As the daughter of an illustrious Black woman, if there’s one thing I know Black moms do, it’s work hard. I’m not here to diminish the efforts of other mothers, but I am well-versed in the kickassery that is Black motherhood (as an admirer, not an actual mom). On top of the “sex talk“, Black moms give tough police brutality sit-downs; they take the brunt of anti-Blackness whenever possible so their children don’t have to; and, per the CDC, they face the fact that their maternal mortality rate is 2.9 times higher than the rest of the country. When I think of the strength of Black motherhood, I’m reminded of the time my mom prevented my predominately white fourth grade class from singing a Black Minstrelsy song in our monthly assembly. Or the time she cussed out my YMCA counselor for having my fellow campers nickname me, a 6-year-old with dreadlocks, “Buckwheat” in reference the film The Little Rascals. Or the time… you get the point. Despite the never-ending list of racist maternal danger that orbits their craniums on the daily, Black mothers even find time to run their own businesses (and make it look easy).
