Sitting at the table making small talk with the manicurist as she meticulously paints my nails a soft, slightly iridescent shade of pink I am caught off guard by The Question: “So, how many children do you have?” asks the forty year-old mother of three and grandmother of two. “None,” I reply as I watch her apply the three strokes to my nail: first down the center, and then one stroke of polish on each side. She stops and looks up at me.” It’s not something I wanted to do by myself,” I stammer. “When the husband didn’t come, I decided against it and now I’m too old,” is how I justify not being One of Them.
“It’s not too late,” she says pausing the brush in the air before going on to tell me about her clients who have opted to have babies alone. One woman had a baby through invitro, and her mother helps her care for the baby. “My mother is eighty-one,” I say. Still convinced that I need to have a baby, she shares the story of the “worthless” husband she left behind and still raised three children alone. I listen and nod at the appropriate times because I’ve learned that opposition to these you-need-to-have-a-baby conversations are futile.
“You seem like a good person, and you can do it,” she says trying to make her wad of words stick to my psyche. Even though I’ve been here before, I’m still amazed at how intrusive people can be in a matter that as personal and private as pregnancy. I recall a conversation that I’d had with this guy I barely knew who asked me if I had any children, and when I said no, he said, “I bet I can get you pregnant.” I didn’t take him up on his offer.
As an able bodied woman with the right credentials (degreed professional with middle class values and no history of mental illness), I should have children. Because of my medical history I don’t even know if I can have children. Battling fibroids since I was 28, I have had two major surgeries and one procedure to shrink them. But I still thought I might have children. I’ve been around kids all my life as an aunt, great aunt, “play” aunt, godmother and educator. As a child I loved dolls, and thought that I’d grow up and replace them with real babies of my own, but something happened—or didn’t-- along the way. And I don’t know if it was of my own doing or God’s design because I have never been pregnant nor have I ever tried.
Some of my friends are parents, others are grandparents, and I don’t envy them because I don’t have the patience that I used to have. I have been an auntie since I was two years old, and from as long as I can remember I have dragged my nieces and nephews and other folks kids from place to place. I now have two great nephews and twin goddaughters and I love and enjoy the four of them, but I also like returning them to their parents. I’ve accepted that I’m not going to have the starring role of Mama in this movie called Life, but I’m a pretty good supporting actress.
Reflections and Observations on Noteworthy Things & Themes, Unbiased and Uncut...
Monday, March 8, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Rules of Engagement?
First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the carriage. And somewhere between love and marriage there is/was engagement. Two stories that were in the news recently as well as an ode to potential babymamas in a couple of popular songs makes me think the rules of engagement have drastically changed and will soon go the way of dinosaurs.
The tragic death of Cincinnati Bengals player Chris Henry was attributed to a domestic dispute he was having with his fiancée. Even though the couple was scheduled to marry in March of this year, they already had three children: 10 months, 2 years and 3 years of age. I wonder why three babies in they decided to marry? Why not after the first? The second?
Then there was the headline grabber of America’s Top Model contestant, Nik Pace who is asking New Jets wide receiver Braylon Edwards for $70,000.00 a month in child support after she gave birth to a baby boy. Pace and Edwards, who were not believed to be in a serious relationship, are deadlocked over child support payments because Edwards filed in New York, but Pace objected and filed in New York. Pace’s attorney accused Braylon of trying to get the case litigated in Georgia because of Georgia’s less generous stance with child support payments. But Edwards’ lawyers claim that he filed in New York because that’s where Pace lived until recently when she moved to New York after he was traded to the Jets.
And if popular music is any indication of what’s going on in the world today, two new songs definitely promote the idea of babies without the benefit of marriage. R&B singer R. Kelly’s new song Pregnant tells the story of a man meeting a girl at a club. He sings, Girl you make me wanna get you pregnant . . . lay your body down . . . knock you up, pregnant . . .”
Then there is 50 cents song, Baby By Me in which the entire chorus repeats Have a baby by me, be a millionaire. He says he needs to plant his seed. Popular culture seems to dictate no love, no marriage, just a baby in a carriage with a hefty price tag.
And it’s not among the rich and famous that this type of logic prevails. I remember a conversation I had with a guy I worked with at the time. He had four children by a woman whom he said he wasn’t going to marry because she had him one way (by the children he fathered), but she wasn’t going to get him another way (marriage). He even went so far as to tell a married co-worker who had children that he was trapped because he was a father and husband.
This type of skewed logic is fodder for the many judge shows crowding the airways. There’s always some drama about a babydaddy or babymama. At least if you marry someone, and find out that you don’t like them, you can file papers and get rid of the person, (hopefully before you have a child together). But if you decide to just jump into co-parenting with someone without weighing the consequences of being tied to this person for the rest of your life, you might be in for a rude awakening.
This is not to say that marriage lasts for ever or that married couples make the best parents, but parenting is the toughest job in the world because you’re shaping and molding another human being. Who wants the added burden of doing this with someone you barely know or whose mere presence makes you ill? Engagement or long courtships give people the opportunity to get to know each other before they bring in another life.
Are we moving away from engagement and moving toward babies as commodities to be brokered between parents? Do we need love or marriage when a baby in the carriage might be the ticket to financial freedom without the emotional price tag?
The tragic death of Cincinnati Bengals player Chris Henry was attributed to a domestic dispute he was having with his fiancée. Even though the couple was scheduled to marry in March of this year, they already had three children: 10 months, 2 years and 3 years of age. I wonder why three babies in they decided to marry? Why not after the first? The second?
Then there was the headline grabber of America’s Top Model contestant, Nik Pace who is asking New Jets wide receiver Braylon Edwards for $70,000.00 a month in child support after she gave birth to a baby boy. Pace and Edwards, who were not believed to be in a serious relationship, are deadlocked over child support payments because Edwards filed in New York, but Pace objected and filed in New York. Pace’s attorney accused Braylon of trying to get the case litigated in Georgia because of Georgia’s less generous stance with child support payments. But Edwards’ lawyers claim that he filed in New York because that’s where Pace lived until recently when she moved to New York after he was traded to the Jets.
And if popular music is any indication of what’s going on in the world today, two new songs definitely promote the idea of babies without the benefit of marriage. R&B singer R. Kelly’s new song Pregnant tells the story of a man meeting a girl at a club. He sings, Girl you make me wanna get you pregnant . . . lay your body down . . . knock you up, pregnant . . .”
Then there is 50 cents song, Baby By Me in which the entire chorus repeats Have a baby by me, be a millionaire. He says he needs to plant his seed. Popular culture seems to dictate no love, no marriage, just a baby in a carriage with a hefty price tag.
And it’s not among the rich and famous that this type of logic prevails. I remember a conversation I had with a guy I worked with at the time. He had four children by a woman whom he said he wasn’t going to marry because she had him one way (by the children he fathered), but she wasn’t going to get him another way (marriage). He even went so far as to tell a married co-worker who had children that he was trapped because he was a father and husband.
This type of skewed logic is fodder for the many judge shows crowding the airways. There’s always some drama about a babydaddy or babymama. At least if you marry someone, and find out that you don’t like them, you can file papers and get rid of the person, (hopefully before you have a child together). But if you decide to just jump into co-parenting with someone without weighing the consequences of being tied to this person for the rest of your life, you might be in for a rude awakening.
This is not to say that marriage lasts for ever or that married couples make the best parents, but parenting is the toughest job in the world because you’re shaping and molding another human being. Who wants the added burden of doing this with someone you barely know or whose mere presence makes you ill? Engagement or long courtships give people the opportunity to get to know each other before they bring in another life.
Are we moving away from engagement and moving toward babies as commodities to be brokered between parents? Do we need love or marriage when a baby in the carriage might be the ticket to financial freedom without the emotional price tag?
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Trigger
The rhythmic thump-thump of a beating heart in Rihanna’s Russian Roulette reverberates through me as the hypnotic lyrics pulsate in my brain. If you play, you play for keeps. . .Suicide—The unspeakable remains unspoken.
What pushes people so far to the edge that they’re ready to end it? What makes someone put a gun to his head and splatter his brains on the floor or the walls? What makes a person slit her wrists until she bleeds to death? Or swallows pills and mixes potent substances to silence the screaming pain? What flashes through their mind as they pass from this world to the next—triumphant, sorrow, regret or relief?
Many people are bothered by the idea of suicide. We wonder why some people want to kill themselves because nothing is that bad. We think people who commit suicide are cowards; that they’re selfish for putting other people through that. We think suicidal people are weak. We believe those that attempt suicide and those that complete the act are different from the rest of us.
I used to think those things too, but not anymore. Experience has taught me that we can never know the depth of another person’s pain. And the history and legacy of African-American people doesn’t really lend itself to healing the hurt because we’ve become so accustomed to the pain that we think it’s normal. We are socially conditioned to push ahead no matter what. And while many of us would never admit to even considering taking our lives, we engage in destructive behaviors that may ultimately lead to our death, but won’t be ruled a suicide.
How many of us subconsciously contemplate suicide everyday through our actions? We read. We watch the news. We listen to the radio. We surf the net. We know that there are things that can shorten our life span, and we figure out what the hell. We’re going to do it anyway. We eat and drink too much of the wrong things. We kill our spirit because we live to work instead of working to live. We walk around not wanting to die—not wanting to live. All of our troubles are someone else’s fault so we don’t even see our finger on the trigger.
I know I don’t. Every day I am thankful for my life, that I’ve lived to see another day. That I’m of sound mind and body with a few aches and pains and senior moments. But I play Russian roulette with my life even when I know better. I blow off workouts and trashy my system with food that tastes good too me but is not good for me. I know the risks, but I play anyway because I convince myself . . . that I must pass this test.
What’s in the chamber of the gun you have pointed at your head? What’s your trigger? A drink or two to unwind? Toxic people? A relationship beyond the staying point? What will you do, put the gun down or just pull the trigger?
What pushes people so far to the edge that they’re ready to end it? What makes someone put a gun to his head and splatter his brains on the floor or the walls? What makes a person slit her wrists until she bleeds to death? Or swallows pills and mixes potent substances to silence the screaming pain? What flashes through their mind as they pass from this world to the next—triumphant, sorrow, regret or relief?
Many people are bothered by the idea of suicide. We wonder why some people want to kill themselves because nothing is that bad. We think people who commit suicide are cowards; that they’re selfish for putting other people through that. We think suicidal people are weak. We believe those that attempt suicide and those that complete the act are different from the rest of us.
I used to think those things too, but not anymore. Experience has taught me that we can never know the depth of another person’s pain. And the history and legacy of African-American people doesn’t really lend itself to healing the hurt because we’ve become so accustomed to the pain that we think it’s normal. We are socially conditioned to push ahead no matter what. And while many of us would never admit to even considering taking our lives, we engage in destructive behaviors that may ultimately lead to our death, but won’t be ruled a suicide.
How many of us subconsciously contemplate suicide everyday through our actions? We read. We watch the news. We listen to the radio. We surf the net. We know that there are things that can shorten our life span, and we figure out what the hell. We’re going to do it anyway. We eat and drink too much of the wrong things. We kill our spirit because we live to work instead of working to live. We walk around not wanting to die—not wanting to live. All of our troubles are someone else’s fault so we don’t even see our finger on the trigger.
I know I don’t. Every day I am thankful for my life, that I’ve lived to see another day. That I’m of sound mind and body with a few aches and pains and senior moments. But I play Russian roulette with my life even when I know better. I blow off workouts and trashy my system with food that tastes good too me but is not good for me. I know the risks, but I play anyway because I convince myself . . . that I must pass this test.
What’s in the chamber of the gun you have pointed at your head? What’s your trigger? A drink or two to unwind? Toxic people? A relationship beyond the staying point? What will you do, put the gun down or just pull the trigger?
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
The Face of Kindness
It has not been a holiday season of joy, but one of challenge and strife. On Christmas Day I woke up with no heat in the house; a problem that plagued me from that day to this. I also had to deal with some devastating news about the health of a family member, and my own elderly mother not being able to join us for Christmas dinner because of her own health issues. A few family squabbles didn't do anything to make Christmas neither merry nor bright.
Early Monday morning, I got up to go to Home Depot to get a thermostat to see if that would solve my heating problem, and some vanilla chai tea, but Dunkin Doughnuts was out of my-go-to-drink when I need warming inside. Dejected, I headed back to my car, a black Honda Accord and pressed the button to pop the lock--or at least that's what I thought I did. I opened the door to black leather seats--definitely not my car! I closed the door quickly thinking, Oh my God! Somebody might think I'm trying to steal their car. I walked away a little startled still trying to figure out where I'd parked my car. I lose my car in parking lots all the time, and it still frustrates me because I don't why I can't keep up with my own car.
A man's voice reached out to me and asked, "Ms, are you ok? You look like some thing's wrong," he said as his words caressed me from the coldness of the season. I can only imagine what my face must have looked like because I know I having a telling face, and I joke with friends that I'd probably make a lousy Poker Player.
When I looked to see where the voice was coming from, I saw a man watching me as he sat in his car with a young boy. "No, I'm ok, I replied. I'm just looking for my car."
"Do you know where it is?"
"Yes, I see it. There it is. Thank you."
On a cold December morning during this subdued holiday season, I found kindness in the voice of a stranger, and his small gesture made my dimmed holiday light shine brighter.
Early Monday morning, I got up to go to Home Depot to get a thermostat to see if that would solve my heating problem, and some vanilla chai tea, but Dunkin Doughnuts was out of my-go-to-drink when I need warming inside. Dejected, I headed back to my car, a black Honda Accord and pressed the button to pop the lock--or at least that's what I thought I did. I opened the door to black leather seats--definitely not my car! I closed the door quickly thinking, Oh my God! Somebody might think I'm trying to steal their car. I walked away a little startled still trying to figure out where I'd parked my car. I lose my car in parking lots all the time, and it still frustrates me because I don't why I can't keep up with my own car.
A man's voice reached out to me and asked, "Ms, are you ok? You look like some thing's wrong," he said as his words caressed me from the coldness of the season. I can only imagine what my face must have looked like because I know I having a telling face, and I joke with friends that I'd probably make a lousy Poker Player.
When I looked to see where the voice was coming from, I saw a man watching me as he sat in his car with a young boy. "No, I'm ok, I replied. I'm just looking for my car."
"Do you know where it is?"
"Yes, I see it. There it is. Thank you."
On a cold December morning during this subdued holiday season, I found kindness in the voice of a stranger, and his small gesture made my dimmed holiday light shine brighter.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
ABW--Not Again!
Just when I thought it was safe to put it away, I had to don my Angry Black Woman cape today.
There is this larger-than-life stereotype of Black women as always being angry, but no one ever stops to ask if our anger is valid. And while I wasn't the hand-on-hip, neck-rolling, finger-pointing, snapping off kind, I was vocal in my distaste of what happened when I decided to take in a couple of movies today.
Problem #1: I went to the theater and purchased tickets for two different movies. I used my debit card so I had to show my ID. I only have to show my ID at this particular theater. I can go anywhere else and simply present my debit card, but not in "da hood" because we all know that black people steal, so the theater has to make sure that I am the actual owner of the card that I present.
Problem #2: I finished watching one movie, dipped out to the bathroom before the second movie started. On the way back, this 20something, ponytail wearing security person told me he had to check my purse. I asked him why seeing as that I had just left one theater, and he said that he started checking purses at 3:00 o'clock. I obliged him, but not without telling him how I felt about the action. He told me it was for my safety. Of course. Silly me! I forgot that black people are violent.
That was it; that was the last straw. I tied up my cape and went to see the manager who tried to explain to me that the policies and procedures were for my safety. So, I explained to him that they made me feel like a criminal and that if I have to show IDS and be searched before I sit down to watch a movie, then maybe I need to go watch movies elsewhere. I also asked him for a business card, so that I could give my complaint some leverage by putting in writing.
I'm sure that there are those who feel like it's not that big a deal. Just go to the show somewhere else, but I want to say that it is a big deal! Expecting to be treated with dignity and respect is not an option; it's my God-given right, and when that doesn't happen, I need to let it be known that it's not acceptable.
With card in hand, and my cape flapping behind me, I left the theater. When I'm done with this post, I'm going to put my cape away, but know that it is within reach if I need it again.
There is this larger-than-life stereotype of Black women as always being angry, but no one ever stops to ask if our anger is valid. And while I wasn't the hand-on-hip, neck-rolling, finger-pointing, snapping off kind, I was vocal in my distaste of what happened when I decided to take in a couple of movies today.
Problem #1: I went to the theater and purchased tickets for two different movies. I used my debit card so I had to show my ID. I only have to show my ID at this particular theater. I can go anywhere else and simply present my debit card, but not in "da hood" because we all know that black people steal, so the theater has to make sure that I am the actual owner of the card that I present.
Problem #2: I finished watching one movie, dipped out to the bathroom before the second movie started. On the way back, this 20something, ponytail wearing security person told me he had to check my purse. I asked him why seeing as that I had just left one theater, and he said that he started checking purses at 3:00 o'clock. I obliged him, but not without telling him how I felt about the action. He told me it was for my safety. Of course. Silly me! I forgot that black people are violent.
That was it; that was the last straw. I tied up my cape and went to see the manager who tried to explain to me that the policies and procedures were for my safety. So, I explained to him that they made me feel like a criminal and that if I have to show IDS and be searched before I sit down to watch a movie, then maybe I need to go watch movies elsewhere. I also asked him for a business card, so that I could give my complaint some leverage by putting in writing.
I'm sure that there are those who feel like it's not that big a deal. Just go to the show somewhere else, but I want to say that it is a big deal! Expecting to be treated with dignity and respect is not an option; it's my God-given right, and when that doesn't happen, I need to let it be known that it's not acceptable.
With card in hand, and my cape flapping behind me, I left the theater. When I'm done with this post, I'm going to put my cape away, but know that it is within reach if I need it again.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Being
As you move throughout your day
Being obedient to the Spirit of Do,
Remember to honor the Spirit of Be
For it is through Being that we learn
What we need to be Doing--
Our Life's Purpose; Our Mission
If we spend too much time on what to Do
We forget just to Be
We must seek balance
Between Doing and Being
So that our life is fullfilling
And not just filled full of things to do
So Remember to just Be
One
With Ourselves,
With Nature,
With Our ancestors,
With God
Being obedient to the Spirit of Do,
Remember to honor the Spirit of Be
For it is through Being that we learn
What we need to be Doing--
Our Life's Purpose; Our Mission
If we spend too much time on what to Do
We forget just to Be
We must seek balance
Between Doing and Being
So that our life is fullfilling
And not just filled full of things to do
So Remember to just Be
One
With Ourselves,
With Nature,
With Our ancestors,
With God
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