Forever: The Love Letter Black America Needed

Okay, just because the Netflix hit Forever is an African-American-themed series created by the legendary Mara Brock Akil, doesn’t mean it can’t be enjoyed by TV streamers of all races. When something is as thoughtful, well-written, and authentic as Forever is, it is bound to relate to any one who enjoys amazing stories. Yes, it is a tender look at young, Black love, but it’s so much more.

It’s a well-publicized fact that Forever is an adaptation of Judy Blume’s book of the same name, and is retold from a black perspective. It is that perspective that has my circle of family members, friends, and colleagues more hyped about a TV series than we’ve been in a while.

It’s not that we haven’t seen realistic, dramatic television depictions of Black families before this, because of course, we have. Some of my favorites have been Soul Food (the TV series); Being Mary Jane; Love Is (also from Mara Brock Akil; All American; and Queen Sugar, to name a few. But for me, Forever is next level, for a lot of reasons.

Timing is Everything

Forever hits on all cylinders for me, mainly because I am a wife (now widowed), a mom of an adult son and daughter, and my husband and I grew up in Compton, not too far from L.A. where I had lots of family and friends. We would later relocate to Dallas, Texas, where our kids were raised.

While watching, my cousin and I loved pointing out all the familiar places and the good memories they brought to mind.

Akil has said that Forever is a love letter to mothers of African-American boys who worried about their safety no matter what kind of environments they lived in. My son and daughter, like the characters, Justin and Keisha, attended predominantly white private schools.

My husband and I would have been crazy to ignore the escalating instances of police shootings, campus hazing incidents, and immature decisions that could have resulted in them being hurt or killed. We couldn’t, nor did we want to, raise our children in a bubble. Dads of sons, like the one so brilliantly portrayed by actor Wood Harris, constantly wrestle with finding the balance of teaching their children to fit comfortably in two worlds.

Less is More

Forever addresses tough topics, but not in the ways we’re used to seeing them. For example, after Justin has been drilled by his parents on what to do if he’s stopped by law enforcement, he is driving home one night and spots a police vehicle in his rear view mirror. Instead of the Justinl being yanked out of his Jeep by overzealous cops, we get a more powerful scene of him pulling over, clutching the steering wheel with both hands, and then expressing relief when the police car speeds right past him. He had done nothing wrong, he had no drugs, no weapons, and his tags and insurance were up-to-date, yet he feared for his life. I’m not sure other cultures experience this kind of trauma throughout their lives, but I know for a fact that many black people do.

Lovie Simone (Keisha) and Xosha Roquemore (Shelly, Keisha’s mom)

Michael Cooper Jr. (Justin), Wood Harris (Eric, Justin’s dad), and Karen Pittman (Dawn, Justin’s mom)

Family First

Boyfriend and girlfriend, Justin and Keisha, live different lives in two very different parts of Los Angeles. Justin resides in an affluent West side neighborhood with two loving parents and a younger brother. Keisha lives in a triplext in the Crenshaw district with her hard-working and loving single mom, and is supported by her village that includes her paternal grandfather, cousins, and her dad who isn’t always present, but still plays an important role in her life. Once again, Akil doesn’t take the easy route of pitting the rich family against the poor family, or vice versa. Both sets of parents want the best for their children and for each other’s. Even though, it isn’t all wrapped up in a neat bow, it feels good to see adults being adults, men leading families, children respecting their elders—calling out the fact that even though there are some problems, there are still ideals, expectations, and even requirements that most black people share, no matter what their incomes or zip codes are.

I Love L.A.

As a Compton girl, it was refreshing to see Akil’s willingness to challenge the ideas many people have about black communities. Instead of building on a negative theme, Akil has chosen to not only send a love letter to mothers, but also to Black America in general, and Los Angeles in particular, one that celebrates its beauty and its differences.

If I told I tried to portray Compton, South Central, Inglewood, and even Baldwin Hills, View Park, and Windsor Hills as utopian communities, I would be lying. But, I can say in all honesty, there are many more good people, good families, and good experiences in each of these places than we often see represented in movies and television. Akil gives us a lovely—if not slightly romanticized— look at Los Angeles, but isn’t that what artists are allowed to do?

I think she recognized something too big to ignore, which is Black America’s current state of hopelessness as we’re forced to confront a future more uncertain than it’s been in a long time. Residents of many Black communities around the country, but especially in Los Angeles, are fighting to hold on to their homes, public schools, and even historic landmarks. We were in need of a feel good masterpiece like Forever that we could wrap our arms around, and one that would wrap its arms around us too.

Thank you, Mara Brock Akil.