RIP Whitney Houston

I'm kinda sad. 

In 1986, the year I decided to give up modeling and work to become a music teacher, I would get caught singing Whitney Houston songs up in my bedroom. 

My auntie would complain that I didn't take myself seriously enough.  She said I'd be great if I'd work harder at it. 

I was also advised to stop trying to be a one man band but if you're going to teach music, you've got to know how to play everything. 
I didn't care.  I was focused on getting out of high school and getting into college. 

This auntie was racist as heck.  She would argue with me day and night. 

This old lady claimed that Whitney Houston was white because no black person could sing like that. 

No she's not.  She's black.

And, obviously, my auntie had never been to Grandma's Pentecostal church. 

She was related by marriage.  My family is descended from Ulysses S. Grant.  We don't tolerate racism.  He won a war while inebriated and worked to free those in bondage.  We all struggle with the wicked drink.  There is nothing like sucking down whiskey while threatening idiotic politicians that makes my DNA happy.  Grant also hired the first police officers who were people of color and insisted that they ticket him for carriage racing (which is funny because my cousin owns a well known race track). 

Our heritage won't allow racism. 

Well...it took ten years but she finally looked at the album cover and darn it, Whitney Houston was a person of color.  She was beautiful.  She could sing. 

My auntie stopped picking on me. 

Thank goodness.  This realization came in the nick of time. 

My auntie's grand baby was pregnant.  The father was in jail. 

Do you want to guess his ethnic background? 

Yep...

And, do you know what, that little boy with the brown eyes, curly hair and golden skin is my auntie's their pride and joy.

He could drive at two years old.  I'm not joking.  It scared the heck out of me. 

He could do advanced math by ten. 

He's tall.  He's gorgeous.  He's in college and he has changed a the racist tendencies of his great-grandmother. 

His father gave him a gift (other than being a sperm donor, that is).  He had one request for his son. 

He wanted him named after an angel. 

His name is Gabriel. 

He could get a message through to my aunt quicker than I could. 

I love that kid. 

For every woman who achieves greatness, ten women aspire to surpass her.  For ever person who has been tread upon for being what God made them to be, the sight of another escaping the prison of social stigma is a gift. 

Whitney Houston inspired legions of girls to embrace their natural beauty. 

May she be remembered for that.   

Love,

S.

(I bought a copy of her silver dress in the 80's.  I wonder if I still have it.  I love this video and always wanted walls like this in my house until a man accused me of trying to build a glory wall.  Could you imagine the cleaning I'd have to do?  Oooohh....)