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My Afro and I are sitting on a bed with my mom, watching TV.
On our black-and-white set is a very handsome, and very shirtless, Black man named Sidney Poitier.
Put your damn shirt back on!
Boy, was I a fool.
Like Denzel, he belonged to Black folks so thoroughly that he was on a first-name basis.
But the Sidney I saw onscreen as a kid in the 70s was not the Sidney my mother saw.
His debut in 1950sNo Way Outwas a stunner nonetheless.
Black audiences went batshit, and rightfully so.
Tibbs wasnt just slapping some white guy; he was going upside the head of an entire institution.
Between Dr. Brooks and Mr. Tibbs, Sidney earned a lot of firsts.
Yet Sidneys performances managed to rise above a nagging sense of Noble Negritude.
Finally, Sidney could be funny, horny, petty, and even wrong.
And he could do so without worrying he was setting a bad example.
Id be remiss if I didnt mention that some of the things Sidney Poitier made were less glorious.
(Sure, he directedStir Crazywith Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder andHanky Pankywith Wilder and Gilda Radner.
I now have a reason to bawl my eyes out when Lulu sings To Sir, With Love.
Not that I didnt bawl my eyes out before, mind you.
Its just a much sadder cry now.
