Nailah, I'm Sorry

If my daughter reads this, I want you to know that any trouble you have with men is my fault. I'm pretty certain that I have handed down some very unfair genes. Like most Black women, it started with my never-there daddy. I didn't have a model for what my male relationships were supposed to be like. You watch movies and watch what happens to your mom and aunts, but I really don't think that's enough preparation. If I had a father, I would have known what male attention was supposed to feel like, instead of guessing poorly and feeling even worse. But that's the past and I couldn't do a damn thing about that. It's my present and future that worry me now. And that makes me worry about yours even more.

I hope your father is patient and loving towards me and you. And never says anything to me in front of you that would make you doubt yourself because you are beautiful. I haven't even met you yet, but I know that you are beautiful because your grandma has a beautiful heart. Unfortunately, I inherited the weakest part of that. I can see why Michele should leave her husband but I can't understand why I allow myself to be disrespected without as much as an apology.

I just want to be loved. That's it. Without conditions and that part when they start feeling like they're the prize and we aren't shit. I'm scared for what you might endure. Because you don't have to deal with that shit. You will have a mind and a heart and hopefully the confidence that your mother never found. Every time I thought I had it, I let men steal it. You won't do that. You can't do that. You are going to be something special at work and at home. You're going to find a business or a career that gives you joy. You are going to find a man who would never call you a bitch or tell you to get out of your home. I pray that you do because the life that I lead is not meant for my offspring. You are meant for greatness. And you're going to get there even if your mama doesn't. Don't let those days when you wish someone would hug you and never let you go make you accept less than what you're worth.

That need for love is a motherfucker. It makes you do, say, and think some things that are contradictory to your good damn sense. It makes you stand there and take bullet wounds that you don't even deserve. It makes you kneel in front of someone who is weaker because you want them to love you. It makes you believe everything they say even when they're lying. If you continue to feed this need to be loved by a man, it will burn your soul. I used to be happy and optimistic about my life. Now I'm just happy and optimistic about yours. Because you won't be like me. You'll be better and if he's not the best, then you won't have time for his ass.

So don't let your pride get taken away from you because the chances of getting it back are slim to none. Please remember that. Nothing and no one is more important than your self-worth. You can get another man, job, hobby, best friend- whatever! But there is only one you. And you are a glorious reflection of me at my strongest and you at your brightest.

I love you very much. And talk to me when you need me. I'll always be there.

Love,

Mom

Face to Face

This week, out of boredom, I joined the wonderful world of Facebook. I joined their biggest competitor, MySpace, for the same reason and eventually the boredom infected MySpace, too. So I expected that Facebook would be another temporary distraction for me. How many times can you see photographic evidence and read tell-all tales of the world's drunken philosophers and wannabe studs? I never thought that a social networking site would teach me about myself, my values, and my personal growth.

I had fun creating a page that represented me and my sweetie. We turned it into a bonding moment by discussing our likes and dislikes and favorite pictures of each other. It was a public declaration that we are in love and shacking up happily. As we assembled the photo album titled "Only the Real Ones," we contemplated which people in our lives were really friends and treated us as family. The list is short but fulfilling. These people made me realize why life was so special. I was not happy on the "take no prisoners" route that I had been on since grade school. Academic and professional success were my top priorities and my emotions and health suffered for it. When I accepted that I was meant to love and be loved no matter what my grades or my job titles were, life started for me. As my previous post suggests, I occasionally compare my previous life goals with my current path and old feelings of disappointment resurface. Then I have moments like waiting for my mother to come out of heart surgery that shake me back to reality.

I browsed through all of the existing Facebookers and found faces that I hadn't seen in years. I found former high school and college classmates and co-workers. The biggest joy came when I saw former Summerbridge students whom I taught when I was in high school and college and they were in middle school. They were taller than me (not a difficult achievement), had moved to other states, had babies, and were COLLEGE STUDENTS! It would be vain for me to think I had anything to do with their current success. However, it makes me proud to think that our little summer program planted a seed in these talented people that they could go to college and/or pursue their artistic interests, have hobbies and friends, and give back to their communities. We were walking examples of life's possibilities, and I don't think we understood that at the time. it didn't matter if we taught them how to conjugate verbs or not. We were there voluntarily with them and for them during our summer vacations.

I mentioned that I saw old classmates and that included classmates who I felt at the time went out of their way to make me feel worse than they felt about themselves. Time should heal old wounds and we are all adults now. So why does the same twinge of pain come when I see the picture of one person in particular? As aversion therapy, I invited this person as a "friend" and she accepted. That wasn't the hard part. The hard part was seeing her face on my page on a weekly basis and trying not to remember who I was back then . Lonely, scared, and unsure of myself. I'm happy that she is doing well professionally and personally and that her wolf pack (I mean clique) stayed in touch for so long. We are all living the lives that we are supposed to lead and those old insecurities serve as reminders of who I will never be again and how I will never let someone make me feel less than who I am. It gets easier to defend yourself against the haters as you get older. Those high school hyenas prepared me for the college cunts and the college cunts prepared me for the workplace whores and I'm sure that the workplace whores are preparing me for the retirement rats.