• for my Nick, who loves me and our children to the marrow, even when we get to trippin’. This doesn’t happen often. But oh, when it does… let’s just say he’s a trooper.

• for my Mari’s intelligence, tenacity, sensitivity, and focus. She’s more responsible at 10 than I was at 30. This comes in handy. Real handy.

• for my Lila’s free spirit, sense of humor, and.off-the-wall antics. She’s scary smart, but more than willing to be the practical joker. This works for me most days.

• for Mazi, who’s huge bear hug on the field after the last game of his football team’s playoff season told me that we’re cool like that. I thank God for him and his beautiful mind.

• for my parents and my brother, Troy, who gave me life and triple dog dared me to take advantage of and use it to its fullest.

• for our dog, Teddy, especially when he rolls over on his back—belly up. Perfect for rubbing. He’s such a dirty little blonde…

• for my Nikon D-50, snagged fresh from a financially desperate… er, strapped college student off of Craig’s List. Her loss. Truly my gain, especially with the awesome tips I’ve picked up along the way from I Heart Faces.

• for my BFF Angelou’s shoulder (perfect for crying, complaining, and dreaming) and her ridiculous purse and shoe game (always ripe for borrowing).

• for my nephews Miles and Cole’s smiles, sense of humor, and perfectly delicious hugs. They’re all boy, but they don’t have a problem giving auntie the love she craves.

• for my brother-in-law James, a no-holds-barred brother who takes great pleasure in making me think—and even great pleasure in bonding with the hubs in a way I wish more black men did with one another.

• for My Ambassador of No, Gretchen, who is Chris Rock funny, super sensible, awesomely helpful and unabashedly able to suggest on many occasions that it’s okay to turn down ridiculous requests every once in a while, like watching the neighbor’s 11 animals for almost two weeks. (I didn’t listen. Next time, I will.)

• for my new Gap skinny jeans. Seriously. I could fit “all of this” into skinny jeans. Thank God for stretch material. Thank God The Gap is using it.

• for my co-authors Steve Harvey, Nene Leakes, Mitzi Miller, Holly Robinson Peete, and Angela Burt-Murray—all of whom have helped keep money in a sistah’s pocket.

• for my MacBook, Blackberry Curve, iTouch and portable Bose speaker, Wi-Fi, DVR, Law & Order SVU, gummy bears, and Double Bubble Bubble Gum. Seriously, wouldn’t nan word get written if it weren’t for these nine things. Not nan word.

• for the March of Dimes, a terrific organization that helps keep the most vulnerable among us healthy, comfortable and loved, and Dove.com, for its commitment to uplifting the self-esteem of our little girls (and their moms, too!), and Parenting, for giving me a forum to say what I want to say exactly how I want to say it.

• for Stevie Wonder and Donny Hathaway and Maxwell and Angie Stone and Ledisi and all the other soul artists who constantly remind that good music is possible and necessary, and The Dream, Soulja Boy, and for reminding me why I have an iPod and pointer fingers—perfect for turning off black radio and punching up music I can actually, like, listen to in front of my babies.

• for Nick’s kick-ass ribs, and home made fruit smoothies. One word: Addictive

• for my bloggy friends—too numerous to count.

• for MyBrownBaby, which has opened doors and inspired me in ways I never imagined.

• and for Him, who wraps me in His mercy and grace, even when I falter.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Here’s to hoping you have much to be grateful for…

By KIMBERLY SEALS ALLERS

Yesterday, I cried watching the Michael Jackson memorial. I cried for a little black boy who felt the world didn’t understand him. I cried for a little black boy who spent his adulthood chasing his childhood. And I thought about all the young black boys out there who may too feel that the world doesn’t understand them. The ones who feel that the world does not understand their baggy jeans, their swagger, their music, their anger, their struggles, their fears or the chip on their shoulder. I worry that my son, may too, one day will feel lonely in a wide, wide world.

I cried for the young children of all colors who may live their lives feeling like misfits, feeling like no one understands their perspective, or their soul. What a burden to carry.

As a mother, I cried for Katherine Jackson because no mother should ever bury a child. Period. And I think about all the pain, tears and sleepless nights that she must have endured seeing her baby boy in inner pain, seeing him struggle with his self-esteem, and his insecurities and to know he often felt unloved even while the world loved him deeply. How does it feel to think that the unconditional love we give as mothers just isn’t enough to make our children feel whole? I wonder if she still suffers thinking, “What more could I have done?” Even moms of music legends aren’t immune to mommy guilt, I suppose.

When Rev. Al Sharpton (who always delivers one hell of a funeral speech) said to Michael’s children, “Your daddy was not strange…It was strange what your Daddy had to deal with,” I thought of all the “strange” things of the world that my children will have to deal with. Better yet, the things I hope they won’t ever have to deal with anymore.

And as a mother raising a young black boy, I feel recommitted and yet a little confused as to how to make sure my son is sure enough within himself to take on the world. Especially a “strange” one. To love himself enough to know that even when the world doesn’t understand you, tries to force you into its mold or treats you unkindly, you are still beautiful, strong and Black. How do I do that?

Today, I am taking back “childhood” as an inalienable right for every brown little one. In a world, that makes children into booty-shaking, mini-adults long before their time, I’m reclaiming the playful, innocent, run-around-outside, childhood as the key ingredient in raising confident adults. Second, I will not rest until my little black boy, MY Michael, knows that his broad nose is beautiful, his chocolately brown skin is beautiful, and his thick hair is beautiful.

And nothing or no one can ever take that away from him.

“Now ain’t we bad? And ain’t we black? And ain’t we fine? —Maya Angelou

About our MyBrownBaby contributor:
Kimberly Seals Allers is author of The Mocha Manual series of books and editor in chief of MochaManual.com, where this post originated. The latest in her three-book series, The Mocha Manual to Military Life: A Savvy Guide for Wives, Girlfriends, and Female Service Members, was released last month. Kimberly lives in Long Island, New York with her daughter and son.

I’m such a fan of Lamar and Ronnie Tyler, the power couple behind one of my favorite websites, BlackandMarriedWithKids. Every day of the week, the Tylers live and breath the mantra that black love is beautiful, possible and alive, and they use their website to remind us, too, to treasure it and hold it dear. So dedicated to that mantra are they that they’ve produced a documentary about it, aptly titled, “Happily Ever After: A Positive Image of Black Marriage.”

Last month, The Tylers gave Nick and I the distinct honor of being interviewed for their film; they travelled from their home in D.C. to our place here in Atlanta, set up their camera and lights in our living room, and then asked us a barrage of incredibly intelligent, insightful questions about African American marriages, parenting, images, culture and the like. And just yesterday, they released a new trailer for the documentary, featuring, among other couples and relationship experts, lil’ ol’ us! That’s Nick and I in the very beginning, talking about how we black folk play a major part in the negative images associated with our community.

Thanks, Lamar and Ronnie, for trusting our voices in your project. The straight-to-DVD project will be released and available for purchase sometime this month. I’ll keep you all posted on the DVD’s availability. In the meantime, check out the new trailer below.