I was raised by parents that were for real woke. My mother fought back against systemic hate for our people by becoming one of the foremost medical professionals in our community and sharing her knowledge with those who were receiving poor care or no care. My dad often used his food as a catalyst to start conversations about issues the community was facing. A meal from him came with a side of straight talk in a safe space. Trendivism was not a thing when they were becoming who they are. You could not be lukewarm about your freedom. Either you were with us or you weren't. Straight like that. They might not have looked like a black power couple, but they were one. They raised my sisters and I with an honest sort of consciousness I often find lacking others in my adult life. I was so excited when I learned that sales for relaxers were down and continuing to drop. This wasn't just a sign of a new wave in black hair trends, it was an indication to me that we were accepting ourselves in our natural state more often. I saw it in my personal life as well: My mom stopped pressing her hair and opted for twists or braids, and even my corporate mentor was rocking singles. This outward expression of blackness brought me joy. On social media, my timeline was flooded with folks speaking out against gentrification (and its dominating affect on people of color), police brutality, and negative depictions of us in media. When I thought about it, people I never thought would engage in these conversations were online posting their outrage.
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