IS IT WRONG TO BE “XTRA” ?

THE TALK

I showed up at The House last Labor Day with my usual belongings
of Summer—small shorts, small fitted shirts, small skirts, and a couple of knee
length dresses for church. The first couple of days the holiday had gone pretty
well with our usual cornucopia of Southern/Creole holiday treats: limitless
barbecue, sweet, caramelized baked beans, creamy potato salad, and all sorts of
cakes, cookies, and goodies. But by the third or fourth night, like any good
rice pudding—things began to turn a bit sour. Late one night, while half- falling
asleep in front of the T.V. after overeating yet again, my stepmother and I
began to chat about some of our basic beliefs. As always, I defended my Pollyannic
beliefs to a T, insisting that any ailment could be cured with a mere thought;
and my stepmother, like any ordinary, sensible person, believed that you of
course, could not. Then somehow, we began to get on the subject of some of my
long- standing social challenges, like the animosity that I often sense from my
female peers. A few days earlier, I’d tested the tepid step-maternal waters by
opening up to her, and now it seemed as if she’d come up with her own theory as
to what the problem could be. And it was rather interesting. ...

THE WALK

She concluded
that the proverbial problem was my walk. Apparently, it was way too bouncy,
swishy, and dramatic. She added that it wasn’t “graceful” at all. She said that
my chest stuck out too much, and then she proceeded to attempt to mimic it from
a seated position. And all the while bouncing up and down, her contempt for my
sassy gait seemed to grow more and more. It was quite evident that she certainly
did not “dig” my walk.

But,
I had always thought that “bouncy” was a good thing. In fact, a friend of mine
had nicknamed me “bouncy” after observing the lively way my body shook while reggae
dancing on a table. Bouncing down the street had always been very natural to
me, almost the way flying is to a bird. I’d throw my head back high, spread my
wings, and soar—as much as is possible wearing xtra high heels. I had always
thought that my walk would inspire rather than offend, offset, or upset. Of
course, there are the occasional sneers and rolled eyes from the Ladies’
Department and there’s the Are you a stripper?
wide grin from some of the men. But there are also supporters: ladies usually
in their 70’s and 80’s who smirk innocuously from behind their bifocals,
perhaps remembering their own insouciant youth; the flashy, gay men who snap
their fingers and order me to “work it”; the tweens who smile pleasantly at my
audaciousness, perhaps seeing it as a promise of their own irreverent confidence;
and of course the general heterosexual male public who smile knowingly, understanding
and appreciating how my xtra feminine sway somehow reaffirms their own
masculinity. There seem to be so many who my walk benefits on a daily basis,
and I’m not sure it would be fair to take that all away.

THE XTRA TRUTH

Meanwhile my father, who had been half-sleeping/half-eavesdropping
in his bedroom (a mixture he’s perfected since my early youth), emerged valiant
in raggedy wife beater to proclaim his own theory about my apparent female
problem. He agreed that my walk definitely needed to be fixed, but then suggested
that the problem only began there. He insisted that my whole “act” needed
downsizing, saying that I generally draw too much attention to myself with other
qualities such as my breathy voice and form-fitting, spandex-proned style of
dress. He concluded that if everyone turns to stare at me when I enter a room,
that I’m doing something wrong. So now it wasn’t just my walk that was xtra, it
was I, in-general, that was somehow—wrong. But I had been like this all my life,
and it certainly didn’t feel wrong; and after twenty some odd years of
habitude, I wasn’t sure why it was becoming such an issue now.

XTRA HISTORY

My
late mother used to tell the tale of the precocious little baby in a stroller
attracting xtraordinary attention from random passersby who would stop to ogle
and coo at her. This same, xtra engaging baby grew up to be an xtra silly
toddler recording naughty songs and make-believe sermons on her Fisher Price. When
she got a little older, she found xtra pleasure in singing xtra loud in the
shower so her whole South
Georgia neighborhood could
hear, and she also began garnering xtra attention at school with her xtra good
stories with xtra good pictures that were always read aloud by xtra adoring
teachers. Then puberty struck and her body developed xtra fast and she started
receiving xtra attention from guys. And so came her sexual awakening which led
to a whole new strain of xtra behavior. She became xtra flirtatious and her
voice grew xtra high. She began wearing xtra tight, xtra short clothes and
began xperimenting with herself xtra often. And since then, her xtra delight in
xtra sensual, xtra playful behavior has become xtra annoying to some, as calls
to “tone it down,” “take it down a notch,” or “fall back,” (as they say in
Brooklyn) have been thrown incessantly at her.

THE VERDICT

But
where do these xtra non-enthusiasts find basis for this “tone it down” approach
to life? Even the Good Book suggests that being visibly full of Life isn’t such
a bad thing. Letting “your light so shine so that men may see your good works,”
(so on and so forth) is one of the most resonating epithets around; and I can certainly
argue that my light is definitely “shining” and that men are indeed seeing my
“good works.” Why is it that so many of us think we’ll get to Heaven faster if
we all appear sinfully glum and wretchedly ordinary? Perhaps “blessed are the
meek, for they shall see God,” but I’m sure we un-meek shall see God, too—and probably
a lot faster because we’ve got xtra light
surrounding us.

Carmen Barika is the author of “The Xtra Files”, a comical journal
blog about her “xtra-ordinary” New York experiences. She is also the CEO/founder of Black Betty Entertainment which
specializes in playful, sensual entertainment for adults.