My. Father passed away eighteen years ago, and my mother just turned eighty-six. I was troubled by her explanation of how she and my father came to adopt my nieces. There must have been some disconnect because we don't remember the event quite the same. According to my mother, they took my nieces from their mother without little regard for her feelings.
I don’t know if my mother is just losing her memory or if she actually felt remorseful about the situation. My parents didn’t have a choice in the matter. They had to seek custody of my nieces or my sister might have murdered them. The two mini strokes and other changes in my mother’s heath had changed her memory, but mine was sharp as a tack.
When my oldest sister’s first daughter was born, she was received with adulation and love. I was six; at first, I was jealous of her because now she was the favored one. The new kid on the block. As I got older, my jealousy turned to that of protector. As my niece grew my sister’s neglect became more apparent.
Six years later, my sister bore another daughter. Her birth was received with love and fear, fear that her life would be as miserable and hopeless as her sister before her. Unfortunately, my nieces suffered years of emotional abuse and neglect before my parents could gain custody of them. Therefore, from the time, I was six until I was fourteen my life was inundated with visions of abandoned sometimes-starving children, court battles, and a lot of prayer.
My nieces were raised in a loving and safe environment; however, I can't help but wonder if my parents reach them in time. Irreparable damage took place in all of our lives: the shame my parents felt towards their daughter, the emotional damage my siblings and I endured at my sister’s hand. Most important of all, the lost childhood of two beautiful little girls who should have been with a loving parent showering them with adoration.
Another low point for me occurred when my mother succumbed to a second stroke. My mother has always been a tower of strength; however, when she lost the use of her speech and her right arm. I felt as if someone were chipping at my foundation on which all my hopes and dreams reside. I was my father’s favorite, but I always strived to be my mother’s favorite. Not because, I was so needy, I didn't have anything to prove. I wanted to make up for all my mother’s disappointments in life.
My mother’s first disappointment was being abandoned by her mother a move that spun into a life frock with a series of disappointments. Think about it an alcoholic husband, useless sons (my opinion I’m sure), a daughter neglecting her babies, and teenagers running the streets. When it came to me, my mother put down the law. If she saw my older siblings as failures, she was determined she wasn’t going to fail with me. I did my part to make sure I was more than just another disappointment.
I never gave my mother any problems, especially in school. I promised her that I would finish college and become successful in whatever I chose to do. Whatever my mother needed I was determined I was going to be the one to provide it for her. I’ve not reach the level of success that I would like, but my mother couldn’t prouder.
My mother was physically impaired by a second stroke, but all the disappointments and strife in her life made her determined to overcome her paralysis. If she had never known pain, disappointments, and loss maybe she wouldn’t have been able to handle the changes the stroke place on her body.
The biggest change and loss for me was the death of my father. People in my family have died before aunts, uncles, and cousins. Their deaths didn’t have the impact on me like the death of my father. I’m not saying the deaths of my relatives were inconsequential: their deaths just weren’t monumental. My father was my “Daddy”, next to my mother and my sister Fern he was one of my biggest supporters. People who love you unconditionally and always in your corner are one in a million.
After my father’s death, the first change I noticed was the loss of laughter. Nothing seemed funny to me anymore. Every day was cloudy even when the Sun was shining. I wasn’t a participant in life I existed as a spectator watching life pass me by. Time has lessen the pain of losing my father, but I’ll never recover from such a resounding blow. The passage of time has changed me, but it hasn’t tarnished the memories of my father.
As you sit there reading my story I know that you’re going through some type of change whether it’s physical, emotional, spiritual, positive or negative because change like death is inevitable for all of us. I guess the crucial thing is how well you handle the changes in your life. The true character of a person rises when faced with severe adversity or change. How well will you handle the changes in your life? May the changes in your life be slight; I hope they’re always fruitful and positive.
Craving To Know
As a child, I used to wonder if when you prayed to God was Satan listening. I mean what if Satan is listening to your prayers too. That means he knows what you yearn for, need, and all the things that you desire. What if he uses it against us to derail us from the path leading to God?
I prayed to God to send me a man, a man who would be attracted to the real me, one who would embrace my proclivities and view them as unique. Well the adage about being careful what you ask for is very true.
My distraction entered my life at a time when I was beaten down from life and searching for an emotional outlet of any kind. I call him my distraction because for a small span of time, he held all of my attention while everything else fell by the wayside. Immediately I was enamored with his dry wit, creative mind, and he indubitably appealed to the sensual side of me. He was very personable, sexy, but it was his arrogance that made me pay closer attention to his words.
My distraction was exceptionally gracious with words he said everything that he thought I wanted hear. He even hinted that I might be that remarkable woman that he'd been waiting for, and where had I been all of his life. He told me that he craved to know about everything and that his thirst for knowledge made him the man he is today. He asked pointed questions about my work and my writings; just enough to let me think that he honestly cared about me as a person.
I have to say his antics were extremely amusing, but when he wasn't performing and he actually talked about his work and family he was an intriguing guy. However, my radar went off when he said he was in a complicated relationship. In my mind, complicated relationship means he has a girlfriend, wife or friend with benefits that he's currently on the outs.
I have to admit that I enjoy a lively game of chess, and I wanted to know just how far he would go to add me to his list of conquests. I took all his words, put them in a poem, and sent it to him. He thought I was being romantic, in actuality I was letting him know that I saw through him, and the game was over.
Craving to know....
Why did it take so long for me to find you when you stay right here in town?
How is it possible that you're still single, that's just beyond me?
What goes on behind your sexy smile?
Are you lumping me into a Crayola box with others or do you see the real me?
Craving to know....
What are your inner thoughts that you're too scared to share?
How do you find the right words that in effect, put my mind at ease?
Is it the softness and natural aroma of your skin that makes it difficult for me to leave your side?
What else I can do for you to take me seriously?
Craving to know...
Do you think about me when you sleep?
Are these feelings you invoke real or should I wait for the smoke to clear?
Whether you'll give us a chance, and see where this relationship goes?
How much longer I'll let this situation continue before proposing that I never let you go.
Craving to know everything there is to know about you.
Great Expectations
I was thinking the other day about the expectations we have of others. I have expectations of how family, friends, co-workers, and even how acquaintances will react to situations. For example, when I go to the movies I don't expect anyone
to sit next to me, but the next seat over. My nephew blew that away when as a child he told me “What if I want to hold your hand, or what if I get scared and want to bury my face into your embrace.” Only a child could blow a perfectly reasonable expectation with his innocence and love.
In my family when we greet each other, it’s usually with a punch in the arm. So whenever I see family members I have an expectation that I’ll be punched in the arm as usual. I’ve been punched at the movies, grocery stores, Wal-Mart, or picnics; you name it and it never seemed like a weird tradition. My sister-in-law Lorraine said, “Love shouldn’t be hidden with a fist.” Another expectation, thrown out the window, so now I greet family members and friends with a hug or a pat on the arm.
I also have exceedingly high expectations of my friends. I expect them to be happy with all my endeavors regardless of how it affects them. Until recently, I thought that my high expectations were reasonable. For example, several months ago I had an opportunity to travel to Welland, Ontario, Canada for a job interview. I was so excited; as soon as the travel arrangements were made, I told all my friends, family, and a few co-workers about my impending trip.
Everyone did what I expected of them; they congratulated me, gave me their best wishes, and promised to pray for me. With the exception of one person, I have a friend who refused to acknowledge my trip or even congratulate me. This individual couldn’t understand why I would be willing to move to another country when everyone I love and care about lives in Omaha, Nebraska. I have to tell you his attitude caught me off guard. I was genuinely hurt. I have been friends with this person for more than half my life and I never thought he wouldn’t be in my corner.
I called my family and a few friends while in Canada telling them about my trip and crossing the border. Again, my friend who wouldn’t acknowledge my trip didn’t answer or return any of my calls the three days I was in Canada. To make matters worse, he was the first person I saw when I returned to Omaha; at no time did he inquire about my trip.
I stopped being hurt and then I became angry. I didn’t speak to my lifelong friend for several weeks until I came to my senses and put things in perspective. Just because I’ve known someone for a long time and consider that person a dear friend. I may even love that person and do anything short of murder to help him in a time of trouble. I never stopped to consider that he didn't feel the same way about me. I set my expectations too high for my friend. The more I thought about the situation the more I thought that maybe my expectations of my family and true friends were too high.
As I recalled the well wishes and congratulations that came in the form of email, text messages, and in person were from people who wanted to be happy for me because the move to Canada is what I wanted. My mother had a smile on her face; however, her eyes were sad and weary. I remember a quote from a minister speaking at my church, he said, "You can pray to God until you turn blue, but God will not cross a stubborn will."
So, I prayed that job in Canada would be mine and asked my friends and family to pray. When I received the news that I didn’t get the job, I wasn’t upset. In my heart, I knew I didn’t get the job before I left Canada. I didn’t actually want to move to Canada I just wanted the opportunity.
I received mixed reactions as I told family, friends, co-workers, and friendly acquaintances that I didn’t get the job. Some were angry on my behalf that I didn’t get the job; some were sorry but glad I wouldn’t be moving away, and some flat out did a victory dance.
In retrospect, I have to say that I learned a valuable lesson about my expectations of others, and that is, don't have any. Your family is your family because genes determine it; your friends are your friends because you confirm it, you love the people you do because you feel it in your heart. I no longer expect more from anyone than they’re willing to give. Another hard lesson learned!
Group Punishment
Many authoritative figures are reluctant to utilize their power when it comes to identifying and correcting obstructers’ of rules and regulations. I never been a proponent of group punishment of any sort; it’s just a cowardly way of getting the real culprit while tarnishing everyone else with the same brush.
Group punishment was one of my mother’s favorite sports; when one of my siblings got into trouble, all of us got into trouble. I’m not in any way calling my mother a coward. Her intention of doling out punishments and spankings were solely to make sure she covered you for all the times you got off scot-free. In my child's mind, it was an unfair practice to punish nine other people for the actions of one.
My teachers were known for group punishments too. If one or a few children misbehaved, my second grade teacher Ms. Moore would make all the students stay indoors during recess. Ms. Moore was a very popular teacher and she didn’t want to jeopardize her position by being hated by a few students for the rest of the school year when she would only be despised by twenty-five students for a day.
My eighth grade homemaking teacher Mrs. Robinson would yell time if the class became unruly. The punishment being how long it took the class to settle down, she would subtract those minutes from the five minutes it took you to make it to your next class. So of course you would be late for your next class, often earning you a trip to the counselor’s office or a free ride on the late bus. Jeez what a bi-atch! I have to tell you I ran into Mrs. Robinson at the mall several years later; of course I walked up to her and said hello. She asked me if I was one of her former students. I told her yes, and that she made a lasting impression, I look at my watch and yelled time. The look on her face was priceless.
I've been in many positions in which I was an authority figure: Sunday School teacher, team leader, supervisor, project manager, and department manager. I made a point of not using the group punishment tool because I believe in letting the punishment fit the crime. Therefore, if you're misbehaving in my Sunday School class, I will call you out. If you're a lazy employee who rides the coattails of other employees, I will bring it up during your evaluation. The lesson I learned is that is you let a problem slide it continues to be a problem.
Just Say No
Have you ever been in a situation where a friend asked you to attend an event she was hosting, and you felt you had to make an appearance? It could be anything from a picture party, jewelry party, cosmetics party, aromatherapy party etc. Anyway you get the point of what I’m saying. Sometimes there is no gracious way out of a situation other than to say no. No, I don’t want to attend your lousy book club’s event.
I have a friend who belongs to a book club. She and her acquaintances read what they consider being full of depth and brilliant characterization. Then they get together for hours and discuss the hidden meanings in each chapter of the book. I love to read more than anything. I don’t by any means consider myself a literary genius or book snob. I read about maybe 75-100 books a year maybe more, and I do this strictly for the pleasure. My friend told me that I could learn a thing or two if I attended her book club’s event. Alas, this weekend’s event was not reading a book it was writing a poem and reading it to the other club members.
Okay, by now, I’m already filled with a great sense of dread, do I go along like a good little sheep or do I just make an excuse and leave. You know I had a part-time job for most of my life, and I’ve used it as an excuse to get out of many situations. On the flip side, it has kept me from going to a lot of events that I would have liked to have attended. Well since I no longer have a part time job and mostly everybody knew this, I can no longer use it as an excuse.
No one ever questioned me when I said I had to work because people understand the concept of working. Oh, I’d love to go hang out at the mall with you all day on Saturday, but I have to work. If I didn’t have to work, you know I would go see that crappy movie with you. Now I simply have to say no. No, I will not pretend as if I’m in English 101 being critiqued by a bunch of stuck up heffas who are sure to hate my poem.
I have a hard time saying no to people I care about because, in al
l honesty, I don’t want to hurt their feelings. So, I did the next best thing and wrote the stupid poem and everything I felt came to light as soon as pen hit paper. The title of my poem is called darkness, for people who reside there know that there can be no light without darkness.
Darkness
Darkness inside of me flows like a river headed towards the sea
My deep expressions meander from time to time touching those far removed from me
They see me as a specimen there to provide some type of comic relief
As I sit there praying for the Lord to set me free
My eyes are pleading with my friend to understand my plight
Because if I don’t leave her house soon I will commit mayhem with a knife
Needless to say, my poem didn’t go over well, I should have stuck to my guns and told all those heffas to go to hell. The moral of this story. I shouldn't have let my love for my friend coerce me into doing something because I didn't want to damage a friendship. The next time I'll just say no! I won't even offer an explanation. Also, I’m not saying it’s mindless waste of time have a book club; just invite friends who enjoy that type of thing and all will go well.
More Than Just My Hair
To me hair is one of the most complicated things I’ve ever had to deal with. Over the years, I’ve had every hairstyle known to women. I have had permed, pressed, flat-ironed, French braids, micro braids and beads, Jeri Curl, and an afro. Quite frankly the only time I was truly satisfied with my hair is when my mother combed it for me and put my hair in ponytails.
For as long as I can remember woman, especially black woman have taken a beaten about the lengths they go to for their hair. Black women have been accused of perming and straightening their hair so they can be more like white women. Rarely is it discussed that white women too, perm and straighten their hair, whether it’s to add more body or to straighten curly hair. Are white women the only ones who should have manageable hair? My question is why aren’t they getting any flak? Black women’s harshest critiques seem to be black men. Nobody white has ever asked me why I flat iron, press, naturalize my hair, braid, or wear a weave. Those questions are always posed in the black community and usually by black men.
Out Of Darkness Page 7