I was sitting in the make-up chair as Landis prepared my face for camera, lights—action. Landis happens to be one of Chicago’s premier make-up artists. I was really looking forward to my first "facelift" in his chair. He was transitioning me from the savvy but hurried looking professional sistah to television talk show guest. Landis and I made seemingly idle conversation for a few moments as he applied my powders, shadows and liners when I realized we had some mutual acquaintances. Before I knew it we were on the subject of: what Black women say they want from Black men, what they get and why. Landis shared, ‘women get exactly what they ask for based on the standards of today’s Black woman.’ What he didn’t realize was I’d be in full agreement. Our conversation became the story of a beautiful love affair gone counterfeit.

I don’t expect to be applauded for what I am about to share. I didn’t create it. But I did contribute, and it is time we as Black women begin to look at the issue of the downward spiral of Black male/female relationships and become a collective solution—taking the lead in a paradigm shift that must occur before healing. Too few of us [Black women] really want to deal with the muddled state of the Black male/female dynamic and typically when I share on this subject my sistahs get very defensive, which is often our reaction when discussing this same issue with our men. Many sistahs believe I set Black women back 50 years when I speak on this subject; however, this has never been my intent. I am simply one Black woman whose paradigm shifted. I desire that our relationships heal and once again become whole. Why not take some responsibility?

I won’t bore you with any details of slavery and its devastating affects on the Black male/female psyche. We know this story all to well. What I will share is it appears to me we [Black women] have dropped the "relational ball." We’ve replaced our intelligent Black brother, friend, confidante, protector, provider, husband and lover—yes, our Black lion—for the trappings of success, money and power. When did we drop the ball? Well, I contend when we entered Corporate America! The ‘drop’ was not a flagrant attempt to devalue Black men, however, a subtle shift in our values and family structure placated often by an ever-changing American economic climate.

In America during the late 50s and throughout the 60s many Black men were struggling, making it happen in factory and plant jobs throughout the United States. Black men were eking out a good life for themselves and their families. These same men once afforded opportunities moved into what we now call “blue collar” positions with the US Postal Service and other city and government jobs. We were building our middle class—finally. Some of these men were even able to make it into white collar positions as foremen and managers. But when the factories and plants began to close their doors and layoffs were announced our men moved from gainful employment to joblessness. Black women—the strong sistahs we’ve always been—entered the marketplace to assist our men in supporting the family. We were the ‘insurance’ policy, if you will. Never looking at this as a power move, but a helpmeet move. During the lean times we entered the workforce until our men found gainful employment. It was always done in love—for love and survival of the family.

I know Black women have traditionally always worked. We’ve cleaned homes—not always our own, cooked meals—not always for ourselves or our families, washed clothes and took care of children—not just our own. We also nurtured and loved our men and families. It was truly a love affair. We supported our husbands and brothers. We stood by their sides and encouraged them to greatness. It was okay to cook his meal and warm his sheets at night. It was okay to push him higher. It wasn’t slave labor; it was our love labor. We didn’t have to do it. We did it seasoned with grace. Our counterparts wondered how. We were envied. We valued the Black man and our struggle. We were in love. We knew together we could overcome any obstacle, and our children watched as we navigated through rough waters as a cohesive unit—not separate but equal.

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