The State of the Black Grandma
- Chuck King
- Jan 27
- 2 min read
What happeens when nurture is replaced with survival
When the grandmas disappear, where does that leave our youth?
Our diaspora has leaned on the backs of Black grandmothers until the spine has broken. Few will have the luxury I had growing up, with a grandmother’s love and direction to center you before entering the chaos of the world. This was more than the best home-cooked meals you could experience. She was love in loveless places, courage in moments of fear, and faith in all things hoped for.
What she was not was a full-time daycare center, a financial dependency when we carelessly lived beyond our means, or a savior. We were supposed to grow up and save ourselves.
When the Black father began to vanish from the home, leadership and order naturally fell to the elder. Under harsh pretenses, the grandmother was forced into the role of leader rather than nurturer, a burden many still carry today. What happens when the roles are reversed? Grandma loses time to give life lessons and reassurance. She is too busy trying to save the world, trying to protect, trying to provide, ultimately trying to survive.
We are all guilty in the abuse of a power structure that once kept our tribe sacred. Now we are left in an insoluble predicament. Our youth today have no grandmothers. Lineage-wise, maybe, but certainly not consciousness-wise. Neighborhoods have turned into battlefields where blood spills more frequently by our own hands than by oppressive ones. Boys learn to pick up a gun before they are taught how to be men. Mothers raise sons alone because their fathers failed the mission themselves. For too long, we attempted to use grandma as a crutch to keep order, to keep stability. But when elders age, duties must be passed and responsibility must be taken.
So can we be honest? What is the solution now that the essence of the grandmother is disappearing? Grandmothers are becoming younger and younger. Many want to finally live their own lives once their children are “grown.” That leaves our streets polluted with unhealed youth missing a grandmother’s love.
We all owe grandma an apology. Black men must protect and guard the few grandmothers who remain. And we, as a collective, must reinstate practices and restore order that allow grandmothers to exist in their natural role. Otherwise, our youth will continue to spill blood that never had to be shed.
This reflection is part of a larger work.
Generational Curses is available now
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