One day in my first year at CrossFit school was out but I badly needed to work out. So I brought my 10-year-old daughter and 6-year-old son. They ate 10,000 snacks and watched me squat til I could hardly breathe.

Luna — You’re a Squat Mom, Mama!!

Me — I sure as hell am

And then I threw up in the bathroom. No one said this would be easy.

LOL

ENJOY THE VIDEO!!!!

My Comedy Nerd series lands EVERY TUESDAY. I wanna create Great Comedy and work with Great People in Comedy

I hope you like the writing!!!

Thank y’all.

#YesIAmThatMom

Squat Mom was originally published in Hollie Harper INK on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

It’s been a while but I’m back.

I’m a Comedy Nerd, through and through. I do sketch comedy, standup, and musical comedy. My biggest joy in life, next to my family, is writing and creating stuff that makes us laugh.

I do comedy with comedy crews. I do comedy with my kids. Hell, I do comedy with puppets, bubbles, poetry, and silly Q&As.

My Manifestation? Creating great comedy and working with excellent people.

Please enjoy Comedy Nerd. And check me out each Tuesday.

And most of all,

Thank you

I’m a Comedy Nerd was originally published in Hollie Harper INK on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

It’s weird to run into your teenage daughter on the way to the train. All the memories of pushing her in her stroller toward the same train station come pouring into my heart.

Today, after we spotted each other, we laughed, hugged, and hugged some more. I reveled in being the soft spot her soul lands on. Still petite but taller than me, she rests in comfortable silence against The Mama Chest she took 5 thousand naps on.

She eventually tries to let go, but I don’t let her.

“Give Mama this” I whisper in my heart.

Let her hold you on this road with so many memories. For your little feet traveled this way with the woman that sang ABC's with you and quizzed you on history tests.

One day I realized she was my height and walked faster than me. That was a moment where I relaxed and said “The Kid’s gonna be OK”.

Now sometimes I watch from a distance from where she can't see me. She’s graceful, beautiful and people notice. My heart flutters, praying God protects her as she goes about her day. Every parent knows their kid is their heart on the outside.

But today I saw her little face light up when she saw me. “Oh wow, she still likes me” I laughed to myself. Teenagers will look at you like you farted for a good 8 years. You just have to tough it out.

Today we stood under the scaffolding and held each other in silence. It was Every Day Beautiful and I was grateful.

This is our street Not- So-Little-One.

The clouds above watched you grow.

#YesIamThatMom

#raisingagirl

Give Me This was originally published in Hollie Harper INK on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

There’s a game of Tag that children play.

In many variations one person is IT and the others run wildly from It’s grasp, booking it back to Base…where you are safe.

“I GOT BASE!” You scream as you touch the stoop of safety.
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Despite sciatica I accompanied Razi to his running club and at the end, Razi slowed down and stopped.

I ran past it . But he saw This.

I back up to where he stands very deliberately. I look down and see his name.

AMIR…My heart sinks

Razi — I heard about him

Me — They talk about him at school ?

He shrugs “Yeah”

I raise my phone to take a picture and Razi looks down. Because he knows. He knows this is a time of sadness where one mourns for another young Black life taken so carelessly.

And he points. His gesture says “THIS”

CLICK
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We walk up the hill from that spot, talking about how Amir died.

Razi — So…they were at the wrong address?

Me — They were never supposed to be there

It’s quiet until I see real anger come across his face.

Razi — He was supposed to be safe!

Me — Yes…YES!….He was supposed to be safe.

In the one place you can be. You at least SHOULD BE.

To be Black in this world, can be a terrible game of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Drywall, in the court of law, might be prioritized above you.

I pray at night to never be part of the club no one wants to be a part of. Where moms and dads look at photos realizing there will be no more to take. No more graduations. No more birthday parties. No grandkids coming.

A traffic stop gone left

A neighborhood vigilante

A Wrong Address

I tell you this ….

My heart won’t survive

And you… the one that did it….better hide before my heart gives out.

#YesIAmThatMom

#TheStraightTruth

Where is Base? was originally published in Hollie Harper INK on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

You and Me…

Sometimes I look at him and remember all the years before he was here. All the days I did not know a sweet boy would come along and completely melt my heart.

I did not know God would bless me with a child so beautiful and bright I’d just gaze at him and smile.

Where do beautiful boys come from?
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We stood by our coat rack this morning wondering aloud if we need a scarf in the changing weather. I was caught up in his face. His eyes darted to the side and down the way children do when something is odd.

Me — What’s up Bud?

Razi — Mama you’re staring again.

Yeah…again

Me — I’m just looking at you Handsome. Looking at your face.

I didn’t know what else to say. Because the truth is I simply adore him.

I delighted in his sloppy baby kisses as he held my face. I watched him play with toy trucks and promised I’d moved mountains for him if needed.

One night after his first year of life spent sleeping on my chest, he finally slept in his crib without me. I was unable to fall asleep without his heart beating in simpatico with mine. I asked myself “Why did you fight to put him in his own spot? Now you can’t sleep”.

His first day of preschool, unlike Luna, he left my side without even thinking. I was on the train to a rehearsal when I realized 5 years earlier with Luna, I was so devastated by her crying I actually had to lie down when I got home.

Then I called 3 times to make sure she was OK.

Razi’s first day of preschool I came to pick him up and he hugged me with his hands on my face. The way he did as a baby.

The way he did this morning.

I felt that euphoric glow children feel on Christmas morning, gazing at the lights on the tree with so many gifts underneath.

I kissed his sweet chubby check and felt his muscles grin beneath my lips.

And my heart smiled like ten thousand class pictures.

#YesIamThatMom

#HolliesBrain

You and Me was originally published in Hollie Harper INK on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Many people are not stating the obvious reason Trump’s terrorists are raging….their perceived king got voted out by Black folks.

And they are freaking out at the reality that white supremacy is murky water and America is an ever widening sieve

Racist whites are lost….because white supremacy dictates that whiteness only exists in juxtaposition to Blackness.

For we know whiteness was a construct white landowners created.

It was a distraction given to poor whites to avert their attention away from wholesale disenfranchisement by rich whites. This was done by giving them a false status above Black people.

But something happened.

Eight generations of Black upward mobility set in motion during Reconstruction found Black people suffering but still succeeding in spite of Peonage, in spite of Jim Crow, in spite of lynchings, voter suppression, segregation, redlining, mass incaceration and every other form of racist oppression.

We knew the hard rock of inequality and violence was always just around the corner. We simply PLOWED THROUGH. We never bought Hoover’s promise of a 2 cars in every garage and a chicken in every pot. We knew that was not for us.

But progress was made. Enough progress to see a Black president every shade of American youth adore. And then…..well by then…the toothpaste was just OUT the tube and I dare you to get it back.

Is there still the ever-crushing rock of racism? Yes…..The devil always stays busy and he has many advocates. But to many white Americans it has appeared we passed them. Because many of us simply….HAVE

So….. if we Black folks cease to occupy the station of Being Black, then what does it mean to be white?

Job security gone, beauty standards changed and media narratives centering the Previously Othered, basically POC ….has unhinged them

My family watched the Walmart Insurrection and we noticed many things but a few things stood out

One, they looked grubby and two, they had the comfortable fervor of a Sunday afternoon tailgate. We even saw a police officer take a selfie.

I’ll address the grubbiness later

The Selfie…..

Son — Mama he’s taking a selfies with them. They BROKE IN THERE and he’s taking a selfie!!!!!

That’s when I explain that only folks dumb enough to not wear a mask would NOT have the sense their racist ancestors had by choosing white sheets to obscure their identity

Because underneath the KKK hoods were doctors, lawyers, judges and police officers sworn to uphold the law

But looking back, wasn’t it really was the Law of Whiteness?….. The Complexion of Protection masquerading as “Law and Order”

“Why won’t they comply?” these same people ask when a Black man is murdered over an ALLEGED fake 20. This, asked by people whose ancestors burned crosses and held parades for lynchings

I hate what happened at the Capitol but I’m grateful as hell my children saw it.

They watched grubby, (told you I’d get to it) heart-mangled men fight for the right to hang Mike Pence for COUNTING THE ELECTORS.

They were BIG mad this white man was saying ‘These votes count as much as yours”….and BOOM, privilege GONE with only grubbiness remaining

Grubby in sloppy QAnon hoodies with skin that’s seen too much Jack Daniels, hell who are we kidding? Evan Williams, day after day….while they looked at Beyonce and hated her for being so fine but no desire to be on their arm.

Grubby, watching a brown skinned first lady with more class and education than their whole family put together

Grubby in their addictions to Oxy and Fentanyl hollowing out a middle age body that probably won’t see 70

Displaced AF by the lie their white skin was a blessing and a badge

Just freaking GRUBBY….soul grubby from bitterness, speech grubby from thinking English class didn’t matter cause they were gonna get that factory job rich white CEO’s made disappear

Financially and socially emasculated with the only real power they can touch inside an AR-15

But most of all…LOST, trying to find their way back to a Truth That Never Was

Because for many racist white folks, whiteness is all they have

It is a dollar bill quickly depreciating into a Chucky Cheese coin

It is the crab on its back, flitting and flailing at everything that nears it…..

Fearing the cycle of history

The karma

The Boil

#TheStraightTruth

#YesIAmThatMom

#TheCapitol

The Boil was originally published in Hollie Harper INK on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Begin Again

They know…this isn’t the path they chose.

Remote Learning

But if I teach my children the way to Begin Again I think I can check off a big parenting lesson.

And that’s the process of laying bare, outside yourself, walking into the unknown.

It is scary. And the cold draft of fear creeps up in the form of uncertainty, sadness and unfamiliarity.

I. Want. My. Old. Life. NOW.

If photographs tell us anything, it’s that the universe demands we stop time in order to observe it. We are always updating. Every moment is new.

I hope my children carry this time of fear and soul discomfort through the 2020’s, 30’s and beyond. When they are faced with stark change I want them to remember how they Began Again.

And it was cold at first. Loss hung in air. We lost family. We lost friends. Freezer truck morgues outside hospitals became normal the month of April. Mom and dad lost former co-workers they read about on social media and burst into tears.

Then one day, Joy within the New Normal emerged.

Cousin and his lady had a baby. One day a cute new mask fit your personality so succinctly it looked totally at home on your face.

The outright authentic memory of the 7PM Cheer for essential workers made us smile and we realized there is still room for delight in the midst of devastation.

The World turned on itself but we turned to each other.

Me — Remember this year Bud. One day you will tell your grandkids I will never meet

I could tell he didn’t really hear the last part this morning. He set up his laptop and logged on while I thought of that last part.

“The grandkids I’ll never meet” and at first it made me sad. Then I went back to that place in me that knows my job is not to be here his whole life, but to give him enough kisses to feel loved when he is not chosen.

• To bestow enough respect so he can recognize safety inside his soul
• To provide enough structure to enable him to seek order among chaos
• And to let him brave the cold draft of Life’s Uncertainty so brazenly he MUST Push Through

I must prepare my son to face the chilly, jagged edges of unwanted change, look it in the eye and say “OK… God help me….

…..for I will Begin Again”.

#YesIAmThatMom

Begin Again was originally published in Hollie Harper INK on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

“I TOLD you I was done”

You can kiss my Huggies Ass.

Seriously. I TOLD you I was done.

Remember when we were in the bodega on the way over here and I grabbed all those stupid, grown up protein bars at my eye level, that I don’t even want, but wouldn’t let go of?

Yeah THEN sis…I was done.

You didn’t see it. You Said “Oh Bud honey, don’t be like that ” and you kissed me.

I fell for that crap cause Mama Kisses DO EASE THE SOUL but dammitt I’m tired. We missed my nap and when I tried to get a wink on the subway, the SHOWTIME woke me up!

AND you gave those fools 3 dollars.!!

They weren’t that good. I’m 18 months old now, I’ve seen better. That little dude couldn’t even catch his hat with his head like the other guys do. But you gave him 3 dollars.

What is WRONG with you Mama?

Now I’m up in this Children’s Museum and you tell me I CAN’T have someone else snacks. That little girl won’t even MISS these Annie’s Cheddar Bunnies. But you gotta grab them out my hand….I see you.

Woman don’t you know I’m TIRED and these damn bunny snacks are all I have to live for?

I also missed Bubble Guppies this morning and you KNOW IT.

Bubble Guppies is my jam and my bib is irritating my neck. Why must you leave my bib on ALL DAY? Why don’t you just text everyone “Razi gotta drooling problem”…and my drool isn’t even that serious.

These bibs suck dirt, like you right now, and I love you but you I’ma need a moment on this floor, so everybody just WALK AROUND the spectacle cause I ain’t moving.

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I also wanna address why my clothes don’t match.

I saw baby pictures of my big sister and her wardrobe was ICE COLD. She had sets. She had ensembles. She MATCHED.

This is some second child BS. I know she is the heir but I am NOT the spare. Fix this STAT or I will embarrass you at another public event.

No one can blow out a diaper like me. ……Daddy won’t even change me if I get a hold of the hot sauce.

He’ll just watch me run past him, stifle a vomit and play dumb when you pick me up and scream for Jesus.

That one time at that Christmas party we had to leave early was a doozy. I was actually impressed with myself. That was like 9 baby wipes and afterwards you scrubbed your hands like you were taking out a heart.

But right now…Right now I’m pissed.

I missed my nap, I don’t match and the Annies cheddar bunnies that were ripped out my hands looked good… as… Florida.

I would say Hell, but you said Florida IS hell so lets’s go with Florida.

Basically YOU AIN’T RIGHT.

And you can KISS…MY…………………ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

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• Postscript — It’s Razi’s Mama. He fell asleep and wants you all to know he’s having a lovely day

#YesIAmThatMom

#HolliesBrain

#KidMouthRunning

You Can Kiss My A** was originally published in Hollie Harper INK on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

He was tall and young, like YOUNG YOUNG. The kind of young that makes you say “That’s somebody’s child”.

“Miss, come down to aisle two”.

He motioned to the right and my husband and I left aisle 7 and trekked down to aisle 2 where Tall and Young waited for us.

Right away I noticed how thoughtful he was, making room for the bags we brought ourselves. He was even apologetic.

“I’m sorry there’s not much room here” he said.

Our eyes met and right away I told him it was fine.

The Wegmans is as packed as it can be with social distancing. Here in Brooklyn we stand 5 feet from each person on a line that snakes down the block. It’s like this in most major cities now. We thought we were early.

Guess everyone had the same idea.

COVID19… we are on edge in New York. 40 percent of the country’s cases and DEATHS are ours.

While my husband pays I notice Tall and Young has no face mask.

Me — Honey where’s your mask?

I see his name tag. “ELIJAH” it reads.

Elijah — They don’t give us any

Wait….what?? You mean to tell me in this moment where Black folks are 70 percent of the bodies in those temporary street side morgues, Wegmans is NOT providing their VERY Black staff with proper PPE?

Me — They don’t give you masks???!!!

He pointed to the new plastic partial partition.

Elijah — We have that

I’m pissed.

I waited tables for twenty years on and off. As someone that grew up middle class it wasn’t expected I’d wait tables but I’m an artist… so those class rules go out the window after you split paths with those professionally-minded people you grew up with. They get jobs on their career path while you work shifts looking for a big break.

The years I waited tables made me see a whole population outside myself. I saw home health aides, MTA employees, delivery people and supermarket clerks.

Essential workers…Most of them Black and brown. And NO ONE sees them.

Oh they see you when they need you. Like “Where is that girl? I spilled something”. But people really don’t see you as a real person.

You are an Invisible Person.

I have so many tales of waiting tables as an Invisible Person we could be here all day, but let me just tell you I’ve had people do everything short of change a tampon in front of me. I had a woman spit gum in my hand when I delivered food to the table. I had a woman hand me an open shitty diaper at an outdoor cafe and a man refuse to tip me because I wouldn’t give him my last Tylenol after he saw me gulp one down at the waitress station.

People think bodies in service positions are ENSLAVED and treat them with less humanity than the uncle that raped them at 10. It’s been a dozen years since I was an essential worker and this afternoon in Wegmans I became enraged.

I looked down the vast market as a dozen clerks rang up everyone’s food. All Black, no masks.

God damn

So I went home and got some for Elijah. Ran up in my apartment past my kids, grabbed the spare ones and put them in a ziplock bag.

I told Elijah I’d be sending him a mask but I knew it couldn’t wait. Why take the time to mail a mask when he’s exposed every minute?

He needed it RIGHT THEN.

You see I love Black people. I actually love ALL people because God created us all. But systemic racism means that many folks think they love Black folks but their actions speak otherwise.

You can’t endanger very young Black people by providing them NOTHING to protect themselves in a pandemic but give your mostly white, upwardly mobile shoppers every protection…and call that Love.

A month from now half your staff could be in the ditches they are digging at Hart’s Island but those shi shi snacks will still be at the register. And that’s how systemic racism works. It gives no room or thought to the lives of Black people. It’s the length family-friendly corporations travel to display kindness and protection for human smiles while looking at Black people and switching their tune to “Personal Responsibility”.

We’ve seen this time and time again. Crack addiction? Black and criminal. Opioid addiction? An American health crisis. Prostitution in urban areas? Crime. The suburbs? Trafficking. Hell it took Liam Neeson running through Europe chasing his English Rose-looking daughter for many Americans to even look at prostitution for what it’s always been…Trafficking.

This lack of PPE for Black people that were in pull-ups and strollers during 9/11 felt deliberate. It felt careless. It felt deliberately careless.

I ran back in the store with a ziplock bag of two masks and gloves. The security guard was kind but cautious. I had bypassed the long line snaked outside.

Me — Excuse me officer. I need to get PPE to Elijah at register 2.

He nodded and waved me in with a smile that said “Of course” and down the aisle I went.

Elijah was bagging up groceries for another mom. He looked up at me and did a double take.

Me — I told you I’d bring you a mask

He smiled like Christmas.

Elijah — (partial disbelief) Whoa!!

That made me laugh.

Me — Honey you got two masks and gloves. So you got a spare or you can give it to a -

Before I could finish he was giving the second pair to his friend. That made me tear up……..yes Elijah.

I took their picture and they instantly reminded me of my half dozen nephews. Strong, young and full of “What’s Next?”

Me — I know y’all got mamas but I’m your Mama today!

We all laughed but I meant it. Young people need adults to look at things, say “This ain’t right” and actually do something. This is the JOB of adults. I am an adult.

And when I was young aunties, uncles, friends, neighbors and teachers ALL did the kindest things for me and now is the time for me to notice the babies and do what I can, where I can, whenever I can.

I love people.

I absolutely love Black people.

And Black people are Somebodies

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And Wegmans…get your shit together

STAT

#YesIamThatMom

#TheStraightTruth

When You Love Somebody(ies) was originally published in Hollie Harper INK on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

1999 — He leapt up the Shark Bar steps like a gazelle and looked square at me.

“ARE YOU HOLLIE HARPER?!”

I was waiting tables, knee deep in orders I had’t even put in yet and the “2 hour wait” night was at fever pitch.

WALL TO WALL PEOPLE.

I look at him and started to say no because everyone was staring. Then I remembered my sister was sending a friend my way.

Me — (a lil sheepish) Um…..yeah

Marque — GIRL I’m MARQUE!

He flipped his swoop bang to the side, smiled at me as he rested on his right hip and we were friends.

I lost my friend Marque yesterday

And I am SAD

He was an insane, coldly and boldly talented, Emmy award winning hairstylist who’s laser sense of humor made me cackle with delight.

He was an actor in two of my plays and one web series….and he was a crowd pleaser.

But his true talent was HAIR.

Y’all he could do some hair. Like I said, He won EMMYS. He gave me a weave in 2002 that was so damn good I had random women in the NYSC locker room putting their hands in my scalp searching for tracks.

The hair he gave me was powerful I had to up my damn birth control.

The man was GIFTED

He was also a hilarious friend.

When I went into labor with Luna, he came to see me in the hospital……with a date.

I couldn’t believe he brought a damn date but Marque was like that. He and his cute date sat with me and we all took bets on Luna’s arrival while the Super Bowl captivated Keith and my dad.

After I had Luna, and that thing that happens to women where they give birth and folks DITCH you, did NOT happen with him.

He brought me closer. And he could be abruptly honest.

One day, 6 months after having Luna, we shopped shoes in Union Square and he asked me when I was getting back to being fabulous.

It was like a kick in the gut.

Marque — Girl when are you getting BAAAACK? Where is Miss Hollie???!!!

I started to cry right there in the store because he was right. I was lost in maternity bras, diaper bags, breast pumps and pacifiers. My left breast was wet with milk soaking through and my yoga pants had dried banana on them.

I was wearing Crocs and thought I looked good

Yeah….. Let’s be real. You may look fine in Crocs but you don’t look good ….and Marque was right.

I was actually crying kinda hard in the store ( I WILL cry in public) and I was furious with him. I leaned on the wall and saw my reflection in the mirror and started laughing at the sight of Hot Mess Hollie.

He laughed with me.

Marque - Girl don’t cry, you’ll get back….. Just get back though

And we laughed again…..He was right. I did need to get back

I’ve been getting back for 13 years. His words stayed with me. And even though life took us apart right after I had Razi, I got to sit with him for 3 hours a few years back, at a mutual friend’s event. I got to soak up his smile and hang like we no time had passed.

Then yesterday I got the call

Marque was one of those magical artists, those hundreds of people that make millions of us look good.

He spent his life transforming women into their most heightened selves and he helped me see myself in a light I actually HADN’T before. That day in the shoe store he wasn’t letting me know how dumpy I looked to hurt me, he was letting me know where my LEVEL was and it wasn’t there.

You see I love being a mom. But anybody that tries to act like motherhood doesn’t punch you and your style in the damn neck is LYING.

Marque just threw some cold water on me.

I miss him. And I’m so pissed we never completely got our friendship back on full course. I always figured we’d have time.
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I wish I could shop shoes with him one more time.

If I had one more day with him I’d buy every pair of heels he suggested.

I’d do my hair just the way he taught me.

I’d spend just 5 more minutes on my eye makeup because he believed in taking time for oneself.

Thank you Marque….thank you and all your years of the glow you set over me, laughing with me, rehearsals with me, train rides and snow cones and years passing, Love, food, babies and many, many moments

“Bitch you are BEAUTIFUL!” he used to yell

Yeah Marque….

And I will miss Your Beautiful self too

#YesIAmThatMom

#HolliesBrain

Hey Marque was originally published in Hollie Harper INK on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.