Like many of you, this weekend, I tuned in to see the funeral of the diva, Whitney Houston. I promise this will not be another tribute to the fallen songbird. This article is more about the unique and sometimes otherworldly experience that is the black funeral.
Black funerals are very long. You need to pack a lunch or at least some fruit roll ups to keep up your strength. They typically will have many speakers, many of which have not spoken to the deceased in years. The eulogy will most likely be a recycled Sunday sermon with the loved one’s name thrown in for good measure. You will never hear an uplifting song, but like we witnessed with Cece Winans, you will hear songs like “Don’t Cry for Me” that ironically have the exact opposite effect.
Funerals are also the perfect occasion for any family secrets to be revealed. Beware of mystery guests like the mistress, divorcees, crack head cousins, unknown siblings and let’s not forget people who show up bearing a strong family resemblance — but with no historical relationship or backstory to the family.
The first funeral that I really remember is my mom’s mother. Black funerals are generally an emotional powder keg waiting to explode. It typically only takes one person to start the emotional domino effect found at many of these homegoings. There is always one culprit in every family. You know the one that falls out even before they officially start the program or set up the flowers.
Let me preface this next scenario with I have some very big beautiful women in my family. So, when my aunt passed, I found myself trying to juggle several very distraught and buxom bodies at the same time. My cries of “Help Me Lord Jesus” were less about my own grief but more about my aching back. Nothing tests your workouts more than a 5-foot 3-inch, 180-pound grieving mass of dead weight.
I have also seen great strength shown during these times of bereavement and sometimes even funny endearing moments. When my grandfather passed, we later gathered at the house and people were stopping by to drop off casseroles, cakes and other dishes and to pay their respects. My grandmother who I thought would be a basket case was hugging necks, thanking people and arranging the food table.
One woman from her church hugged her neck and placed what looked to be a pretty appetizing casserole on the serving table. I was about to dig in when my grandmother leaned into me and said “Put that casserole on the back of the table Sister Johnson got roaches.”
Funerals, and especially black funerals, have a tendency to bring up any unresolved energy, feuds or just bad feelings. There is typically always some sort of altercation or fight. It took several of my cousins to keep me from stomping my stepfather’s butt the night of my mothers’ funeral. Now that I think about it, I still owe him a butt whooping.
I know this is a lot to process, so to help you identify if you are attending even the most ghetto fabulous black funeral, I offer Professor Locs’ Top Five Signs:
5. Instead of a limo, the family arrives in a tricked-out Cutlass Supreme with hydraulics that are timed to Kirk Franklin’s “Till We Meet Again.”
4. The pallbearers forego the subdued decorum of a traditional entrance and instead decide to bring the casket into the sanctuary in a “Q Dog”-inspired step routine.
3. The soloist before their song takes the opportunity to plug their next single and its official drop date.
2. You and other family members are falling out from grief, but you notice that along with the traditional cardboard fanning, ushers have pinned to your clothing small receipts marked “Bereavement Fee” to cover the cost of new uniforms and dry cleaning.
1. To save money on the venue they have decided to host both the funeral and reception in the same space. You go with the flow but become disturbed when you notice they are using the casket as a buffet table to serve hot wings, potato salad and sweet tea.
Please share your unusual, if not most memorable, funeral moments.
Comments