I’m having a fantastic week. A few days ago, I watched Wanda Sykes’ Not Normal on Netflix. (Cut to me grinning through tears when I found it on my home screen.) 😭🥰😆🙃 Watching was like getting a Prozac infusion while eating Jade-approved yellow cake. I laughed so hard I’m surprised I didn’t get a noise complaint. Especially since it involved a bit of involuntary running about, standing up like my seat was on fire, and hollering at the TV.
It’s just that Wanda Sykes is The Comedian Who Made Me Laugh So Hard I Hurled. She knows how to make all my bones spontaneously turn into jelly. She casually (and scientifically) explained everything I need to know about menopause (while I was winding down from ugly laughing.) It all makes sense, now. 🤔👍🏽 Humans are even more incredible than I thought. 🤯🙃
Just when I discerned I’ve been playing a discreet version of Hot Lava, with my bed as the safe zone, Wanda Sykes pops up and says, hey, girl, it’s going to be okay. 🥰 (Oofda, I needed that.) I finally got to compare notes with a woman who was also interracially adopted, recently. It was fascinating, and my mom is now even more awesome than I knew. She did things I didn’t realize at the time were so thoughtful and brilliant. I’m so proud of her.
For example, she hired local university students to socialize with Heather and me when we were little. (The only other black people we knew of at that time were Gary Coleman, Todd Bridges, Janet Jackson, and Kim Fields.) My mom sensed we needed to meet black people who weren’t on TV. I have fond memories of slumber parties in the dorms at Augustana with young women from all sorts of places that weren’t South Dakota.
We got our hair braided. We went to concerts, plays, and sporting events with our new big sisters. They invited us to their homes on school breaks in other states. We visited a church with all black people, (and I wept uncontrollably from the moment we entered until a woman caught the spirit and started convulsing on the floor, and I ran over and hugged her and wouldn’t let go until I was pried off.) I thought she needed holding, and the idea of not acting on it terrified me. Heh.
As I’m sure you’ve imagined, Heather’s version of that event was a lot more detailed, protracted, and (evidently) hilarious. (Recalling it was one of her favorite ways to shut me down for years afterward.) 😂 Remember that time we went to that church? 🤭 I can laugh about it soon. Also, the convulsing woman hugged me back, so I knew she was okay, and I held on because I had so much to say to her, and no words. Here’s a secret: In my spirit, that hug was an I love you to my culture, and I never let go. 💜✌🏽