Naleighna Kai's Literary Cafe Magazine May - Mother's Day Issue | Page 11

My parents raised us under the steady
and proud gaze of the great kings and
queens of Africa. That familiar poster
series adorned the walls of our family
room with a haughty expression.
My young eyes were captivated by these
images for a couple of reasons. One,
I was unsure of how their prominent
place in our home was approved by my
stricter than average parents. Let me
explain. I was raised in a household that
was dry like burnt toast. No smoking. No
drinking. Not ever.
The worst whooping I remember one
brother receiving was when he tried
to smuggle a 40 ounce into the house.
Hopefully, his decision-making skills
have improved since then. However, the
memory seared into my mind and all I
did was hide, hoping to avoid whooping
transference.
Yes, that’s a thing. It’s when your
parents are so pissed that even a minor
infraction by a different sibling can result
in the same punishment for the others. I
never experienced it, but as a child I felt
the possibility. And sometimes, you must
listen to your instincts to survive.
So these posters that were sponsored
by Budweiser with their logo clearly
imprinted in the bottom right corner
confused me. Normally, that red logo
flashed like a cease and desist beacon.
Like, the way my mom used to say the
R rating on a movie stood for “Remove
Yourself.” They weren’t supposed to exist
in my house. So, their placement on the
wall gave testimony to their relevance
in the narrative of my life.
The second reason was that African
Americans weren’t portrayed as royalty
on television. Even though our mother
let us watch the Ten Commandments,
she side-eyed Elizabeth Taylor the
whole time as she tried to pass as
Cleopatra. Clearly, Elizabeth Taylor
did not look like the kings and queens
on my wall.
Our history didn’t start at slavery. It
didn’t matter whether or not the roots
of our family tree could be directly
traced back to one individual adorning
the wall the way the others trace their
families back to the Mayflower. My
mother descended from greatness
and held herself to a certain level. My
father worked two jobs to support
the family. However, everyone in our
neighborhood knew someone selling
food stamps to help ends meet. When
someone tried to hip my mom to
that hustle, she turned up her nose at
it. Once a neighbor shared how my