What a time to be alive. We got a commander in chief who wants to know if a Lysol cocktail with a Clorox sidecar will kill COVID… no, but that warning, skull and crossbones on the can should assure you it’s not for social or medical consumption. We have been sheltering in place for five weeks. We have virtual happy hours, dance parties, yoga classes, and meditation. Folks are wiping their asses with McDonald’s napkins, and the NFL draft took place on the phone.
I’m not sure if it’s Armageddon or the Apocalypse… or are they the same? But I do know for sure that the world will come to a complete end before anyone’s Black mama lets you plant yourself smack dab in the middle of his moment… but especially if you plotting on his last name and you look nothing like her… “The name is mine. The name got my daddy’s blood on it.”
So yesterday, all the sports fanatics who have been coronaed out of the NBA season were tuned in to the NFL draft. At the 29th pick, the Tennessee Titans picked Isaiah Wilson. He had to wait until he received the call via phone. After the call came through, you can see Wilson flanked by a young lady, covering his face and head as she hugs him on national television. And that’s when things get interesting.
So, a little background. Wilson is from Brooklyn, he was a five star recruit to Georgia. He entered the draft after two years. He wrestled in high school and gave himself the nickname Panda, because his personality looms as large as his 6’7″ 350 pound frame. Dude is massive and according to his coaches he is a great teammate and pays close attention to detail. While he wasn’t slated to go in the first round by football experts, he knew. So in his special night he was surrounded by family in his Brooklyn apartment, and his girlfriend… who happens to be very blond and very White. “Why she here Ike?”
This year these young men couldn’t get dressed up and go to the live draft, so instead after Roger Goodell announced the teams pick via broadcast, the players would be called by team management to be made aware they had been drafted. When that call came for Wilson, he donned his white Titans hat and his similarly hued girlfriend quickly embraced him on camera. “[S]he’s always booking ahead…”
And his mother … wait for it…
Mama YOKED THE FUCK outta her. Rightfully so! Prior to being supremely hemmed up by his no nonsense mom, Isaiah’s girlfriend was being the quintessential Emily: making it about her. She was scene stealing by jumping her ass in this über talented Black man’s stage during his standing ovation of sorts. Listen and learn young Abigail. Black men don’t get enough shine. So when yours has to forego the traditional pomp and circumstance (celebration) of the live draft and receive word by phone in his living room, the least you can do is sit down squarely on your haunches and allow him his moment… without you jumping in the frame. He is going to literally use his body to stop other men. Giving his body in exchange for whatever million dollar contract, the dollar signs of which lit up in your eyes, he signs. He worked hard. He put in the hours. His family made the sacrifices. You clearly think you are entitled to the spoils, and perhaps you are and will receive them… but get outta his frame yo!
But that’s not where it ends… you knew that. “Something’s on my mind, won’t somebody please tell me what’s wrong…”
Remember Russell Wilson… his high school girlfriend and first wife Ashley Meems literally had to unhinge her jaw bone to open her mouth that wide… but she was EX-CIT-ED. “Make me over, make me nice!” And he did. It’s rumored she was fooling around with a member of his team. They divorced a few years before he became the highest paid player in the NFL and married hip rolling R&B singer Ciara. Once you go hip roll…
Isaiah’s mom was yoking her up for now and later, old and new. She was shielding young and wild Mike Tyson from “gold digger” Robin Givens. She was rejecting the Kardashian spell that somehow weakens Black male athletes and musicians into piles of mush. She was pulling Ashley Meems and her dislocated jaw away from sweet Russ. She was letting Young Jenna know that she was not going to be allowed to steal her son or his shine. Yep, steal her son. I said it.
Like Meems’ molar show, Heather was suffocating Isaiah Wilson with thoughts of Aston Marton’s, Birkin’s, and Calabassas running through her platinum covered cerebrum. She could smell the new leather and green grass. And she was inserting herself in his picket fence dreams by inserting herself into his frame. And mama saw it, and wasn’t going for it! Perhaps he’ll outgrow his taste of the forbidden fruit and pick a round juicy peach. Perhaps they’ll marry and have curly haired light brown babies. Or perhaps he will enter the NFL and enjoy himself… safely and smartly… but fully enjoy the benefits of his hard work. HIS hard work. HIS. “You tryna help Ike?”
Yep, I too am that mama. My kid is gonna be something like the next Steve Jobs. Dude spends hours watching how video games are made, have changed, and of course playing. He’ll likely be somewhere near 6’7″ but he wants no parts of football. But whatever his hustle, whether Tierra or Aaliyah, his girlfriend will already know better than to steal one ray of his shine. If by chance he picks Becky or Abigail, she won’t be allowed to stake her claim to his jackpot until she’s his wife. If that’s what he chooses, sobeit, but Mama’s teach your babies to grow up to be a Black man’s woman… or we’ll learn ’em for you.
So in closing… don’t drink Lysol, stock up on toilet paper, keep your blond bordered mug outta the newly drafted Black man’s frame, … and “eat the cake Anna Mae.”