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100 things about me #67-77:

67. It was a long-time dream of mine to fly to the moon. I hear we’re not doing that any more. The moon is passé, I guess.

68 a. One of my first Cabbage Patch Kids (they were very popular when I was young) was a black astronaut girl. With a space suit and everything. I’m sure I was much more interested what the Kid represented, rather than the Kid, itself.

68 b. The year my mother had managed to find a Cabbage Patch Kid for me, they were very hard to come by (think Tickle-Me Elmo) and pretty expensive for someone who had the kind of income that my mother had (largely nonexistent). She was extraordinarily proud of having procured such a treat. Certain that I would love to have a Cabbage Patch Kid, certain that it would be the one thing I would want more than anything else, because, of course, it was the one thing that most other little girls my age would want more than anything else (at least, according to popular media), she asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I answered quite promptly, quite merrily, with hope brightening my little black eyes, “A robot!” My mother fumed. For years.

69. My uncle (on my father’s side) was Guion Bluford, the first black astronaut, appointed by John F. Kennedy, himself. Pictures of him would appear in my elementary school textbooks and 500 times larger than life in the Franklin Institute and in the Smithsonian. He is my father’s brother. I have met him once, I believe, when I was too young to remember. We spoke once on the telephone. I remember waving to him once at a parade. I wanted to be just like him. But I never told him that. He probably could have helped me out, there. Maybe. I didn’t really think of that at the time. I mean, I was probably like eight or something, but still. Somebody should have thought of that for me, don’t you think?

70. We, the Blufords are an anti-social clan, when it comes to other family members, at least. The entire family is totally spread out all over the country and nobody ever communicates with anybody else. I have met none of my relatives on my father’s side, except Uncle Guion once when I was too young to remember. Uncle Guion has two sons, my cousins, which I have never met. And another brother, Eugene, which I have never met. It’s hard to consider them my family.

71. By the time I was born, both of my father’s biological parents had died. I was born one year to the day after my father’s mother died.

72. I rarely say “We, the Blufords.” As if I’m a Bluford. Which, I suppose I am. I was not given my father’s last name. Nor have I had much of any contact with his family. (My family?) My entire concept of family was developed on my mother’s side. An excessive matriarchy (once my grandfather died—a covert matriarchy before that point.) My grandmother, my mother, my three aunts, and two female cousins (one male, very amiable, sweet boy). All of the husbands and boyfriends and partners (with the exception of my cousin’s, but they don’t really count in the eyes of the family—we’ll be sitting at the kiddie tables for the rest of our lives) of the Waynes women (in the generation above me) fled. Let me say that again, without all the parentheticals. All of the husbands and boyfriends and partners of the Waynes women fled. Or were eaten. We’re still not sure. Be careful. It is a long-held belief that Waynes women eat their mates.

73. I trained in Martha Graham style modern dance for three-and a half years while I studied at U.C. Berkeley.

74. I can juggle three balls while lying on my back and watching television, although I haven’t lately.

75. My mother and I occasionally would vacation in Maryland, near Washington, D.C. We would usually see the Smithsonians and other museums in the area. One year, I really wanted to go to the Holocaust Museum. I thought it was really important. My mother and I got into a huge fight about it. I asked her why I couldn’t go. She positively spat at me: “Look in the mirror, you’re not one of them.” I was so shocked and horrified at what she said, by what I perceived as her complete and utter intolerance and lack of interest in exploring the experience of anyone beside what she considered “her people.” I felt that all peoples where “my people.” I still feel that way. The next day, while wandering about in the Mall (before the Washington Monument), I encountered a thirty-something black man who had lived in D.C. for all or most of his life and he told me that he had been to all the different museums. So we were walking and talking about this museum and that museum. (It turns out the man was a priest. I don’t know why that seems important to mention, but it does.) At some point or another, I mentioned to him that I really wanted to go to the Holocaust museum. He said he’d never been. I was shocked. I asked him why not. And he said—this man, this priest said—“What have the Jews ever done for us?” And immediately I said, knitted brows, “What have we ever done for them? I talked to the priest about my belief that if we extend ourselves, maybe others will extend themselves. This trip gave me my first encounter with the Jewish-Black / Black-Jewish tension. Before this moment, I didn’t know that this phenomenon existed. I was appalled. And disappointed in humanity, young idealist that I was.

76. I have considered cannibalism. I’ve often wondered what human flesh would taste like . . . cooked. Don’t worry. I decided against it. So you're probably safe. I do still wonder about the taste, though . . .

77. I don’t go to weddings. I’m personally and politically opposed to them for a plethora of reasons, which I’m so way too tired to go into right now. Ask me later.