by Bee Quammie

Dear J,

On June 21, 2014, life as we knew it shifted, ballooned, and took on new shape. Our daughter burst into the world accompanied by the summer solstice sunrise, bringing with her the gift of new identities for the two of us. Taking on the roles of mother and father, we were immediately thrust into on-the-job training with this beautiful brown baby as our only guide.

by Saaraa Bailey

While many see Father’s Day as just another token commercialized holiday, perhaps it’s true fault is that it lasts for only one day. So, in honor of this Father’s Day, I opt to celebrate the everyday influence of the men that made me.

by Kadon Douglas

by Akilah S. Richards


All parents need to be visionaries when it comes to our children’s futures. Parenting carries no illusion of certainty, so we all get the same mini “playbook” with instructions to pay attention, prioritize love, set a good example, be compassionate, and hope this shit works out.

by Anonymous


I am getting married soon. My fiancé and I decided to write personalized vows instead of using the traditional ones. As I began writing my vows, I reflected on my journey to love and marriage. Being a first-time bride at this stage in my life (early 40’s), my motivations and hopes for marriage are quite different than they were twenty years ago when my dream was to be married by 26 and to have 2 children by 30. Back then, I was wanted all the things that society had taught me are necessary for women to be happy and complete—for me to be an acceptable woman.

by Saaraa Bailey


There is perhaps no greater time to consider the intersectionality of blackness and womanhood, than the transition from Black History Month to Women’s History Month.

Black women are phenomenal. We are the most resilient beings on the planet. We combat the numerous “-isms” thrown our way on a daily basis, and in spite of it all, still manage to get things done. Our faith and strength cover us in ways that sometimes defy logic. Through spiritual connection and self-preservation, we are ever-changing chameleons who rise to the occasion, time after time.

by Hilary Christian


The holidays can be a time of joy and love, as many celebrate with friends and family, making preparations, and getting in on all the holiday cheer. But for others, this time of year can be extremely stressful. Some may struggle with depression or financial woes, while others may be away from loved ones and find themselves alone with no plans. And then there are those who aren’t necessarily religious, so they miss out on the “holiness” of the season. No matter what category you fall into, you don’t have to feel overwhelmed. Here are nine ways to cope during what can be a difficult holiday season.

I was raised by my great-grandmother—a self-proclaimed strong Black women who ain’t need no man. Winnie was independent. She may have enjoyed my great-grandfather’s attention, but she never coveted it. Her self-esteem was not based in what others, or society at-large, thought of her.

In 1838 when William Hendry of Greene County, Tennessee drew up his will, he included this passage: “It is my will and desire that Nancy McEfee have $300 in place of a Mulatto girl named Delfey [that] I once gave her as a legatee and McEfee gave her back and gave her mother a bill of sale for the girl that she might have [a] chance to free her for which above named $300 McEfee holds some obligation to me to be paid at my death.” [McEfee sometimes appears as McFee.]

I’ve always been envious of the girls who could tell their mothers personal things about themselves. I always imagined such mother-daughter relationships were just like on television: sharing our feelings while having a girls’ day at home, painting our nails and watching reruns of Law & Order together. However, this wasn’t the case for me and the absence of sharing and the lack of emotional connection made me reach out to other mother figures during my adolescence. Here are three things I wish my mother taught me during my adolescence:

“Are you an alien from outer space, mommy?” That was an honest question I asked my mother the first time I read the “Resident Alien” header on her green card as a child. She took that opportunity to explain to me what a green card was and why she had one. My mother is from the beautiful island of Roatán, Honduras and came to live in the U.S. when she was thirteen. She was old enough to come to the States, full of memories of life back “home,” but young enough to assimilate into life as a Black American.

by Crissinda M. Ponder

I don't know how long it took, reaching this epiphany. I just know that I'm grateful I've arrived.

Growing up with an absentee father was hard – is hard. The emotions that resulted from the void he left are even harder. I can't count the instances I got my hopes up for quality time only to be let down, the tears I've cried for blaming myself for his absence, and the years of anger that festered within me from not letting go of the hurt.

by Ellen Usher

I do the same thing every Father’s Day. I wake up. I thank God for my grandfather. I reflect and think about the many times my grandfather was there for me when my own father abandoned me physically, emotionally, and financially. I make no phone calls to wish my father a Happy Father’s Day. I turn on my music and I mourn for the ten year old Nicole. I think about what her life would have been like had he made better choices. I cry a little and think about the day she stopped being a Daddy’s Girl.

I am my parents’ youngest child and only daughter. In normal instances, my role is very coveted. I am spoiled rotten, get away with anything and get everything that I want. While this may have been true once upon a time, these characteristics no longer describe my life as an adult and as a former “golden child”. Growing up was the easiest part of playing the role of “baby girl” that I was born into. I only had to be myself and do what made me happy. But after a certain age, I realized that my brothers and I were separately accountable for our life choices.

My sister found me on Facebook and at first I was less than thrilled. Sure, we've all read about how Facebook has been a wonderful tool for finding long lost loves and reuniting adopted children with mothers... yeah, feel good stories. The kind of stories we all like.

As I said, my story isn't one of those. I was less than thrilled with being found.

I dragged myself to class, just as I do every day.

Sociology of African Americans wasn’t the class I thought it would be. I could think of a million and one places I wanted to be besides in that classroom. On top of being completely and utterly over school, I forgot that my professor mentioned that we would be having a guest speaker.

If I would have remembered this a little earlier, this might have been the perfect day to skip. But I was already sitting in my usual seat, and I had my computer to keep me busy just in case I wanted to tune out our guest.

“Blacks…racism…white people.” This sounded just like 99% of the classes I had already taken at Howard, and I wasn’t seeing any reason why I should pay attention.

by Alice Rollins

The kitchen in my house was not a magazine cover of cool, stainless steel appliances, granite countertops and cherry wood cabinetry. There were no matching towels, pot holders and kitchen decor. No, my kitchen was, well—old. The walls were covered in smudges made at the hands of myself and my three other siblings. The refrigerator was in desperate need to be replaced and the stove was a battleground between the side of cooking lard stored in a tin can and the food that my mother had prepared on any given night.

Hey Dad or should I say Kevin,

I wasn’t going to write this, but you have been on my mind for months; so I had to get this off my chest.

It has been a long time, since we actually sat down and talked. Part of that may be because of the things that have transpired over the last 10/11 years that I can’t seem to get over, and you may not be able to take responsibility for what happened to our family. I’m writing this letter to you because I don’t know your number, and I actually was going to call you today, but I couldn’t get in touch with anyone who might have it. So I decided to express it through this letter.