Tula's Blog

MY DAUGHTER’S DAD IS AN ASSHOLE! (Sorry, too pissed to be more original…)

09 Feb 2012 1 Comment

by misstula in Uncategorized

I’m not as pissed as I was last night.

But I’m still pretty pissed.

My daughter’s father, who has been absent from her life for 90% of it, emotionally, financially and every other way, called me last night, at around midnight, to ask me what was wrong with her.

Normally I would go into the back story here, but I really want to get into my point. If you want major details, you can read my previous blog entries about her and him. The short version is I got pregnant, had her at 26, begged him to be in her life, and he wasn’t. A handful of visits, a few pennies over the years, but essentially he was absent. A lot of that time he was in jail, and when he wasn’t he was just out “doing me” as he calls it now. I never did anything to hinder him being a dad to her. In fact I did everything I possibly could to encourage him. He just didn’t do it.

Now my daughter is 20, and she has the typical “daddy/abandonment issues”. There is that lack of self esteem and self confidence in her that occurs in girls when they don’t get that positive reflection of themselves in their father’s eyes on a regular basis. She’s still in the process of figuring out how to gain those things in other places, and of course I do all I can to help and support her, but it’s a rocky road. She thinks she’s ugly, thinks she’s fat, wishes she were skinnier so she could be a model. But slowly but surely, bit by bit, with the help of a good therapist and a lot of very honest mother/daughter conversations, she’s figuring out who she is and who she wants to be, and is becoming okay with it.  She’s not there yet, but she is at least facing the right direction. It’s been a long time coming though; she spent many nights crying for her father, asking why her father wasn’t around, asking where he was, asking me why he and his family had rejected her. (To make matters worse, her cousins, her father’s sister’s kids, were raised by his mother/her grandmother, while this same woman spoke to my daughter perhaps once every 4-5 years.) She always wanted to know why they hated her, why they didn’t want her around, why they didn’t acknowledge her. I explained to her as best I could over the years that her dad was battling demons even I didn’t understand, and that I hoped she managed to keep a spot in her heart open to him in case he ever made an effort to create a relationship with her.

Over the past 6 months, her dad has been trying to rebuild a relationship with her. It hasn’t gone well. He hasn’t been willing to answer her difficult questions about his absence. I understand that it is his guilt and pain about it that is making it hard for him to cope with her disdain for him, but he must face her. He won’t. He keeps telling her that it is irrelevant now, but it isn’t to her. She tells me how angry it makes her that he has yet to really explain to her why he wasn’t there – he won’t say what he’s been doing that was so much more important than helping to raise her. He even told her that once she was 25 he’d talk to her about what happened, as if somehow she’d be more sympathetic to his tale once she had some life experiences of her own. She says that she hates that fact that he is such a coward, and that he doesn’t understand that this relationship with her that he wants now has to happen on her terms now. She says as soon as she starts to ask him about times he said he’d be there and wasn’t, he starts to cry and tells her not to think about it. That of course makes it something she can’t stop thinking about. He has come by the house to see her a couple of times, and she allowed him to visit her, though she would always ask after he left “why do you let him in the house?” (“Because you haven’t told me you didn’t want to see him,” I always respond. “I told you, you are an adult now, you need to decide what you want your relationship to be with him. Until you tell him you don’t want him in the house, I’ll let him in.”) When he was last here she was on Facebook and he forced her to “friend” him. After he left she complained that she didn’t want him as a Facebook friend when he couldn’t even talk to her in real life. I told her to block him if she wanted to, but of course she didn’t, and got upset when he began posting on her page and talking to her friends. I told her to talk to him about it, but she didn’t.

My daughter writes (just like her mommy!) and in a recent blog entry she wrote very honestly about her low self esteem and her lack of self confidence. She wrote about how she was beginning to understand that she had to accept herself as she was, and how she planned to start doing just that. She wrote about the things she wanted to accomplish in her life, and how she had to learn more confidence to accomplish those things. And she wrote about learning to accept her body, and to start striving for better health and strength instead of just being a size 6 or 8. It was a very well-written piece. I was proud of her. It displayed a vulnerability and a willingness to be open about her shortcomings that I admired, that is a writer’s greatest asset. I was proud of it, and of her, I told her so.

But when she posted her blog, because her dad is her Facebook friend, he saw it and read it. And he called her last night, asking all kinds of questions about her low opinion of herself and such. They talked for a bit. Then he called me, basically asking me what her problem was, and then asking how did she get that way.

Now I’ve been telling him for YEARS (when I could manage to get hold of him to talk to him) that his daughter’s self image was really taking a hit because of his absence. And the fact that he would come into her life on rare occasions for a bit and THEN would leave without a word of goodbye or explanation made it worse. He would always say “you got it. You’re a good mother. I know you’re raising her well.” I’d tell him I was doing all I could and then some of course but she really needed him in her life…not his money, but his TIME and ATTENTION. I told him over and over that she was really not in a good place when it came to herself in relation to the opposite sex, and he needed to help her with that. He told me I was her mother, I could teach her how to be a woman, not him. I told him I shouldn’t have to raise her alone. I told him as her father he had an invaluable contribution to make to her upbringing that I could not replace. All I could hope to do was to try to work around. But he always said “you got it. I know you’re doing a good job.” To this day it angers me to no end that he REALLY thought that it was okay for me to hold it down on my own; that it would all be okay if I held it down on my own, that she would be okay without him just because I was doing “a good job”.

He said to me “you’re her mother. You’ve been there with her every day. How did she get like this? How did you let her get like this?” He wanted to know how her self esteem got so low. He asked “is this my fault?” I said “a whole lot of it is, yes.” He said, “but why does she think she’s ugly? What are you doing to help her?” I told him that of course I’d done everything I could think of to build her up, but that she did always long for him, even as a small girl. I reminded him that I’d warned him that this would happen, that she wouldn’t just somehow magically “be okay” because I was a good mother. Then he asked “well she had positive male role models in her life, didn’t she?” I said, “and what does that have to do with you, as her father?” Most men I know, if they aren’t with the mother of their child/children do not want ANY other men around their offspring. If the woman becomes involved with someone else who becomes involved with the kids, even if he’s a decent guy the father is not pleased. He may learn to deal with it if the stepfather does turn out to be a decent man, but most men still DO NOT think another man is decent enough to be around their kids. And her father was asking why I hadn’t replaced him with random “uncles” “godfather’s” and “friends of the family”. What the hell?

Then he started questioning my choices regarding her. How I’ve lived my life, things I did and did not do. When he and I were dating for some reason he always saw me as this awkward slightly unattractive girl who he somehow made hot and sexy. I look back now at that, and at pictures of me from those days and I have to laugh hysterically because I was a very pretty young woman and he looked EXACTLY like Bobby Brown – hey, I was into unattractive men back then, but once I really figured out what I looked like I got over it. (I know, I know…but I’m pissed y’all. I’m sorry.) He even had the nerve to ask about how my writing and recording and performing erotica might be making her feel. He said, “and you’re doing your e-rotic…e-rotic…e-rotic…talking about your shoes and shit (who knew he’d even listened to the song, LOL!). He even said that I probably could have gotten married to some nice guy who could have been in her life if I would have just “acted right”.  He wanted to know why I hadn’t “found her a stepfather.” He talked about how me leaving the 9-5 world to pursue writing might have made her unstable, because I had less for her financially. I asked what he had provided her from jail. (Yeah, it got that ugly.)

But I then asked him…and this is where I really want to ask you all some questions…why he thought she would be okay without him? I asked him why he didn’t think his absence would effect her? I asked him why he thought my strength, other positive male role models in her life, and a financially stable upbringing would have made her okay with her DAD not being in her life? He kept talking about how it wasn’t like she was a boy, and that a boy needed a man to learn how to be a man but I had her there with me so why hadn’t I taught her better how to be a woman?

It was crazy. I had to stop yelling for a minute. He REALLY wanted to explain to me why his ABSENCE WAS OKAY! He wanted to be mad at me because I guess I didn’t pick up enough slack so she wouldn’t miss her father!

And this is my real anger. When did we as women really start convincing men that it is OKAY for them not to be there for their kids? When? I know I never did personally. The ONLY time in my life I ever BEGGED this man for anything were the times I BEGGED him to come around to visit his child. He’d always say he would NOT come around empty handed; he’d rather not come at all. I know lots of women are out here shouting “I don’t need no man to help me raise my kids; I can do it by my got damn self.” But I NEVER said that. EVER. My dad was in my life all day every day; he was married to my mom until he passed away 8 years ago God rest his soul, and I SEE how I am different from women who didn’t have that…not to say anything is wrong with being raised by a single mom but at some point you do have to find a way to COPE with the absence of the other parent. Even my daughter has said to me at times “well Mom, you can’t understand, your dad was ALWAYS THERE, and you know he love you. You can be sure. I never will be because he left me.” Her father actually thought because I wasn’t a junkie, because I wasn’t abusive, because I was strong and smart and loved my child with every fiber of my being that my child would be okay.

And do men really think, even when women say “I don’t need you” that it’s true? Do dads really think as long as mom isn’t a crackhead, has some kind of job and manages to piece together a “male role model quilt” to cover their babies that the babies will come out all right? That as long as he picks a stable babymomma to knock up, he can roll out and just not be there because mom will make it all okay? She’ll work, even work two, three, ten jobs, and go to school at night, and sacrifice, and get her family to help, and get her friends to help, and find some nice job/benefit having man to help…why is that all right? Why is it okay to burden the mother of your child with all of the upbringing? This man, who has seen his child MAYBE a dozen times in 20 years had the never to QUESTION me on how MY daughter ended up so unconfident. Then he wanted to tell me how it had very little to do with him.

I told him the fact that he didn’t know what was wrong with his daughter was his answer. Why didn’t he know what was wrong with her?

I know he’s lashing out because he feels so guilty. His dad wasn’t around to raise him, and his mom made a point of marrying a financially secure man to help her take care of her kids. So this is all he knows. But you have no idea how incensed I was and am.

A lot of my anger is at myself. After all, I picked this man. I thought, at some point, that having this man’s child would be a good idea. I thought he would make a good dad. I didn’t look at any of the indications that he might not be, even though they were there. But truthfully, I just couldn’t fathom that a man would walk away from their child. It was so far outside my experience it was just inconceivable.

So…question…when did a woman’s ability to FIND the strength to raise a child somewhat successfully on her own make it okay for a man to NOT PARTICIPATE in the child’s upbringing?

*sigh*

Pray for my continued strength everyone.

MY SEPTEMER 11TH STORY

11 Sep 2011 Leave a Comment

by misstula in Uncategorized

Most of the tragedies that have occurred in our modern history have found me in bed with some guy. So why should 9/11 be aydifferent?

On September 10, 2001 I got an instant message from a guy I was seeing. His name was David. Now to say I was “seeing” him might be a bit of a stretch — I guess he was what you would call today a “friend with benefits”. Our benefitted friendship had been going on for some time at this point, and I was starting to grow a bit tired of it. It was a very sporadic relationship; there were periods where we would talk every day and see each other weekly, followed by absences that sometimes went on for months when I would not hear from him. I can’t say that during our “down time” I spent a lot of time languishing and being sad when he wasn’t around. I kept myself…ummm…busy. But when he would turn up, I never turned him away. I knew he was divorced and that his divorce occurred in part because his wife cheated on him with a friend of his. So he was understandably distant and emotionally unavailable in a lot of respects. Of course I understand all this now, ten years later. At that time he was just the guy I really liked who continued to be elusive and non-commital…a guy I knew I would have eventually because I’d never NOT gotten a man I wanted. But I would admit I was starting to grow tired of the game, and a part of me just wanted to say to him “look, I really like you and this little back and forth homey/lover/friend thing is not what I want”.

David wanted to see me that night. He was off from work he said, and wanted to know if we could get together. My kids were with my mom and I had planned to go out, but hadn’t quite decided where. David lived in Riverdale at that time (not far from New Carrollton in PG County), and my car was in the shop. I told him I wasn’t going to be able to make it unless he came to Baltimore to pick me up, and he’d have to bring me back in the morning. In a way I thought this would discourage him f rom wanting to see me because it was a 30-40 minute drive. I wanted to see him but at the same time I wasn’t sure how long I could continue down this road liking this man who didn’t seem to really want to be with me. Since I couldn’t seem to manage a “no” on my own accord, I thought creating a transportation issue would work.

We discussed the transportation issue a bit; he said he’d just gotten off work and ddn’t really feel like making the drive up — exactly what I was counting on. What I was NOT counting on was that he would offer an alternative. He suggested that I take the train down to New Carrollton and that he’d pick me up from the train station, and that he could take me back home in the morning. He offered to reimburse me for the train ticket when I got there. By this time I was feeling weak and a bit horny from listening to his voice and thinking of times past we’d spent SOOOO pleasantly together, so I agreed. Twenty minutes later I was at Penn Station, and forty minutes after that I was getting off the train in New Carrollton.

When he picked me up he asked me if I wanted to go anywhere, get something to eat, get drinks, go to a movie, etc. I didn’t want to do anything but go to his house. The train ride down had worked me up quite a bit sexually (something about modes of transportation have always turned me on…trains, planes, buses, etc.), and I really didn’t need all the preamble.  So we went straight back to his place.

The night was very different for some reason. He lit candles in his bedroom; something he had never done before. They smelled wonderful, but at the same time made me leery of his intentions. And even once we got started the sex was different. It was…slower. A lot slower. More deliberate and intentional. Everything about it was drawn out…the foreplay, the act itself, the afterplay. And I could see shadows of us flickering in the candlelight against the wall. It was all kind of surreal, and very unlike him. By the time he spooned me (another unheard of event for us) and kissed myh shoulder and we began to drift off to sleep, I was very satisfied, and rather confused.

He woke me up in the pre-dawn hours of the morning. The candles were still flickering, albeit much more dimly. My brain still clogged with sleep, I was not fully awake before I felt him touch me again, and he repeated the actions of the night before. And Idrifted off to sleep again with him at my side. I was very much aware of his flesh against mine, his muscles, his limbs.

I woke up at 8:25, and quickly decided to call out sick. He was already up and in the living room. I searched for my phone, found it in my purse, and, in my best fake coughing raspy voice called my boss to let her know I wasn’t coming in. Satisfied, I laid back down in bed to enjoy a bit of afterglow, and turned on the television. I was thinking that I really needed to talk to David about us, about where we stood. I knew how much men hated that “where is this thing going” speech, but at this point it was necessary. I realized this was the first time I’d ever spent the entire night at David’s house; the first time I hadn’t adhered to the “FWB” rules and left in the middle of the night, driving myself home in the wee hours, crawling into my own bed at home still some hours before the sun came up. In fact, I had never seen his home during daylight hours. As these thoughts crossed my mind, he came back into the room, towel wrapped around his midsection, but still naked underneath. He blew out the candles and sat down on the bed and smiled at me. I mentioned to him that today was my son’s 7th birthday, and that I planned to pick him up a cake and some ice cream on my way home. My son never liked big birthday parties, he always just wanted cake and ice cream with the family. David smiled and offered to take me by a bakery on my way home. He was asking me about breakfast (another first!) and I glanced at the television just in time to see a tall building engulfed in flames and smoke.

I remember wondering what third world country had erupted into war. The television was on mute, and I stared at the image…a skyscraper aflame next to an idential skyscraper. Something about the picture pulled at my memory. The television was on mute, and David picked up the remote to turn on the sound. And then we heard the newscaster say that an airplane had been flown into one of the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. There were suspicions that it was a terrorist attack, but no one was sure. Information was sketchy, and the news showed people jumping and falling out of the burning building. And as if that weren’t bad enough, I watched the second airplane crash into the other tower before my very eyes.

Then there was an announcement that something had happened at The Pentagon. David had left the room at that announcement, and returned, fully dressed. Then I remembered. David was a D.C. police officer. He had to go. Our morning was over.

I don’t remember getting dressed. I don’t remember the ride back to the train station. I remember him saying he wouldn’t be able to take me home and he was sorry. I remember being afraid, confused. I remember being scared for him, scared for myself, and all the family and loved ones I had in the NYC area and the DC area.  I remember wondering what would happen to him, what things he would be faced with today. I wondered if I would ever see him again.

I do remember him saying he’d contact me as soon as he could, and to call him and let him know I’d gotten home safely, and to leave a message if I didn’t get him. He pressed a $20 bill in my hand, presumably for the train ticket I’d bought. I nodded, smiled at him and said “be safe”. He said “of course.” Igot out of his truck and he drove away.

I walked into the New Carrollton train station, clutching my train ticket home.  The station was a madhouse. No one knew what was going on. By this time everyone knew about the Pentagon attack. To make matters worse, all train service out of DC was suspended indefinitely. I tried to call home, my friends, my job, anyone, but phone lines were jammed. I sat in the train station, alone, trying not to cry, looking at the people who were crying, not knowing what was going on, panicked and scared. I couldn’t reach anyone to pick me up. All I could do was wait. And wait.

By early afternoon they ran a train out of DC to Baltimore. I got on it. It was packed. I discovered on the train ride home thatBaltimore had pretty much shut down after the attack, especially downtown Baltimore. I had planned to go downtown to Lexington Market to get my son’s cake, which I had remembered somehow, but was told it was closed. So I got off the train at West Baltimore and walked to my friend Michael’s house. He was home. I was able to watch the news there, and he told me everything that had happened all day — that it was a terrorist attack, that there had been a plane headed for the Capital building to crash into it, but once the passengers got wind of the attacks through phone calls from friends they fought off the terrorists on their plane, causing it to crash into a field in Pennsylvania. The Pentagon had been damaged. Thousands were missing in New York.  The country was literally under attack.

I cried at Michael’s house, then called my house. I managed to get through this time. My mom had arranged to have my kids picked up from school, and they were with her. My son was upset because it was his birthday and was particularly distraught when I couldn’t be reached. I got a us home that didn’t drive through downtown, and when I arrived home, my son cried because I had no cake for him. I spent the rest of the day consoling him and watching CNN.

Eventually I did write a short story called “The September 11th Story” about my experience. It made it into my very first book, “Lipstick and Other Stories”.  In the days that followed, when I didn’t hear from David I did worry a bit. Though there were extended periods of time when I didn’t hear from him, this time I wondered if he was okay. How would I find out if he wasn’t.

A couple of weeks later he turned up. He was fine.

Polygamy — I’m gonna take a pass on that, and here’s why…

02 Aug 2011 Leave a Comment

by misstula in Uncategorized

You know, I hear a lot of talk about how Black men have recently decided they want to “explore polygamy”.  Suddenly one wife isn’t good enough. Men say don’t want the stigma of having one family on one side of town and another family on the other side; they have decided that isn’t necessary. He can just bring his two wives and families together as one big happy communal unit. That way the man can be honest, enjoy the two women he cares for, and help raise the children of those unions.

Now I put “explore polygamy”  in quotes because honestly, I have talked to a fair number of Black men, and what I have found is men who want to have sex with a large variety of women — as many women as possible. The large majority of them aren’t actually interested in creating a family unit in which they would be required to play a crucial supportive role as husband to several women. They do not want to provide familiar, financial, emotional or spiritual shelter and comfort to more than one woman because they happen to have found more than one woman they want to do that for.  Most of them can’t successfully do any of those things for one woman to be perfectly honest. And let’s be even more honest – the large majority of these men want multiple sex partners with no strings attached, and with no complaints from the multiple women they are having sex with. These men figure if they “practicing polygamy”, and let the women know this, if she agrees to go along with it, its okay. It concerns me that the increasing talk about polygamy as a viable option for women serves to offer an excuse for men who are simply seeking ways to be promiscuous without being called on it by women.

As a woman in general, and as a Black woman in particular, I get SO TIRED of everyone telling me I am not enough. Me, just me…only me, I am not enough. I’m too light, or too dark. Too loud, or too quiet. Too demanding ,or too acquiescing. Too fat, or too skinny. Too arrogant, or too unassuming. Too smart or not smart enough.  My hair is too short, too nappy, too fake, too long, too short. Ass too big. Ass not big enough. Tits too small, too big, too saggy, too round. There is always something I am lacking, or have too much of, that gives the world an excuse to ignore me, devalue me, humiliate me, something, always something, that lets me know that me, as God divinely made me, with all my faults and shortcomings and beauty and strength is not enough. When it comes to a man to be satisfied, fulfilled, to get what is required or necessary, he finds what I provide is insufficient. I am not enough, the world says, as they pass me over for others. I am not a full enough measure, no matter what glory is in me. Sometimes it seems that nothing exists to reflect me in such a complete way that I am able to fill it to overflowing with myself, and my abundance is all that is necessary, because it is enough. And then I come to you Black man, with all the rejection of the world bowing my head and slumping my shoulders, and I turn to you, hoping to see maybe a glimmer of the beauty I sense is still in me deep down somewhere reflected in your eyes. Hoping maybe you can be satisfied with me, just me, only me. But even you say I’m not enough. You need another, and another, and another.

This is why I need monogamy. Because I want there to be someplace in my life where me, just me, imperfect me, is enough. Period.  I need a place in my life that is MINE, only mine, just for me, that is not for the village, for the masses, for the nation. Just for me, a place custom fitted to hold my burdens and make them light. A place where I can be weak and worn in private.  Matthew Chapter 6, verses 5 and 6 say “But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret.”  This is what I want with my man. My secret closet, where I shut my door, and pray, confess, recharge, relax. A place I don’t have to share with the next woman. 

I think maybe men don’t understand how hard it is to be a woman, a woman of color, in the world. Maybe they get so caught up in their own struggles, and I do recognize they struggle in a way that I will never understand as a woman. I fully acknowledge that. But I think they never stop to consider a woman’s unique burdens. I don’t think men get that a woman is called on to serve the world and everything in it, and all she wants in return is a single heart in which her spirit can rest privately, because no one else is there but her, and men, using whatever excuses are popular this week, will deny her that.

The new polygamy excuse is particularly troubling to me because it tends to evoke “the motherland” as its justification, talking about how many African tribes have historically practiced various versions of polygamy. I always have to point out that in times past, a man was a necessity for a woman in a way that doesn’t exist now, because in those times past life was very physically demanding for both men and women. Many of the activities of daily living consisted of tasks requiring great physical strength, and a strong, able-bodied man was best suited for these tasks, so a woman needed a husband, and to ensure all the woman of a village were cared for, one man would have to care for several women. That isn’t the case anymore. Then I have to point out that there are African tribes who practice polyandry, which is a woman having more than one husband, and I suggest that what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. When my desire for multiple partners comes into question, and I offer up the same “well if it’s good enough for the motherland it’s good enough or me” excuse, that isn’t acceptable.

It is my sincere hope I will find someone who feels what I am is enough…he doesn’t require “standbys”, “stand-ins”, “understudies”, “supporting casts”, “backups”, “Plan Bs”, or whatever he wants to call them.  My life as a woman in modern days and times is a very burdened one. It is challenging. It is difficult. It seeks to wear me down, wear me out, tear me apart each and every day.  I honestly don’t have the time or the inclination to spread my precious intimacy among a group of people.  I need my intimate circle to be a table for two and only two. And if that is too much to ask well…you probably need to find someplace else to sit.

Being a “good woman” doesn’t guarantee you a “good man”

31 Jan 2011 3 Comments

by misstula in Uncategorized

I find it interesting the things I notice when I pay attention to what women say about other women and their dealings with men. The thing I find most interesting is the rather free and loose use of the word “whore” – or in this case, “ho”. It seems that any parameters, rules, definitions or regulations that ever existed for the word have disappeared. Basically now a “ho” is a woman who conducts some aspect of her sex life in a manner that some other woman does not approve of, or presents her sexuality in a way that another woman finds offensive. So, if a woman is involved with a man other women deem to be unworthy, unattractive, trifling, etc., she is a “ho”. If she is involved with several of these men she is a “ho”. If she is dressed provocatively and men notice she is a “ho”. If she dances sexily in a club she is a “ho”. “Ho’s” are horrible women in most every respect – but their most egregious violation is that they go around allegedly sabotaging happy healthy relationships with a combination of sex, sex, and more sex – that dirty nasty plentiful slutty sex that no “real woman” would engage in. “Ho’s” also supposedly make it difficult for “good men” to maintain their “goodness”, in great part because of the aforementioned dirty nasty plentiful slutty sex.  But quite honestly, if a woman doesn’t like another woman for whatever inexplicable reason that makes sense to her she is a “ho”. So, if we apply this “logic” fairly and evenly, every woman is considered to be a “ho” by somebody. There are no exceptions.

But of course if you scratch the surface of this kind of knee jerk name calling, you’ll come up with a wealth of insecurity. It is truly unfortunate, because the word “ho” is so inflammatory, it makes it difficult to get past it to see what the real issue is. The word is such a red flag, no one is able to take their eyes off it long enough to see anything else. But I am a very calm, rational type of chick, and very little upsets me. As such, I have this to offer to the discussion:

More than anything, women want there to be a map to a successful relationship. They want to know that if they “do” the “right things”, they will be rewarded with a “good man”. But it doesn’t stop there. Additionally, they want the satisfaction of knowing that women who do “wrong things” – ho’s — will be punished, left sad, alone and lonely for their behavior by karma, dharma, or whatever method the universe may employ. So it is a two pronged process – they want to be rewarded for being “good women” and they want to see “bad women” punished.

For example, in the name of being a “good woman”, women will often go to great lengths to make sure they don’t sleep with a guy they are dating for some arbitrary predetermined period of time in the hopes that this will ensure his respect. After all, this is what “good women” do, and women who get busy early on in their dealings with a man or (clutch the pearls) on a first date are “bad women” and will not get a “good man”. These “good women” may go to great lengths to not dress provocatively in an attempt to ensure they aren’t pursued by men just based on physical attractiveness alone, because only “bad women” let some man talk to them just because he thought she had a phat ass. “Good women” may often make a very big deal about the fact that they don’t “mess with” men that are spoken for in some form or fashion, while “bad women” don’t care if a man has a girl or a wife or whatever – they just go for theirs and consequences be damned. “Good women” do the things they do because they know at the end of this “good” rainbow is a pot of man-gold.

What women don’t get it that it is hardly ever that simple.

The truth of the matter is that there really is no guarantee that any particular kind of behavior will give you a guaranteed result every single time, and this is especially true of people, of human nature, of relationships. Waiting 3 months or 6 months or 6 years even to become intimate with a man doesn’t guarantee that he’s a decent man. Treating a man well doesn’t guarantee he’ll treat you well in return. Hell, even dating a married man isn’t a guaranteed ticket to a lifetime of misery and loneliness anymore; the phenomenon of men marrying their former mistresses seems to be becoming quite common these days.

But this flies in the face of everything “good women” do. They carry their virtue around like a badge of honor, like a membership card into the “good man looking for a good woman” society. So when they see a woman, who to their mind is “bad”, or is in a situation that to them is “bad”, but she seems to be content in it, they get mad and then out comes the “ho” card. “Good women” don’t want to hear that there are women in relationships with men that are pretty good – and these are men they slept with on the first date. Some of these women even marry these men. “Good women” don’t want to hear that sometimes the man does leave his wife and marry the other women. And please misunderstand – I’m not encouraging or suggesting any women behave any particular way. What I’m saying is that if you’re behaving in a certain way because you think it’s the only way to get what you want, and you haven’t gotten it by now…you may want to consider that it doesn’t work.

Honestly, I don’t know any single successful relationship that didn’t start out with bumps and rocky roads and behaviors that most “good women” would turn their noses up at. Most of the happily married people I know (not a whole lot of folks, but a few) had relationships full of the types of things “good women” don’t do – infidelity, lying, deceit, etc. I know one girl who started dating a guy who was still sharing an apartment with his baby’s momma – he told the new girl that he couldn’t afford to break the lease because he wanted to buy a house and refused to have that on his credit report. He promised the new girl he wasn’t sleeping with baby’s momma, and would move out immediately after the lease ended.  Are you “good women” shaking your heads? Guess what? He moved out when his lease ended, got his own place, continued to date the new girl, and now they have been married almost 10 years and have a daughter. His son with the baby’s momma is a part of their family. And they’re reasonably happy as couples go.

So, at the end of the day, none of us can throw stones. You never know what life has in store for you. But what I will say is that there is no thick rule book for relationships with all kinds of statutes and laws and ordinances. It is very general and simple – honesty, openness, kindness, caring and…the most important thing…discernment. Being able to discern between people who mean you well and can act accordingly and those who can’t is crucial in the dating world.  It is more important that how you act, because if you can discern a person’s character accurately, you know how you should treat them. If you do the right thing with the wrong person, you’ll get pretty much the same result as you get when you do the wrong thing. At the end of the day, its not so much what you do, but who you do it with.

At the end of the day, people tend to do what they want to do. Your “good behavior” in and of itself doesn’t impact who a person is unless they want it to – and usually they don’t. So please, to paraphrase a famous quote: “when someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

Happy New Year, and why Ted Williams (the homeless guy with the golden voice) reminds me of my daughter’s dad…

13 Jan 2011 2 Comments

by misstula in Uncategorized

First and foremost, happy new year to everyone. And I must apologize, I was doing so well with blogging on a regular basis, then I lost the Internet on my desktop, and blogging on my Blackberry was just more than I was up for, then I got a laptop, and then I was out of the habit, so I’m trying to get back in the swing of it, starting with this blog.

This blog is going to be a tad bit random, but stay with me and you’ll get it.

Most of you I’m sure (unless you’ve been under a rock the past week and a half) have heard about Ted Williams, the homeless guy with the golden voice who was recently literally lifted out of the streets of Columbus, Ohio to fame and fortune in a matter of day. After having been homeless for over a decade, a local news reporter stumbled upon Williams, video recorded him speaking with his golden voice, and within days Williams was on national television, fielding all kinds of offers paying tens of thousands of dollars to do announcing and voiceover work, and was a media darling. But the honeymoon didn’t last long, because within days Williams’ ex-wife and nine children were discovered – all had been abandoned by Williams years before due to his drug and alcohol abuse, his involvement with other women, and his general downward spiral into self destruction, jail, and homelessness.

Next thing you knew they were all on Dr. Phil trying to get “help”. First Williams himself, who had an episode of the show to himself, and the next day he sat down with 7 of his kids and his ex wife with Dr. Phil in an attempt to begin to acknowledge and “make right”, as Dr. Phil put it several times, all of the wrongs.

I peeked at the Dr. Phil show a bit (I couldn’t bear to watch the whole thing for some reason.) But I happened to watch during a segment when Williams was speaking to his oldest daughter, a 29 year old woman named Janay. She was sitting before her father, crying, sobbing, voice shaking, holding his hands, talking about how much she had missed having a dad over the years to help her with her homework, to take her to the park, etc. He looked at her, hurt and pain etched over his weathered face, and he said to her in a broken and more emotional version of his golden voice, “…I’m going to by you a Louis Vuitton bag.”

That’s when I paused. I turned off the television and began to think about my daughter and her dad.

My daughter’s dad does have some similarities with Mr. Williams, minus the golden voice. Though my daughter’s dad and I were never married, he abandoned his daughter many years ago, and was not around for her. Like Williams, he was often homeless (he probably is now if he isn’t in jail), and spent time in jail at various intervals from a few months to a couple of years here and there for non-violent crimes similar to those Williams committed (theft, robbery, etc.), oftentimes done to support his drug and alcohol addictions. He has been in his daughter’s life only sporadically, on an occasion here and there – you could count the times on your hands and have fingers left.

I always tried to encourage my daughter’s father to spend time with her over the years. He would occasionally call when she was much younger to inquire about her, and I would ask him, even at times beg him to come see her. I would offer to come pick him up, wherever he was, and bring him to my home to see her. I offered to take them out to the mall, to the movies, anywhere they wanted to go. But he would always say he couldn’t come see her because he didn’t have any money. I told him it didn’t matter, that she didn’t need money as much as she needed to see him and spend time with him and to know that he loved her and to have those memories of time spent with dad. But he always said he would come see her and when he did he would “…take her shopping…I mean anything she wants…everything she wants…clothes, shoes, take her out to dinner. I promise. Soon as I get myself together.”

I never could convince him that his presence was enough.

I did everything I could to convince him that she needed him, not things. Of all the wonderful memories I have of my dad, none of them are centered around major purchases of any kind. I tried to express this to her dad. I never demanded money from him. Never took him “downtown”.  I knew he didn’t have it, so what was the point? He was fighting his own demons, and I felt badly for him. But I still begged him to come see her. I offered to get his hair cut, to get him cleaned up before he saw her so she wouldn’t see him looking ragged. I even offered to give him money to “pay” for their outings, never telling her that the money came from me. But it didn’t matter. Whenever we talked about him spending time with her, he always talked about that great getting’ up morning when he would take her on that shopping spree and buy her anything she wanted.

I never could convince him that he was enough.

I kind of understood why he felt the way he did. His mom had divorced his dad for not being the best of providers (among other things), and when she remarried it was a much older man who was extremely financially secure and helped her achieve financial security also. And so often you hear women talk about how important money is when it comes to men, so important that it seems that nothing else matters. And while I’m not foolish enough to think money is not important, and I understand that providing for your child is vital, and that any decent man will move heaven, earth and everything in between to provide for their child, I still have to wonder if men feel that is the ONLY value they have – their financial contributions.

I know there were many reason why my daughter’s dad didn’t want to see her, didn’t feel he could or should see her. But no matter what the reasons were, string them together for over 18 years and you have a lifetime of neglect in the eyes of a young woman who now must shoulder the burden of the “daddy complex”.  There were so many things he could have done for her that had nothing to do with money. That what I wanted for her. He had nothing in his wallets, so I wanted him to give her everything he had in his heart. But for him it was all about the wallet, it was the only contribution worth making, the only one that mattered. And with so many women so pressed to place price tags on everything from an hour of their time in a restaurant or at a concert to a night in bed with them (“girl, he could at least pay my cell phone bill if he’s gonna spend the night, right?” I had one grown ass woman say to me in complete seriousness), why should a man feel he has any worth beyond his wallet, and maybe his penis – and even that is dependent on his wallet.

So Ted Williams, in the face of his daughter’s wishing out loud for time spent with her dad offered up a Louis Vuitton bag. I understand why, I do. I’ve experienced it. But it still hurts me and reminds me of how important it is to value ourselves and others beyond dollars and cents.  To paraphrase a very famous quote…what good is it for any of us to know the price of everything, and the value of nothing?

Until next time,

Tula