By Jonathan Livingston
“…And what of love”, wrote the poet Kahlil Gibran. Before reading this passage from The Prophet as a young boy, I never thought of love and what it meant to love and be loved. I was given and shown love by my family and my community, but I never had experienced the love between a man and a woman. Although I had experienced adolescent relationships, known for their brief periods of intimacy, curiosity, and confusion, I had not entertained or given much thought to love and what it meant to love and be in love. So, for much of my adolescence, I asked the question, “What of love?”
Not until I was 21 did I understand what love is. This reckoning occurred in the most unlikely of places. I was visiting the mother’s grave to solicit wisdom and give updates on my life and my dreams. As I began to complete my counsel, I noticed that an elderly brother, with a flower in his hand, was standing near a grave. As I continued to observe the brother, I saw that he was crying. Curious and compelled to console, I began to walk toward him. As the distance between him and me lessened, I noticed that he was much older than I had assumed. At that point, he kneeled and placed the flower on the grave. Approaching him, I asked if everything was okay. Before responding, he wiped the tears from his face and in a shaken yet solemn voice, he said four simple yet profound words: “I loved that woman.” Words so simple but never had I heard them uttered by a brother. “I loved that woman”, he said again, “I loved her. She was my friend, my counsel. She stood by me through rough times. She gave me beautiful children. She made me a better man. I loved that woman.” As he continued to tell me of his life with his wife and all of the wonderful things he had experienced, I knew at that moment that I wanted to feel and experience love or, at the very least, be loved by someone in that same way.
Although a number of years had passed before I experienced true love, I began to look for it in my community and began to ask the question to what degree do Black men and Black women truly experience love in their lifetime. Furthermore, I pondered the question of whether they understood that their union and ability to express love to each other are essential to the vitality and survival of our community. In reviewing all the statistics in the media and books on high divorce rates, high levels of illegitimacy, and the so-called shortage of good Black men, it made me question whether many of us truly experienced love. When I looked at my community, I saw single mothers who were either bitter from love lost or engaging in serial monogamy not knowing how precious their bodies are. Looking into the eyes of, and listening to, some of our brothers in the community, I did not see love. I saw lust and a subtle contempt for women, which in many circles of so-called men is expressed in an objectification of Black women to that of sexual objects to be conquered. Such contempt can be seen at all levels in our community whether it be in the mysoginstic music listened to by our youth or in the workplace where Black men, likened to their White male counterparts, sexually harass and mistreat Black women. In reviewing this sad state of affairs, I again ask the question, “What of love?”
Answering this question came as I began to look at the relationships of older Black couples in my community. And there, I saw my answer. Love is expressed in that kiss and embrace shared, when they think no one is looking. We see this during the holidays when we are around these older couples. We know what love is because this kiss is wrapped in years of struggle, good times and bad times, compromise, understanding, and, yes, forgiveness. Love is expressed in that willingness to stick by and support one through a change of career, retirement, and even illness. Love is expressed when you, as a Black man, can look deep into the eyes of that sister and see your future and say to yourself, “I adore, respect, and cherish that woman.”
February 9, 2003 – February 22, 2003 Edition
