I was just sitting on the plantation—I mean, porch. I was just rocking in my rocking chair, watching the trees sway in the breeze, and reminiscing about the ancestors. In the middle of sipping on some tea-flavored sugar—I mean, sweet tea—I thought I heard a distant murmur. Lo and behold, there were voices. Almost familiar, they were the voices of Toya’s family from BET’s Toya: A Family Affair whispering, like the wind through the trees, around me.
My word. Suddenly, I recalled how I was never more taken ablack to learn that there existed a family of blackfellows from down under the Bible Belt who could best my family for the worst Southern “accent” ever.
Whenever I hear my cute uncle say “qwenty” or “cruck,” I admit I get a diabolical case of the giggles so bad, I feel that Kris Kardashian (Jenner ) and I share the same misfortune of sharing the same weak bladder. As you know, a little leak can cause you to lose your poise and take off runnin’ down the “skreet.”
Seriously, when I heard Toya’s family talk, I thought: Were all the schools in Louisiana swept away in the Great Flood? Carrying all its DICTIONaries and accompanying pronunciation keys with it? The Great Flood, remember? No, not Katrina. The other one, with Noah and Ham and them.
Now I ‘speck what follows might draw the blackest of looks, the darkest of words, and maybe even some unabashed blacklash. And, no, despite my cartoon looks, I’m not old enough to know from personal experience what an actual slave sounds like.
But was it just me, bruh? Or did all those young Louie’s in Toya’s family talk like human beings formerly owned by other near-human beings?
In case you were wondering, “Whatcha gon do, Kissy?” was a question posed to Toya’s out-of-work bruh Casey by his pregnant girlfriend (another well without water) in regard to said pregnancy and his impending fatherhood.
For any jobless and uneducated young man, it’s a tough question.
And as any young Louie will tell you, “Life do be hord.” But a hit reality show has a way of shutting up under-breath murmuring (like mine) and putting both slave talkers and dog whisperers back “in the black” toward thriving. However, as my literary muse Maya Angelou once said, those words of encouragement might be ‘more mouth than truth.’
So while I yet sit reminiscing this summer, enjoying familiar echoes of the distant antebellum past, I sure hope that BET buys back—I mean, brings back Toya’s slave–talking family. If not for Casey, for ALL the kids. With a father who was a mere 14-16 condoms shy of having two kids, I’m sure—in this economy—they could ALL use the money. You know, since it’s a little too late for them ALL to learn how to sing, play instruments, and become The Sylvers.
Do you, like Jim, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, believe “dat whoever give to de po’ len’ to de Lord, en boun’ to git his money back a hund’d times”? I do.