, rosary beads, and our fingers crossed hoping something happens.”
“But Brandy still should’ve won, Sheletta,” my mother tried to explain to me.
“She was better than that Palin girl.”
“Obviously, Momma, you forgot the lesson you taught me as a young girl,” I reminded her, “that as a Black woman I have to be twice as good as a White woman just to be equal to her in the eyes of my teachers, my employer and society. And then still, they’ll advance before I do.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” my mother recalled. “Well, I guess my words are coming true.”
“Momma, you know as well as I do,” I said matter-of-factly, “that this ain’t nothing but a modern-day lesson for our young girls. Even when you do your best and you are perfect in every area, a White girl with less talent and half the education can come in and take a position you have rightfully earned.”
“You said a mouthful,” my mother finally agreed, “’cause Brandy is a very talented girl. She’s got TV shows under her belt, a Grammy Award-winning singing career, her own business, and all kinds of other stuff.”
“And Bristol Palin got a busted-up baby’s daddy who won’t pay child support,” I chimed in, “is still living at home with her momma, barely got a GED, and let you tell it she can’t even dance.”
“Well, I guess I called to tell you to keep working hard,” my mother said, changing her tune. “Best work twice as hard as any White girl out there, ’cause good enough just won’t do.”
“Even perfect comes up short sometimes,” I reminded her, “but we keep striving for excellence and equality.”
“I hope I live to see it happen!” my mother said.
“Stop hoping,” I challenged her, “and start voting!”
Sheletta Brundidge was a regular contributor to the MSR until she relocated to Cincinnati, Ohio. Twin Cities residents can still get a daily dose of Sheletta’s observational humor by visiting her website at http://sheletta.com.