"We're Going to The Cottage"

Wed, 20 May 2026 17:00:21 GMT

"We're Going to Our Grandparent's Cottage"

“ We’re going to our grandparents’ cottage. ”

That’s something I used to hear growing up—especially from some of my friends.
And the way they talked about it always made it sound like the best kind of weekend… like a whole little world I didn’t know about yet.

And I’d be thinking:

“Wait… what’s a cottage?
And how come everybody seems to have one… except me?”

Now, I came from a Jamaican home.
And let me be clear—we had fun. We did things. We went places.

It’s just that the “weekend nature getaway” thing wasn’t really part of my childhood the way it was for some other families.

Nobody in my house was saying,
“Pack your bags—we’re going to sit by a lake and be peaceful.”

If anything, we were peaceful because the power went out and there was nothing else to do.

But honestly? We had our own kind of joy.

For us, the big hangout spot was the court .

When it was safe, we’d be out there—playing marbles, talking about everything and nothing, laughing until our stomachs hurt…

…and of course debating.

Because in our court, everything turned into a debate.

You could say, “I like mango,”
and someone would be like,
“So you’re saying pineapple shouldn’t exist?”

And someone would have to step in like a referee:
“Alright, alright—one at a time—both sides will be heard!”

And parents were mostly okay with it because we weren’t far.
Some of them could literally look out the window and see you.

Like neighborhood supervision… the original version.

But when it got dark?

Oh, it never failed.
You’d start hearing parents calling names like it was roll call.

And then you’d hear the one call that ended the whole vibe:

“ STEVENNNN! ”

That was one of my friends’ moms.
And when she called “Steven,” everybody knew what time it was.

No discussion. No “five more minutes.”
You just started walking home like the lights in the party came on.

And the funny part is—she and my mom became really good friends.

So I share all of this with love, because I’m not saying one kind of childhood is better than another.

Different families, different cultures, different routines—
and there’s beauty in all of it.

But I’ll also be honest:

Even though I had a lot of fun, I still remember feeling like I was missing something.
Like there was a whole experience—being in nature, getting away, breathing different air—that I didn’t really get to have.

And that’s one of the reasons I’m so passionate about the Exhale Girls experiencing some kind of nature getaway now.

Because I know what it’s like to wonder about something you’ve never tried…
and to feel like it might not be “for you.”

That’s why a getaway like Yogi Bear is a big deal for us.

Some of our girls have never been camping —ever.
So giving them a real camp experience—cabins, campfires, outdoor fun, new memories—
it’s not just a trip…

It’s a reminder that they deserve space to exhale, explore, and expand their world.

And we want to thank those who donate generously to our programs to help make things like this possible…
but I want to especially thank Jolly Farmer for helping us bring our girls to camp again this year.

Because trips like these?

They stay with you.

An Invitation to Be More Mindful

Sun, 01 Feb 2026 01:25:30 GMT

If this post resonated with you, I’d love your support. Please consider sharing it on your page —not to stir debate, but to help normalize a simple message: curiosity is okay, and consent still comes first. Sometimes the kindest changes start with more people simply being aware.

If you know a parent, educator, or someone who works with children, sharing this post can be a real act of support . It helps reinforce a message many Black kids need to hear (and see modeled): their bodies—and their hair—are not up for grabbing or questioning without permission.

There’s a moment I’ve experienced more than once as a Black woman—one that may seem small to the person doing it, but carries a lot of weight on the receiving end. Recently, I met someone for the first time. Within moments of speaking, she reached out and touched my hair, then followed it up with a question: “Is it natural?” I answered. I stayed polite. I kept the conversation moving. But I also felt bothered—because underneath the question was something bigger than curiosity. It was the assumption that my hair was available for inspection.

Curiosity Isn’t the Problem—Entitlement Is

Leaving my hair out does not give anyone permission to touch it.

Not because it looks interesting.
Not because it’s different from what you’re used to.
Not because you mean well.
Not because you feel comfortable with me.

Hair is personal. And touching someone—anyone—without permission crosses a boundary, even when it’s framed as a compliment.

Why This Matters More Than People Realize

For many Black people, hair is not just hair. It’s culture. It’s history. It’s identity. It’s creativity. It’s also something that has been judged, controlled, and misunderstood in ways that are deeply rooted. So when someone touches my hair without asking, it can feel like I’m being treated as a curiosity instead of a person. And what makes this even more important: this doesn’t only happen to adults. Black children experience this too—especially in school settings.

When It Happens to Kids

At school, what adults might brush off as “innocent curiosity” can turn into something repetitive and stressful for a child. Being stared at, questioned, or touched can make a child feel singled out. It can make school feel uncomfortable and exhausting instead of safe and fun. This is something I’ve had to address with a teacher before. Not because I wanted conflict—but because it matters. Children deserve to learn in environments where their bodies, their boundaries, and their dignity are respected.

A Simple Standard That Helps Everyone

If you’re curious about someone’s hair, here’s the guideline that makes it respectful:

Ask first.
Wait for a clear yes.
Be okay with no.

That’s it.

Curiosity is normal. Boundaries are essential.

Please Hear Me.......

I’m sharing this not to shame anyone, but to invite more mindfulness—because most people are capable of doing better once they understand the impact.

Black hair is beautiful, diverse, and worthy of respect. The best way to show that respect isn’t by reaching out—it’s by recognizing boundaries and honoring them.

Thank you for reading, and for helping create spaces where everyone feels comfortable, seen, and respected.

Tanika
Executive Director
G.H.A.M.P Inc.(Giving Hope & Minding People)

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