I did a new thing - and it was a long time coming

On Saturday, May 25, 2024, I did a new thing.

It may seem small to some, but it was a huge deal for me and one that has been a long time coming. Look closely at my face, in particularly, my left nostril. You see it? Yes, I got my nose pierced!

It was about 32 years ago when I first wanted my nose pierced with a diamond stud. I was a senior at Winston-Salem State University. When I shared with my public relations professor, Dr. Marilyn Roseboro, what my plans were for my face, she immediately scorned the idea. 

"It's not professional," she said.

"But I can take it out," I responded.

"But the hole will still be there," she quipped.

"But makeup could cover it," I said to myself. Because you knew better not to go too many rounds with the Dr. Roseboro. After all, she held my final grade in her hands.

She was known for being tough. In fact, I feared her class because of her reputation. We were warned that no one gets an 'A in her class. I walked in determined to defy the odds. 

And I did. I finished with an 'A' and was the envy of those who relented to the bluff and bluster of their peers (insert diabolical laugh). I challenged myself to do the assignments, to ask questions and to seem genuinely interested in the class. 

In fact, looking back, my personal experience in her class was actually a real life, hands-on lesson in public relations itself. I built a trustworthy relationship with her, was responsive to her assignments and lectures, and displayed genuine responsibility: the three R's of PR. 

My major was mass communications with a concentration in radio and TV broadcasting. I wanted to be in front of the camera not behind it. So I relented and decided to hold off on piercing my nose.

Back then, news anchors were required to have a certain look. Hair - straight. Body type - slim. Dress - conservative. Nose piercings - no. Tattoos - hell no. 

But look around, look around. Times have changed. News anchors come in all shapes, sizes and shades. They wear short sleeves, wigs, braids, tattoos and yes, nose piercings. So do your doctors and nurses, teachers and preachers, lawyers and judges, clerks and cashiers. 

And most of us should recall the distinguished TV journalist Ed Bradley, who dared to don an ear piercing while he worked for CBS' 60 Minutes.

According to an article in business.com, body modifications are becoming more mainstream. As competition for top talent grows more intense in the hiring process, many workplaces no longer frown upon tattoos and piercings.

"Labeling something taboo is dangerous for workplace transparency," said Kirsten Davidson, former head of employer brand at Glassdoor and current managing partner at Employera. Companies that let people be themselves are rated highly for company culture and values, she said. "We often saw employee feedback about feeling comfortable bringing their whole selves to work, or feeling free to be authentic."

Authenticity fosters creativity and innovation, allowing employees to produce their highest quality of work. Furthermore, employers are more focused today on the mental well-being of their employees.

Studies show that 41 percent of millennials have tattoos, followed by 32 percent Gen Xers, and 23 percent Gen Zers. Piercing data shows that nostril piercing is the second most common with earlobe piercing being number one. 

Among women, 19 percent have nostril piercings. 

Many years ago while a staff writer for a daily newspaper, I was promoted to news editor just before I was scheduled to get my hair braided with kinky twists. Fearing this would be shunned upon, I asked my white male publisher how he felt about me getting braids.

"I don't care how you wear your hair," he replied. 

This past weekend, I didn't seek permission from anyone. I didn't consider what people would think. I only heard the refrain of influencer and actress Tabitha Brown in my head: Do a new thing.

This nose piercing is a celebration of completing my master's degree program in a few weeks, which I had put off for years. It's a declaration of my independence from people pleasing. It signifies empowerment, freedom and new beginnings. 

My best friend Patricia and I walked into Black Cloud Tattoo in Charlotte nervous and giddy. We were the oldest ones in the shop. Others waiting inside cheered us on and said how excited they were of us having the courage to do it - finally. They showed off their piercings and tats and allayed our fears of pain.

As the needle penetrated my nose, my left eye watered. I didn't flinch. 

And just like that, a new thing was affixed to my nose - a constant reminder that it's never too late to do something new.

Email Kimberly Harrington at onyxlyspeaking@gmail.com

All's well that ends wells

Every now and then God will add an espresso shot to your regular coffee - without telling you.

That's what the past couple of weeks of my life have felt like. Supercharged!

So many things were happening in my professional and personal life all at once that I look back and wonder how I got through it. But for God.

I will begin with the visit by famed Atty. Benjamin Crump to Livingstone College. He is the national spokesperson for Equal Justice Now (EJN), a not for profit social welfare organization that advocates against false arrest, unreasonable detention and wrongful conviction. EJN held a national panel discussion on our campus to discuss bail and police reform.

As director of public relations, I was assigned as the project manager. While this was indeed a fascinating experience, it was overwhelming to say the least. This was huge for our campus to have such a national figure, regarded as the "Black Attorney General" to come to our campus.

The security details, the speakers, the program, the marketing and promotions, getting students to attend, getting the public to attend - and did I mention the security details. That in itself is a whole separate blog. 

It's no secret that along with Atty. Crump's popularity comes the haters. And just before he was to attend our campus, he received credible death threats, which meant security had to be even tighter. Our campus security was not enough and getting local support proved to be straining. Without going through the rigmarole, we were able to secure four officers from the Salisbury Police Department, and Sheriff Garry McFadden of Mecklenburg County, who served on the panel, brought sheriff's deputies to supplement our detail. He was a lifesaver.

Unfortunately, no local law enforcement was represented on the panel though they were asked to participate. On calls with EJN, we had to defend that the city of Salisbury "is not" a sundown town. It is a reputation that precedes the city to the national audience but the truth is that Salisbury is progressing and diversifying. Now, the town of Faith, on the other  hand, which is located within Rowan County, is a different story and blog.

 

All's well that ends well. We (the Livingstone College team and EJN) executed a dynamic event with the largest crowd EJN has seen to date since traveling across the country with these panel discussions. Students and the public showed up in droves to the number of at least 800 in attendance. Security was on point and on guard and there were no incidents.

While planning for this event, which demanded my full attention on and off the clock, my 90-year-old mother got gout in her left foot, the first such attack in her elderly life. The pain caused her already slow gait to come to a near halt. It would take her one minute to take 5 steps it seemed. One medicine prescribed to her offered more side effects than relief that landed her in the hospital for dehydration.

But again, all's well that ends well. Today, she is on another medication and improving slowly.

Again, while planning this event, I was asked to speak at a fundraiser to support the construction of a school in the Back Bush community of Liberia. My goal was to memorize my speech - in preparation of doing a Ted Talk that is on my bucket list. But with all that was going on, the best I could do was write it down and read it like a rock star. What I didn't expect was for God to pinch my heart during the process and get me all choked up and emotional while delivering my remarks. 

I mean it came from out of nowhere. I was talking about my adopted son Hakim when suddenly, my voice started cracking and I was holding back the tears. Would this have happened had I memorized it? I don't know. But it worked and people were inspired by my story and experience in Liberia. 

The highlight was being able to donate $500 from HOLLA! Africa to the construction of the school - and of course dancing and the jollof rice.

On the same day the Ben Crump event ended, a Livingstone College colleague, who was doing a play at the Knight Theater in Charlotte, called to see if I could fill a role. The original actress was facing a health crisis with her mother and not sure she could continue. This was on Thursday and the play was three days later on Sunday.

Of course, I said yes. Acting is a passion of mine though I don't have time to commit to it as much as I would like. It would be a small role, but a BIG opportunity. I went to rehearsal that Friday for five hours, only to learn that the lady's mother was doing better and she would be in the show. But as God would have it, they found me another role to play - even smaller, but again, a BIG stage.

I had an amazing time sharing the stage that Sunday with the Prince of R&B Tony Terry,  R&B's Sunshine Anderson and Sunday Best winner Y'Anna Crawley. I told Tony Terry that I used to work with his father at the Richmond County Daily Journal and that one Christmas season years ago, I was invited over to interview him for a newspaper feature story. I got a chance to tell Sunshine Anderson that my classmate is Mark Sparks (Mark Blount), the one who basically discovered her. She said if not for him, no one would know her name.

After the show, we were out front in the lobby signing autographs and here I am, the one with the smallest part, sitting beside Tony Terry signing my name, too. 

As I sit here at the beach celebrating my birthday weekend (April 3) writing this blog, I am grateful to God for the all the times I've said yes and he has elevated and exposed me to experiences I thought I would never have. I've been to Africa three times; I've been the guest speaker for a program in Monrovia, Liberia; I've covered the arrival of President Barack Obama for the Democratic National Convention as a reporter; I've been in a play starring major music artists; and I've coordinated a visit by Atty. Ben Crump, just to name a few.

Me, a little black shy girl from Lilesville, NC, a one caution light kind of town, who was picked at while growing up for being too dark. Me, who was born out of wedlock but who has become a vital member of my family as I am the caregiver for our beloved mother. Me, who has overcome a domestic violent relationship and now know my worth. 

Dear God, I'll take another espresso shot, but this time, add cream and sugar. 

How did you get here? A matter of the heart

(This post was started on March 16, 2022, and completed on Feb. 22, 2023)

Never before have I paid this much attention to my heart. 

It may have something to do with this white box that is attached to my chocolate skin in the center of my chest on today, March 16, 2022.

Hello, my name is Kimberly and I'm wearing a heart monitor.

There was a song a few years ago by Deborah Cox that asks, "How did you get here. Nobody's suppose to be here?" The singer was talking about a man, a lover, who slipped into her heart pass the gatekeeper.

I'm asking the same question, but of this monitor. How did it get here? Ever since my sister died suddenly of a heart attack on Dec. 11, 2011 - the first of my eight siblings to transition - I've been careful about all matters of my heart, meaning holistic care.

A few months after her death, I scheduled an appointment with a cardiologist to see how my heart was doing. He gave me a stress test and said everything looked fine, and recommended that I take a low dose aspirin when I turned 50, which was 10 years away at that time. He told me how to eat heart healthy and sent me on my merry way.

Fast forward 11 years and a few weeks ago. I was on my evening commute home when suddenly, I experienced shortness of breath, light-headedness and heart palpitations. I pulled onto a side street named Southbound. There was a church just a stone's throw away that I had just passed, so I decided to go there because that landmark would make it easier for someone to find me.

I called 911 and the paramedics met me at the church. They did an EKG in the back of the ambulance, which turned out normal, but advised me to go to the hospital anyway. I declined and said I would be careful going home.

The next day, I had two more episodes so I checked myself into the ER at Novant Health Rowan Medical Center in Salisbury. They, too, ran several tests and again, nothing alarming was discovered. I did have a slight irregular heartbeat, but it could have been normal, the attending physician said, since they did not have another test to compare it to.

I decided to make an appointment with my cardiologist - yes, the same one I saw 10 years ago - and he decided I needed to wear a heart monitor. The timing was the worst as it was only a few weeks before my 52nd birthday. 

Though I've never worn a heart monitor before, my mom has. And technology has made it more bearable or should I say wearable. The clunky machine has been replaced with a cell phone. And not just any cell phone - sound the alarm - an Android. I'm a Samsung Galaxy kind of girl and defend it all of the time to my friends who are iPhone users. There is something about an iPhone that screams elitist and I'm more of an equalitarian.

But back to my Samsung Galaxy powered heart monitor.

After going to the hospital to get an echocardiogram, I had the nurse to attached the device to my chest. The white small box was conspicuous. I tried wearing clothing to cover the device but since I'm a fan of V-necks, that was nearly impossible.

Each time I felt a flutter, palpitation or heart pounding or racing, I was to note it on the Samsung Galaxy - notice the product placement again that is also conspicuous. I wore the device up until my birthday trip to Destin, Fla. I figured I had input enough data for the doctors to come to a diagnostic conclusion.

On my last full day in Destin, my best friend Patricia and I were at the beach playing volleyball and enjoying the sunshine when she said something to me that resonated. On January 2, my last living brother, Tommy, passed away with lung cancer. He wanted to live. He fought to live. I wanted him to win. God, instead, called him from labor to rest.

Patricia said, "You know, you've never really grieved your brother." I pondered what she said and realized, I had not. I am the primary caregiver of my elderly mother. I commute 3 hours a day back and forth to work. I have a demanding job as a public relations director for a private historically black college. I went straight from the funeral back to my normal routine of handling things the best I could. 

My brother was my best supporter in helping me to take care of my mother. He would elder sit and offer me time away to relax, relate and release. He never complained about doing it. He just showed up. I could count on him more than any of my remaining living siblings.

They say, you know the truth when you hear it. When Patricia said those words to me. I heard the truth. In a way, I was disappointed that God did not heal my brother. I never voiced it, but it was a real feeling bottled up inside of me.

That day, on a beach in Destin, Fla., I picked up a handful of sand, told God explicitly how I felt - that I was sort of angry with Him for not healing my brother, but that I accepted His will, though I didn't understand it. I tossed the sand into the sea and whispered a prayer of love and forgiveness and told my brother that I loved him.

 I will never forget that day. It was April 3, 2022, my 52nd birthday. And the day I set my heart free from stress, disappointment and heartache.

My heart didn't need a monitor. It needed liberation. It needed permission to grieve. It needed permission to cry. The anxiety attacks were simply alarms to get my attention to the deeper needs of my soul.

I'm happy to report that since that day, I have not had any more anxiety attacks or unexplained heart palpitations.

On that day, God gave me the best birthday gift ever: He gave me back my healthy heart - with a little sand in between my toes to boot.

T is for trials, tribulations - and Thanksgiving

I haven’t done this in a while: Write in my blog or make my list of the Top Ten Things I’m Thankful For.

I’ve been busy. Really busy.

I started a new and demanding job in June. I never imagined working for Livingstone College, but it has been the most wonderful experience thus far.

From meeting new people and making new friends to learning new things and being inspired to achieve more for myself, this journey has proven to be necessary for my personal and professional growth.

But life keeps happening - no matter the journey.

A little more than a month after taking the new job, the unthinkable happened to my best friend. He was injured by a relative. Stabbed. In the neck. While he slept.

He was hospitalized for 11 days.

He would be the first to say he is a walking miracle. I would be the second and the LOUDEST.

His family doctor is still in awe over how the main artery was dodged. It was nothing short of divine intervention. We know it was God Almighty, our fortress and tower in times of trouble.

Many wonderful things happened from this tragedy, though. He would be the first to say that as a result of all the good consequences, he would go through it again if necessary. (I would like to think that’s an exaggeration – just in case the angels are listening.)

Family situations were reconstructed and resolved. Prayer meetings were held nightly in the waiting rooms. New friendships were forged and old ones were renewed. Family ties were strengthened. Doubt was eliminated. Faith was rekindled.

I’ve learned that that’s the way God is. He intervenes in a way that we least expect sometimes. While we’re looking left, He’s coming from the right. While we’re looking up, He’s tapping us on our shoulders. While we’re sleeping, He’s controlling the hands of evil. And while we’re healing and recovering, He’s rearranging our circumstances.

I understand better now the Scripture of James 1:2-4: My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing.

Of course it doesn’t feel good when we’re going through tribulations, but if we persist through them with faith, hope, love and an unwavering belief in God and his power, life will be as it should be on the other side of it.

So this year, though it sounds odd to the ear, I’m thankful for my trials and tribulations. Without them, I would not have made new friends and gotten reacquainted with old ones; I would not have a renewed devotion to an enduring friendship; and I would not have witnessed a miracle, a testament to God’s mercy and grace.

My best friend would be the first to say this is what he is thankful for, too. But I would be the second ... and the LOUDEST.

(Wait, I was the first to say it. Oh well ...)

Aging best motivator of all

I could write my own book on all I’ve learned over the years from self-help publications.

Yeah, I’m a fan. Some people puke at the idea of digesting this genre, but I swallow up the concepts with a big spoon.

And try to apply them to my life.

Live the life you imagine.

Start your day with positive affirmations.

Put feet to your prayers.

That thing you wanted to be as a child is what your true purpose is.

In order to get something you’ve never had, you must do something you’ve never done.

Follow your instinct.

Jump.

Don’t go in the red room. (Ooops, wrong book)

My point is, I’ve read it all, tried it all, been there, done that.

And yet, my big breakthrough doesn’t appear to be on the horizon.

I’m always searching for that one thing that will get me so focused on attaining my dreams that I have to remember to breathe.

I must confess, my biggest deterrent has been procrastination. So, for Lent, I gave it up. I made a list of things I needed to do and vowed to complete them in 40 days.

Cue the music: I checked off everything except for one. I’m so proud of me.

One of the things I put into practice was turning off the TV and doing something productive instead. Bye-bye “Scandal,” “Empire” and “Greenleaf” – at least until Saturday morning when I could binge watch them all.

I got the turning off the TV part down pact. It was the productive part that, well, wasn’t so productive. I found myself talking on the phone or browsing Facebook instead of doing something constructive.

But I’m a believer of small steps making up a journey, so kudos to me – if I must say so myself – for taking the first step in turning off the tube.

Back to that one thing that will get me focused. I think I found it. It was on April 3 of this year when I turned another year older.

This birthday reminded me that I might not have as many years ahead of me as I have behind me. Strike that – let me make this positive: If I live as long as I have, I will be grateful. (See, told you I’ve learned some things.)

If I want to live the life I have imagined for myself, I must start now, while I’m still in my right mind, able-bodied, and can enjoy the fruits of my labor.

So, the best birthday present I can give to myself is to get started on fulfilling my dreams and hope my contributions to this world will make an impact on someone or something.

I declare and decree that from this day forward, I will take action and incorporate the seven habits of highly effective people to live my best life now to reach my destiny rather than focus on who moved my cheese so that I may think and grow rich in my purpose driven life before I turn 50 shades darker (oops, wrong book again.)

Taking care of aging parents requires balancing act

Two years ago, I became a half sandwich. (Keep reading.)

No only did I return to journalism after a six-year hiatus, I also moved back home – with mom.

While both have presented their own challenges, a free-spirited, adventurous single woman in her prime having to tone it way down to accommodate an elderly parent wins the gold.

I love my mom. She is 84 years old, still works part time, and can still cook and clean for herself whenever she wants. She is independent, strong and determined – sometimes to a fault.

After her two live-in grandchildren went to college, she was left home alone and we didn’t want that, especially at night.

So we called a family meeting two years ago and I drew the shortest straw. Well, not really, but I was an obvious choice as I was the only single, eligible female sibling – and I called the meeting.

I am the youngest of eight children. I had five sisters and two brothers. One sister died in 2011 and one of my brothers just died this past March.

My oldest brother shares a home with his daughter. My brother who recently died was not in the best of health during the family meeting, so his moving back home was not a viable option.

All of my sisters are married except for one who lives in an assisted living facility.

So, like I said, I came into the family meeting with a home-sweet-home bulls-eye on my back.

After all was said and done, I asked my siblings if they would give me one free weekend a month away from home to “just do me,” as the young people say.

 

Taking care of an elderly parent, even if they are semi-independent, is far from easy. It is a labor of love.

In addition to your own needs and to-do tasks, you have to keep up with theirs – and they want it done yesterday.

There are doctors’ appointments that must be scheduled and met, and medicines that have to be refilled, picked up and arranged in reminder containers. Because my mom still works, transportation to and from her job also has to be arranged when I’m not available.

Studies show that the number of adults taking care of aging parents has tripled in the past 15 years because people are living longer.

The sandwich generation is a title given to people in their 30’s or 40’s who are raising their own children and taking care of their aging parents.

I don’t have children although I helped raise my niece who is now in college. So what do you call people in their 30’s or 40’s without children who are taking care of their elderly parents?

One research result on the Internet showed a term called open faced sandwich. Open faced because it only contains one piece of bread – the missing piece are the children, I guess.

I prefer to call it the half-sandwich generation. I’m partial to two slices of bread because I may not have children, but that other slice represents a life, career and significant social and community connections that add value to my life.

I have a few other friends who are also in the half-sandwich generation and are dealing with the same types of challenges – which is balancing the responsibility of caring for an aging parent while also holding on to what defines you.

It is indeed a balancing act. And one that we all feel is unbalanced most of the time.

Studies also show that caregivers of aging parents tend to neglect caring for themselves.

We all agree, however, that the joy of it all is getting to know our parents on a deeper level and spending more quality time with them. That yields a satisfaction like no other.

And it doesn’t hurt to know that God is pleased with us. The Scripture 1 Timothy 5:3-4, 8 (New International Version) says, “Give proper recognition to those widows who are really in need. But if a widow has children or grandchildren, these should learn first of all to put their religion into practice by caring for their own family and so repaying their parents and grandparents, for this is pleasing to God. Anyone who does not provide for their relatives, and especially for their own household, has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.”

This tips the scale in our favor.

Share your story

Are you or someone you know in the sandwich or half sandwich generation and would like to share your story in a developing book on the topic of caring for an aging parent? Your story could inspire others who are living through it and offer ways to cope with the challenges it brings.

E-mail twiceachildbook@gmail.com and give a brief description of your experience, either past or present, and contact information.

I pledge to reclaim Thanksgiving Day

If I were Thanksgiving, I would feel a bit underappreciated.

Seems like we go straight from Halloween to Christmas cheer and leave the one holiday where we are to show gratitude lost in the transition.

To add insult to injury, businesses and retail giants are opening up on Thanksgiving Day to lure in customers looking for the best holiday deals – for Christmas.

A few years ago, at least, we would finish up Thanksgiving dinner and rush our families out the doors so we could slip in a nap before having to be at Wal-Mart by 5 a.m.

Now, we gobble up the turkey meal, hop in the car and go over the river and through the woods to the nearest shopping outlet, we go.

Poor, Thanksgiving. I can imagine how it must feel.

Dismissing this holiday says a lot about the moral character of this country.

According to a 2014 article from The Truth about moral decline in America:

• Fewer people attend church and nearly one-fifth of all adults have no religious affiliation;

• America has the highest divorce rate in the world;

• More than half of all couples move in together before they get married;

• The average young American will spend 10,000 hours playing video games before the age of 21;

• Average SAT scores have been falling for years;

• The rate of violent crime in the U.S. is increasing;

• America has the highest rate of illegal drug use on the entire planet;

• America has the highest incarceration rate and the largest total prison population in the entire world by a wide margin; and the discouraging list goes on and on…

Mahatma Gandhi said, “You must be the change you want to see in the world.”

Well, here goes. I pledge the following:

I refuse to allow society to alter my idea of Thanksgiving. I will not interrupt family time to get to Belk’s. (Now, if all the family members have left already, that’s a different story.)

I will not compromise storytelling, laughter and a second piece of cake with my sisters for a lawn chair and a blanket outside in the cold waiting for a store’s coupon.

I will embrace every single minute of Thanksgiving, every delicious bite of smoked turkey and chitterlings (yeah, I said it), and every mouth-watering piece of dessert without my mind wandering if I really need another 34-piece food storage set as I gaze the leftovers.

I will welcome our family tradition of holding hands and telling what we’re thankful for without thanking God in advance for the pair of boots I plan to buy on Black Friday.

I will enjoy seeing the men in the living room watching football while the women clean the kitchen. (Wait a minute. On second thought, not.)

Bottom line: I will not forsake Thanksgiving for Black Friday. Friday will come and yes, I will be out there hunting for deals like most consumers.

But – it will be FRIDAY and not THURSDAY, Thanksgiving Day.

Who will join me in this crusade to reclaim Thanksgiving for its true purpose? Gratitude, fellowship and family – not deals and steals.

Have a happy Thanksgiving, wholeheartedly.