I was blessed with 3 mothers – my mother and my two sisters. My oldest sister use to carry me around with her like I was her baby. Unfortunately, my fond memories are few due to the fact that my mother worked, and my sisters are much older and weren't around a lot when I was growing up. I only saw my mother's mother once a year if that.
But the thing I love the most and admire the most is the strength of black women. I've watched my mother, sisters, and many other women for that matter, deal with a lot of heartache and general bullshit in their lives.
And there is no denying that it takes a strong woman to live as a slave. To take care of someone else's brats, care for your own, only to have them taken away and sold, to be raped AND have to carry and care for the child conceived from it. What kind of strength the modern women of Africa must have? To live in the midst of war and watch your children slowly starve or die from some simple and easily curable disease. To be raped and abused by soldiers.
Then there is their beauty. They come in all shapes, sizes and hues - from the blue black to high yellow. There hips, thighs, lips and eyes. Those silky voices...especially when they say the words I love you.
So it's easy to understand why I married such a strong willed, dark skinned woman. The inscription she put in my wedding band reads "To my Pill sweetner".
She's a pill but I love her...