"dont sweep my feet with that broom boy!!"
my mother used to say this everytime I picked up a broom. She believed it bad luck, that if I swept her feet she would go to jail. A supestition that she passed to my family and which took me decades to break along with my belief in "most" of the superstitions I believed in. There was an anti-curse though if you were swept. Spitting on the offendomg broom 3 times would cancel any ill fortune plasticized straw could manifest. I've heard of different consequences for being broom swept. Some believe if you sweep them it means you think they are garbage or worthless and you have to kiss them to show you value them...ok I made that one up but it sounds like it could be true doesnt it? seriously some people believe being swept with a broom means you will get married. This is probably tied to jumping the broomstick an African American tradition that dates back to slavery where slaves banned from traditional weddings jumped the broom as their wedding ceremony. Superstition: Hand itches your getting money. Ear itches someone is talking about you (lotta itchin superstitions) dont put your hat on the bed its bad luck. dont split the pole or you will be separated from who you are walking with ( I used to get the fire slapped out of me for this one) Tradition wise of course the Pop (or is it hop) and Johns on New Years Eve for luck and Collard Greens on the same day for money. One that is both. blowing out birthday candles - tradition and you have to get them all to get your wish - superstition. Superstitions and Traditions. Two things that tie us to our pasts and out beliefs and which are not mutually exclusive of each other. Why do we need them? Are they as strong as our other beliefs? Is it comfort of continuity for us? Perhaps our link to the abstract or supernatural connections to our ancestors and future desires?
What superstitions did you grow up with and do you still follow them? If so why? (I ask a lot of questions answer any all or none as you please. lol and special thanks to Naturally Alise for providing input into this blog)
Superstition Tradition
I don’t remember
But I have the memory
See I was told by those who were there to see
And remembered for me
So this story
Is a second hand memory of their memory
Needless to say the recollection’s a bit fuzzy
But my roots know exactly
It’s a scene they’ve seen throughout my ancestry,
my family tree, my 1 true history
That slavery tried to make void
But couldn’t destroy
I said all that to say this
I was a baby
And this is the story
That family gave me as they raised me
He was 8 and lanky
Hair kinky
We call it kingly
Nose snotty
Butt stinky
Raised in the projects where the poorest are forced to live
In a city notorious for destroying kids
I’d let you guess which
But sadly now a days
You can take your pick
But he was a prince
The crown prince
The king, our daddy, wasn’t there for us and rarely would be
So mama called him and handed him’
Me
And said
“Show God that baby”
it was our families superstition tradition
reminiscent of “pop and john’s” in a new year kitchen
or at weddings jumping broomsticks
and looking for money when your hand starts to itch
for us it was your birthday morning
everyone remaining silent moving in silence
till u woke up and gave ‘birth’ to the first words of your ‘birth’ day
just our way, and
firmly engrained in the brain of an 8 year old
who so he wouldn’t break his mothers back
used to step over cracks in the concrete
a difficult feat
considering Brooklyn streets
but I said all that to say this
He believed
and he took me in arms trembling barely able to support the weight
he steps back with an uncertain gait and mama asks
“Is he too heavy?”
then she calls for the others
John-John answers
“He’s not heavy’he’s my brother”
and pulls me to his chest
I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head on his shoulder
As he grasps the hand of our other brother
Who clasps the hand of another brother
And those 3 wise men and me go up to the east - stairwell
And in bare feet climb stairs of concrete
Avoiding crack vials, urine and feces
Big brother reaching back pulling up from behind
Lifting as he climbs
Finally reaching a blue metal door
Put up by the government to keep little black boys off the roof
And falling
Written in warning red and white letters is
“If door is opened. Alarm will sound!”
he clutches the handle
pulls it down
Silence
The 3 wise men venture out into the desert like heat of August
All this to peer into the heavens
Almost as black and as beautiful as their homeland
Or black hands raised in gloved fist by barefoot gold medallist
Who would lose those medals after the Olympics
Did they ever get those back?
Anyway
The 8 year old man
My big brother
The lanky prince
Who wouldn’t live to see 12 more Augusts
Lifts his arms
And shows God that baby
The other little princes are bare fisted
Want to do the same
They’ve been here before
They know it’s our way
So they raise pacifiers and bottles and join big brother to say
In blasphemy
“Behold! The only thing greater than Thee!”
And they wait with trepidation
and with hesitation
and while their eyes were watching God big brother changes the saying to
“Father! Look! Your greatest creation”
And finally satisfied pulls me to his chest
Then heads back west
Its more than 3 decades later
And I still have no clue, of who
Held my big brother to God
And if it was God
Or our father
He was talking to.
my mother used to say this everytime I picked up a broom. She believed it bad luck, that if I swept her feet she would go to jail. A supestition that she passed to my family and which took me decades to break along with my belief in "most" of the superstitions I believed in. There was an anti-curse though if you were swept. Spitting on the offendomg broom 3 times would cancel any ill fortune plasticized straw could manifest. I've heard of different consequences for being broom swept. Some believe if you sweep them it means you think they are garbage or worthless and you have to kiss them to show you value them...ok I made that one up but it sounds like it could be true doesnt it? seriously some people believe being swept with a broom means you will get married. This is probably tied to jumping the broomstick an African American tradition that dates back to slavery where slaves banned from traditional weddings jumped the broom as their wedding ceremony. Superstition: Hand itches your getting money. Ear itches someone is talking about you (lotta itchin superstitions) dont put your hat on the bed its bad luck. dont split the pole or you will be separated from who you are walking with ( I used to get the fire slapped out of me for this one) Tradition wise of course the Pop (or is it hop) and Johns on New Years Eve for luck and Collard Greens on the same day for money. One that is both. blowing out birthday candles - tradition and you have to get them all to get your wish - superstition. Superstitions and Traditions. Two things that tie us to our pasts and out beliefs and which are not mutually exclusive of each other. Why do we need them? Are they as strong as our other beliefs? Is it comfort of continuity for us? Perhaps our link to the abstract or supernatural connections to our ancestors and future desires?
What superstitions did you grow up with and do you still follow them? If so why? (I ask a lot of questions answer any all or none as you please. lol and special thanks to Naturally Alise for providing input into this blog)
Superstition Tradition
I don’t remember
But I have the memory
See I was told by those who were there to see
And remembered for me
So this story
Is a second hand memory of their memory
Needless to say the recollection’s a bit fuzzy
But my roots know exactly
It’s a scene they’ve seen throughout my ancestry,
my family tree, my 1 true history
That slavery tried to make void
But couldn’t destroy
I said all that to say this
I was a baby
And this is the story
That family gave me as they raised me
He was 8 and lanky
Hair kinky
We call it kingly
Nose snotty
Butt stinky
Raised in the projects where the poorest are forced to live
In a city notorious for destroying kids
I’d let you guess which
But sadly now a days
You can take your pick
But he was a prince
The crown prince
The king, our daddy, wasn’t there for us and rarely would be
So mama called him and handed him’
Me
And said
“Show God that baby”
it was our families superstition tradition
reminiscent of “pop and john’s” in a new year kitchen
or at weddings jumping broomsticks
and looking for money when your hand starts to itch
for us it was your birthday morning
everyone remaining silent moving in silence
till u woke up and gave ‘birth’ to the first words of your ‘birth’ day
just our way, and
firmly engrained in the brain of an 8 year old
who so he wouldn’t break his mothers back
used to step over cracks in the concrete
a difficult feat
considering Brooklyn streets
but I said all that to say this
He believed
and he took me in arms trembling barely able to support the weight
he steps back with an uncertain gait and mama asks
“Is he too heavy?”
then she calls for the others
John-John answers
“He’s not heavy’he’s my brother”
and pulls me to his chest
I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head on his shoulder
As he grasps the hand of our other brother
Who clasps the hand of another brother
And those 3 wise men and me go up to the east - stairwell
And in bare feet climb stairs of concrete
Avoiding crack vials, urine and feces
Big brother reaching back pulling up from behind
Lifting as he climbs
Finally reaching a blue metal door
Put up by the government to keep little black boys off the roof
And falling
Written in warning red and white letters is
“If door is opened. Alarm will sound!”
he clutches the handle
pulls it down
Silence
The 3 wise men venture out into the desert like heat of August
All this to peer into the heavens
Almost as black and as beautiful as their homeland
Or black hands raised in gloved fist by barefoot gold medallist
Who would lose those medals after the Olympics
Did they ever get those back?
Anyway
The 8 year old man
My big brother
The lanky prince
Who wouldn’t live to see 12 more Augusts
Lifts his arms
And shows God that baby
The other little princes are bare fisted
Want to do the same
They’ve been here before
They know it’s our way
So they raise pacifiers and bottles and join big brother to say
In blasphemy
“Behold! The only thing greater than Thee!”
And they wait with trepidation
and with hesitation
and while their eyes were watching God big brother changes the saying to
“Father! Look! Your greatest creation”
And finally satisfied pulls me to his chest
Then heads back west
Its more than 3 decades later
And I still have no clue, of who
Held my big brother to God
And if it was God
Or our father
He was talking to.
1 comment:
And no hat on the bed, either.
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