Khunum Productions

A journal entry from a few years ago


An interesting situation just took place on my ride home on the A-train. The key players in the drama were: The black mother as the abused abuser, her child(ren) as the symbol of perpetuated illness, The Marylyn mansion looking white man as the freedom fighter, and I? Well, …I played the coward.

roll it.
Woman on the train has been engrossed in her headphones as her children entertain themselves. Girl child, maybe age 3, boy child around the age of 5. Sesame street is coming to New York and all of the colorful characters are the front page of the newspaper that the 3 year old holds. As the three year old contently names each character, the 5 year old wants to see as well. The youngest child begins an interesting wail of “Stoooooooooop” each time the young man attempted to look. I immediately thought it was an peculiar cry, as it was less to communicate with him and more to sound off an alert.

Meanwhile, a couple gets on. The are both dressed in shades of black and gray, combat boots, scraps of fabric ripped and hanging from their bodies. Piercings and Safety pins everywhere. Thick black eyeliner looks as tho it was from yesterday and has smudged during sleep. Hair is died jet black with some streaks of green fading away. She has what appears to be an over sized staple in her face. Hair is matted in places from being un combed; it too is black. These type of characters used to make me turn my up my nose and wrinkle my face in quiet judgment of their pitifully lost souls. Today however, the sight of them brought a smile to my face. I simply thought “do your thang!” What really made me pay particular attention to the couple was that they were clearly so in love with one another. He affectionately kissed her forehead as she snuggle in a little closer to him just to be closer…. I smiled thinking, although they may in their verbalized beliefs of “God” or anything Divine deny it. ( Which too is judgment because I don’t know what they believe in our deny, because I don’t known them, but nonetheless) God/Creator/Heavens and so forth is LOVE. In their bonding they get it. Together they embody the very thing they (may) deny.

Back on my side of the train, right next to me, the mom continues to zone out with her music and her child continues alert everyone of her cause. After a while the mom shouts “You see she don’t want you to look at it so stop!!” The 5yr old tries to express that he just wants to see it too, and begins to cry. The mom now shouts “Are you a little girl!? Well then stop crying!" Ouch! my spirit is so disturbed. ' …she doesn’t even realize the sickness of her words' I quietly think to myself.

I tried not to make direct eye contact. For a moment it looked as though the situation has been resolved as the little boy tried to split the paper with his sister. That didn’t work, and the mom was back in it again. I tried quickly to think of some loving way to resolve the situation for the two young ones, but the idea didn’t come before the mom's--- SMACK.

I look away.



More tears come. The mom screams “Stop before I give you something to cry about.” As I’m looking away, the “satanic looking” man, is gawking with eyes wide open. Then he says to the mom " You can’t be serious.” The mom ignores him as he repeats it louder. I brace myself, thinking, “oh shit, here we go.”
The mom continues shouting at her crying son. "You want me to take my belt off?" The man is outraged and says “For what!? Are you serious… For that!!" And with a ludicrous grin on his face say “ Geese, Those are some pretty sorry parenting skills you got there lady.”

I’m still waiting for the cuss out. She continues to threaten to grab her belt. And the man, now talking directly to the child, shakes his head in bold defiance of the mom, and says “no, she won’t. no she won’t man. Don’t worry you’ll grow up soon. You’ll be outta this soon kid.”

As the train approaches the next stop the mom tells the children to come on. I looked up at her and was surprised to see the smile on her face or to hear the laugh in her voice as she says “yes, I will…” She then turns to me(Black woman clearly proud of her blackness. her assumed ally), and with enthusiasm, says “ Cause Sis, that’s how WE do it, ain’t it?”

I…looked back at her before she exited the train and said. “ No, that not how I do it or how I ever will. Because whooping our children is a sick act the we’ve inherited and carried on. You only beat them because you were beaten. And being hit has never felt good. And in addition to it teaching our children violence since that’s what we’re inflicting upon them, it only teaches them betrayal from the person they should be able to trust the most on this planet. Now, don’t get me wrong, Sis. I don’t equate lack of violence to lack of discipline. But,there are others ways Sis for us to discipline and teach our children besides violating their spirits. Please stop laying your hands on these babies unless it’s a touch of love. I know it’s how we were raised, but it is abuse---the deepest form possible. It distorts the soul.”

But the reality is, that's just what I wished I would have said. In reality, when she asked me the question, I … just… looked…. away. She then turned to the "Sister" on the other side of her and said “Ain't that right, Sis?” And with a great vigor, a praise-full-church-nodding-head, and almost a clap of the hands that sister spoke and said....“That's riiight!”