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Struggling with Fatherhood Values

Today I was nominated again as an awesome father by one of my black brethren.

I began compiling some of the proudest, happiest, and intimate moments with my son. And as I wrote my response, I sunk into sadness. I drifted towards anger. I slipped into indifference. And I became shackled into paralysis. I observe myself as a good father….when I compare myself to those in prison and those who are absentees. I feel that I am somewhere in the middle on the performance continuum of fatherhood. Those who are closest to me will say that I am a terrific father and all that snazzy jazz, but I never really internalize it. Their judgments faintly impress my consciousness. “An awesome father”. “An outstanding father”. “A great father”. Because…yadda, blah-blah, bam. I never actually “feel” this way about my role though; even if it looks that way on social media. “From the way it looks, John, you are a [insert positive adjective] father”. And on cue, I surrender my gratitude, and that becomes the conclusion. A shallow interaction. A false transaction of empowerment because I refuse to receive the accolades. It feels unearned. It feels unnecessary. I interpret as “socially appropriateness”, even if it is authentic. << and even when that is made known, it’s the “well, let me tell you this…I’m not…I’m this…and I mean”…..(eyes roll). Fatherhood endures to be a very sensitive arena of discussion that I often avoid; sometimes to prevent the whole “let me convince you why I think you’re a great father even though I just said I’m not here to convince you” discussion.

It’s been an enduring progression of recovery from my dissonance with my distant father. I don’t hate him. In fact, I likely talk to him once or twice a year; dialogues that usually conclude with “I love yous”. I revisit this space of conflict on seldom occasions as part of my self-therapy, yet throughout the year, I actively socialize and develop my son. Challenging him. Disciplining him. Rewarding him. Teaching him. Supplying him with tools, resources, and opportunities for his advancement. I don’t perform these acts with paternally-charged elation, but out of necessity in attaining a desired result. And I imagine many black fathers function in a similar pocket. I hold high expectations for my son as any logically-driven father. But, then I see some fathers who drown social media with the minutest of father-son moments. I see fathers who are emotionally expressive. And then there is me – performing less of the aforementioned. I don’t dispose a wealth of sentimental “love yous” or “proud of yous”. A lot of the time, I am void of expressed emotion. When I drop him off at school, he says “bye daddy”, and I reply “aight man” in a tone that semblances a flat soda; this has been routine since I purchased my car last year, which is when I started dropping him off to school. And when we play video games, there’s few laughs and smiles. You can hardly tell the difference between him playing a computer as apathetic as I tend to be.

But do these few examples infer that am I am barren with emotion? No. There have been many moments where I’ll tear up amid his accomplishments and developments. I’ll smile secretly. Chuckle quietly. Cry in solitude. I’ll constantly nag about what he’s doing wrong or what he should be doing. Yet, when he’s exceeded my expectations (and we’re not talking limbo standards here), I let it be known so that he understands that it takes a lot to impress me. So that he strives for the excellence that I strive for in myself. He’s fascinated with technology. Loves anime. Loves gaming. He’s currently enrolled in a gifted education program. An aspiring artist. Endowed with empathy. Quite well mannered. Creative and curious. Soft-spoken. Modest. And his respect for others is substantial.

^^ looks normal, right?
Perhaps it’s part of my gender socialization. The hyper-masculinity (“men don’t show emotion often”). Perhaps, it’s my perfectionism. Perhaps, it’s my militant mindset. Perhaps, it’s my personal experiences with war, poverty, molestation, and an absentee father that authorize my attitudes and behaviors. I am a wounded warrior and a survivor of circumstances; much of which took me years to accept. Maybe, it’s ‘e’, all of the above. But, a quick review of all of our pictures together and separately would persuade your vote for me as a remarkable father, even as I never signed up to campaign for such a judgement. I pay homage to my cultural and genetic contributions towards my resilience, spirituality, and self-determination, which has propelled me here today. It’s not the compliments or the social approval. It wasn’t the church. It wasn’t a monetary incentive. I recognized long ago that I was running away from this conflict. I’ve held a few deep talks with my son regarding my condition and my intentions just so he has insight on who I am at my core. I’m stern with my son, because life has been very stern with me despite its extravagant blessings.

The guilt stems from being somewhat of a deadbeat father. Although I have paid child support in the past, my physical absence enslaved me to a self-created emotional indebtedness. My anger is likely rooted in being deprived of a working model/definition of fatherhood….in real life. My indifference likely rests in the notion that black fatherhood holds a position in my American experience that parallels to the Dalits of the Indian caste system. It seems so dispensable that black culture and black women are convinced that even they can do it. Being raised by mother….perhaps….I believed it to be true (shrugs). My sadness….is cradled in the reality that even if I perceived myself as an extraordinary father….it would feel like a lie. My progress with this challenging role is scathingly tolerable. I’ve been worse off. There’s still work to do.

….And at least I haven’t failed.20160515_221031000_iOS


Reunion with my First GF: The Importance of Chemistry

Halle-DAMN-Julah!!! ....But character doesn't equate to looks...

Halle-DAMN-Lujah!!!
….But character doesn’t equate to looks…

Ok so.….no, not the GF that I masturbated to after watching Boomerang….or maybe that was Vivica. Well, anyway…

The entire reunion was sorta surreal as it springs from the current theme in my life: revisiting my past. I’ve jogged into Alicia a few times within the past 3 years of my venture to Kuwait. But this conference was hazily snugger than the briefness of the others. I’ve always tried to make our reconnections succinct. She has always noted how much I haven’t changed when I returned, while I was stranded with the unfortunate “ah, neither have you”. It seems that her attachment to me has remained as fresh as a 2nd chance. My family is very familiar with Alicia. Being with her erupted a lot of unpredictable stress into my life; it even infected my family. She is the equivalent to my little brother’s ex-girlfriend, Bae. << That relationship was 3 times messier, however.

What attracted to me to Alicia? (Rubs chin) (Scratches chin) First glance, she looked good…at the time. She was shapely, and I liked her eyes. Her personality emanated a bizarre sweetness. It helped that she was actually interested. I was quite the nerd back then, and I was deprived the looks, confidence, and the swagger to attract any of my true high school crushes. I wasn’t drunk with adoration for Alicia as she was for me. And it was this same intoxication that motivated her to surrendering her virginity to me. Alicia was my 2nd sexual experience (we’ll discuss my first some other time – [shivers] ugh!), and it wasn’t extraordinary, but it was much better than my first. The difference: I was actually attracted to Alicia. She surrendered her virginity in my friend (older brother) Corey’s room, whom stayed with his grandmother at the time. (chuckles) Damn…the measures teens will take in order to have a taste of sex. The experience was shy of romance, but it was seemingly plump of sentimentality. I don’t remember a lot of our moments in our relationship, but I can recall a lot of the conditions that fostered it. Her family was very strict against her having relations with a guy. This placed a limitation on our quality time together. She lived in the boondocks of Colquitt County, but she knew people who lived near my project home. We seized a lot of opportunities to meet up. And with my earnings from Hardees, I would buy her things: a few clothes and a little jewelry. I was a gentleman to her, and she knew it. She would come over to our house sometimes and just chill. Heck, according to her, I helped her with her homework (which I don’t remember doing it, but it sounds like me). It was a relationship that was virtually vague of arguments, flooded with innocence, and asserted with teenage sex. Alicia was a cool chic, but she was dim-lighted with intelligence and ambition. I was engaged with college prep classes, whereas she was involved with special education. She has a learning disability, but during the genesis of our relationship, I was a bit numb to the symptoms of it. Academically, I knew I was smarter, but it wasn’t something that I assessed as a contribution to our happiness. I waivered the truth of our dialogue being faint of intellectual stimulation, and just coasted through the relationship. Essentially, I soaked in what was available; especially the sex. (laughs) I remember one time we had sex near the library right behind a garbage dumpster. It was dark, and I was walking her home; doing what protective boyfriends do. I stayed in the NW projects, and I was escorting her to the projects near the library. It was a pleasant evening walk that swept into an amateur porno scene. Ha! It was the first time I’ve ever done something like that. I was so bold in my youth. (laughs) I remember smashing that from the side in my room, on the bunk bed (top bunk), room full of people, watching the TV. (smh). One time, Eric (my best friend) walked in on us! The stroking was uninterrupted as I calmly told him to close the door. (laughs and wipes tear from eye)…..what an adventure. But, as Alicia’s grades declined, her family’s concerns grew. Her brother resented me; expected from protective brother, of course. They strictly advised her to stop seeing me. And when I got a whiff of this instruction through her, I wanted to enforce it as well. One night, she was over at my place. It was raining, and her family was unaware of her whereabouts. Imagine their agitation when after their long-winded search, she’s at the “forbidden palace of little John”. Her brother knocks on the door. She and I are in my room lamped up. And when the announcement was made that it was her family, our hearts plummeted to our stomach. She exits slowly. And as soon as her feet met the porch pavement, he hits her (this was a very hard hit, BTW) and strong-arms her to the car as he thrashed out aggressive rants. I discovered later on that our antics have been heightening her mother’s stress levels. So, in hue of this information, I broke up with her. I didn’t want the relationship to end no more than her, but the risk towered my ambition. We were dangerously infatuated for too long; my commitment to a better future was heavier than my commitment to her. I accepted the idea of us separating with ease, but Alicia regressed. She really lashed out at me. She gave me her grandmother’s necklace as a present, once. So post-break up, at school, she would harass me about it. It was her only tangible link to me. A cheap necklace! And I knew it was cheap, because I’ve bought better. I couldn’t return all the hugs, orgasms, I-love-yous and kisses that she gave me. But if I would’ve known that her love had a cost, then we would’ve never begun our love spree. Heck, I could’ve demanded that she return all the V-Day and B-Day gifts, the clothes, the shoes, and the jewelry that I bought her – but they were sentiments that served their intended purpose. Seeking their return is a form of regression and a bold, underlined statement of regret. It would mean that everything that I ever did for her was unintended. << that wasn’t me back then, and it’s not me today. I couldn’t return her grandmother’s necklace, so I bought another to settle the debt. It was in that experience that I heightened my sagacity and caution in my dealings with women. Ask more piercing questions. Be more patient. Take less, and return more; because I didn’t wanna repeat this phase. I didn’t wanna ever feel indebted to a female ever again. It’s one of the reasons why I’m reluctant to even receive love from a woman – fear that her love has a cost despite the irony of me doing the most spending. F!ck that! Keep your love, lady, mine is much better anyway. (sighs) I just felt like break-ups shouldn’t be that dramatic….especially when it’s over expendable things. The chaos that she triggered had inspired me to preserve as much distance from her as possible. She left a bitter-like imprint in my conscience. And just like that, all of the good times were devoured by a pool of darkness. I used to perceive her in a rainbow-like façade, but her reaction to the break-up tarnished it.

Furthermore….her mother died soon after….(sighs)(smh)(holds chin)

I moved on and discovered Angela via internet (this was back in 2001 when Yahoo Messenger and Blackvoices were the most popular “social networking sites”) whom would propel me into my highlight of romance and intimacy for the next 8 years. But, I definitely applied lessons learned from Alicia. Angela received much more love from me because I realized the importance of compatibility. I had a refined taste for intelligence, emotional stability, ambition, creativity, sexual appetite (and adventure), pragmatism, style, and sense of spirituality. In the areas that Alicia was lacking, Angela compensated. It was one of the reasons why I remained so committed – she had everything that I yearned for. Alicia would be remembered as the first prototype, but her successor would be a very advanced model. Angela and I shared so many commonalities. << And because of the distinctions between Angela and Alicia, I realized what aspects of a woman were important to me. I had a larger menu of interests – hence, my expectations peaked. Alicia chose worse, and I chose better.

…So it shouldn’t be astonishing as to why I turned down her proposal of hooking back up.

It was unnecessary for me to assertively (or pompously) remind her of our discordancy. She doesn’t have what I’m looking for in a woman. She hasn’t even insinuated signs of growth that resulted from our 14-year separation. Her best friend motioned against the hook up even before Alicia expressed the idea through her to me. This was the stream of texts that ensued last night.

Alicia’s friend: K! Alicia ask[ed] me to tell u she know things didn’t work back then, but [could] she get another chance of [ya’ll] being in a relationship

Me: (smiles)

Alicia’s friend: Ooookay! I like to smile [too] but that’s not an answer sir!! lol

Me: It wouldn’t work. My expectations and goals are way beyond her capacity. She’s not ready and neither am I

Me: We’re not compatible when it dwindles down to the principles of happiness

Alicia’s friend: [Yea] true; which it’s [not] hard to tell! I kind [of] try to say that to her but she [won’t] listen

Me: I like how you think Elyse

Alicia’s friend: Now it’s my turn! (smiles) but it’s clear to see. I’m still trying to help her open her eyes, and get her on her feet, let alone the level [you’re] on

There was more to the dialogue, but essentially, Elyse is a very good friend. She’s on a mission in helping Alicia become more self-reliant. In the past, Alicia has relied on a man to provide for her. Elyse is trying to lead her out of that cycle. And that is a very challenging task: helping her get a job, her own living space, and how to establish expectations of a man. But the essence of this post is centered on the realization of knowing what you are looking for based on what you don’t want. If you meet the requirements of your wishes, then you will summon a person that fits exactly what you are looking for. I don’t resent any of my relationships…but I do retain some inherent wisdom on how to approach new ones based on past relations (and television). With awareness of the mistakes (the undesirables), I’m able to refine my search for perfection. We must accept that when we seek something, we are assuming/hopeful that it is perfection. And when it’s deemed imperfect, you bless it, and you let it go so that it may serve another purpose. I’m glad that I reunited with my first girlfriend. I’ve recalled some old lessons, as I strive forward deeper into my past…remembering who I am; resolving pent up energy as I continue my search for perfection. If it’s one thing that I despise is someone who rejects someone due to the belief that they are better. I’m not claiming to be better than Alicia no more than I’m claiming a hydrogen atom is better than a nitrogen atom. You can find all the reasons why it is or isn’t, but relationships are about what works. What keeps them together? And what qualities do they bring to life…as one unit?

Chemistry…right?

~Everyone is a teacher; listen and discern…then learn~


3 Reasons to Live

The mother of my son, Reka (top) and my sister, Kita (bottom)

The mother of my son, Reka (top) and my sister, Kita (bottom)

I can be real insensitive when it comes to holidays because I don’t like being obligated to celebrate. I wrote this yesterday and decided to post this today. I wanna speak on 3 very important reasons why I live.

Markita

My sister, Markita is a two-time Mother. I have more tidbits about her children than I have about her. A generous portion of my time has been dedicated to those two, yet what I am to them is also in support of my sister’s position. I remember her telling me that her ex-boyfriend Derrick was a dwarf. It was intriguing to me especially coming from my sister; but, not as intriguing as her becoming a mother. She didn’t become a mother during high school, but in reach for an industrious license in nursing she exchanged one graduation for the other – to be a mother. I see now that she mirrors my mother’s tolerance. The family acknowledges that my sister’s culinary skills exceed our mother; and Kita sports it like a badge. She carries a silent strength, and summons it in the most critical moments. Her decision to leave Derrick can be awarded to human instinct or woman’s intuition, but that hush-hush strength was undoubtedly instrumental in propelling her to stability with the family. I’ve never been afforded an intimate observation of her caregiving skills, but she’s got it. And just like many women, she’s looking for affection and companionship. I love the fact that she doesn’t allow her career as a mother to deter her from her financial and professional goals. Kita has the caregiver spirit within her, and I sense that diving into the nursing profession is going to be a terrific marriage. Kita can be read in a couple of ways. Sometimes she’s bears this very stern I-don’t-play-that-sh!t attitude; it’s a camouflaged ferocity really. It’s not expressed with sarcasm that’s as poignant as hot-sauce. But, if she catches a hint of suspicion about you, it will be felt in a very recluse way. But usually, Kita moves like a R&B song with her soft-spoken voice that’s resembles her spirit. She endures a lot of pressure with Amari due to his bone-brittle ailment; but she’s learning. She doesn’t have time for life’s thrills. Even in the pictures that I’ve captured her in, there’s always an image of her with the kids. It seems that life has slowed down a lot for her at such an early age. She doesn’t complain about the fact that she has yet to collide recklessly in love with her aspirations. And very rarely does she nag about going to the club, the theme park, or a salon. She’s not high-maintenance nor is she ghetto. She has a very commendable balance of pragmatism and emotional content. I’m excited to see her master these aspects of her personality. Like I said, Kita is a very simple woman whom was family-oriented early in life. We always fashioned this complex closeness; supported each other, but not in the traditional brother-sister way. I never had to fight for her, and she never had to screen the women I was with……(laughs) that’s a lie….she kept an eagle eye on my ex-wife! And she was a ninja about it too (chuckles). Ultimately, I’m very excited about Kita’s career as a mother because she’s showcased her inherent capacity to love without expectation. In a few years, my sister will parallel the Oracle from the Matrix…..she just has this quiet essence that cradles so much intensity….she’s just unraveling her gifts slowly.

Reka

Reka and I are bonded by our son. And unless there’s a blood test that contests this reality, I’m going to act as such. I haven’t always respected this reality though. I’ve confessed in my previous blogs of my treachery in the midst of our relationship. We nurtured a very stable friendship that had a healthy blend of wild sex. We were very promiscuous and youthful; and with each of us coming from an impoverished lifestyle, we were on an expedition of self-discovery. I had my little sphere of women on the side, and she had her little compass of men that she kept pocketed away. We’d go clubbing together, fishing for new ventures; yet we always agreed that if we didn’t get any bites…we’d spend the night with each other. It was an adventurous life complimented by the job security that the US Army offered. It’s perplexing how all that fun dies when the unexpected is enlivened. When she announced that she was pregnant, I was cloaked in denial. I never really considered her feelings back then because of my self-centeredness. If motherhood is a type of graduation, I resented hers during those years; mainly because it involved my graduation into fatherhood. I guess I wanted to be held back a grade. I was absent for the childbirth due to my military obligations – my unit was progressing through a field training exercise in California. And when I asked my 1st Sergeant about attending the childbirth, I was denied – and I accepted it without a fight. “We need you here, Nick”. Reka needed me there. I needed to be there. What have I done differently from my father in those moments? I was unsupportive….during the pregnancy and after the birth. I remember when I even asked her if she was going to keep the baby. She was flabbergasted. But, the mixture of dismay and anger that she experienced when I refused to marry her was tiny compared to the sting of betrayal when I married Angela (whom was my ex-girlfriend at the time) 5 months later. I administered an uncompromising venom to Reka’s life from that point forward. She struggled through her military career; staggering through the hormonal storms of pregnancy while still recovering from a catastrophic heartbreak. She became vacuumed in another relationship that casted her into a field of suffering. Sarya was born, and her father supplied Reka with the same sting of betrayal that I dealt her. Over time, Reka was discharged from the Army because she couldn’t adapt to the added pressure of her life. This is in light of a deployment to Iraq and caring for a child…solo. The 6 years that succeeded afterwards would be an unprecedented ocean of deterred hopes and overwhelming conflicts. She sought solace back in Florida, gathering the shards of her dreams, and molding what she could out of them. And I would maintain my stride as a married man complimented with a successful career and the spoils of a lavish lifestyle. Was it fair to her? Some would call her a fool for love, yet disappointments are packaged with the gift of life. I’m glad she issued a child support order back then, because somehow, she managed to survive on that plus welfare. She was always resisted in receiving support; this resistance has always motivated her in being self-sufficient. << She’s still working on that.  I admire the fact that she never gave up. All women don’t accept the call of motherhood; they let that phone ring off the hook as they’re out at the club marketing themselves for marriage and exotic sexcapades. I also admire her courage in cutting through the webs of resentment that she had towards me.

She forgave me in 2009. And I forgave myself as well. And from that meadow of forgiveness, we streamed toward making a better future for the kids.

Reka may not be the most resourceful or the most intelligent, but she has spirit. She’s endured a blizzard of disappointments, and yet still, her heart remains warm enough to shelter her kids alone at times. And in her stride to support her labeled friends and family, she has muscled through more betrayal than I have. Consequently, I’m not sure if I would be able to accomplish what I have without her contributing so much energy to the kids…even if we were on a discord on parenting methods. We differ in a lot of ways, but I’m proud that she’s the mother of my child. A lot of black men don’t and won’t say that about their children’s mother in this era. She’s matured over the 8+ years that I’ve known her. And often, when I think about her, the 2nd verse to Geto Heaven (Pt. 2) settles in mind….the 2nd verse stands out the most. Deep down, I want for her what I want for all women….independence.

Love, your happiness don’t begin with a man
Strong woman, why should you depend on a man
I understand you want a man that’s resourceful
If he pay your bills, he feel like he bought you
Talkin to a friend, about what love is
Her man didn’t love her, ’cause he didn’t love his
Hugged her from afar, said what I felt
You never find a man, till you find yourself
Time helps mistakes, you can learn from
One man fucked up, but  you shouldn’t turn from
A certain type of guy, gotta reach a certain point too
At the destination, a king will annoint you
Goin through the storm, many bodies stay warm
That relationship died, for you to be born, you worth more
Than anything you could cop in a store
For you to grow he had to go so what you stoppin him for
Not even I could ignore bein alone it’s hard
Find heaven in yourself and god – Common

Denise

I’m writing a book about my mother….and it’s not for sale. My life’s experience with her is the book itself; occasionally I capture her on film and with words as a reminder. On the morning of Mother’s Day (1am), I delivered a gift to her. First, I relayed the gift that came from Eric, whom I mentioned before is an extended family member. My mother is not so enthusiastic in receiving gifts as she is giving them; simple acknowledgement is enough. But she shows the appreciation because she knows from experience that life begets life. We talked to Eric via Kinect on the XBOX 360 for a while. When we concluded the dialogue, I used the app on the XBOX 360 dashboard to bring up this video…..followed by the video from yesterday. And yes…there were tears, hugs, and smiles.

 

For now, little needs to be said or written….we are what we are. And it’s forever a sterling truth.

I’m living to make sure that I support these 3 women in my life. They don’t ask for a whole lot, and they’re not difficult to satisfy. It is within my power to give them more because of this awareness. They weren’t afforded the best schools or the more furnished economic lifestyles, but they’ve multiplied so much with so little. << That requires creativity, will, and observation. They’ve taught me a lot about being a father without really teaching, but just being. My family life relies heavily on their existence…and since I’ve been home, it’s been evermore …a…parent.

I look at my left hand as I conclude this journal entry. Under my index finger is a cross. This cross (in this specifically area of my hand) indicates a successful family life. I see now that these 3 women are instrumental in making this marking on my palm true to life. They are celestial planets of my destiny, enforcing my purpose. And I thank the Prime Creator for their presence.


Time Travelling with the Messengers of Love

Today my emotional pond has been quite the stir.

The source: family

Family is where most of my loyalty lives. My core family knows who I truly am no matter how many times I mutate – no matter what persona I put on for the public eye. When I’m around them, I’m a little more vulnerable; not always…but it happens a lot easier because I know them, and they know me. It’s not that way for everyone, and I’m appreciative that we coalesce the way we do.

Today, after a solid workout with my sister-in-law, I spent a little time with my nephew Jaiden. I accompany him as he goes solo player with his toys. I bubbled into tears as I reflected on my 3 month journey in deepening my relationship with him. The transition from me being no name to uncle to now…Uncle Eric shoves me emotionally. The first month, I’ve been conditioning him to call me uncle; one day he just promptly called me Uncle Eric. As it is commonly spoken, it’s the small things that mean so much. It’s been an intensely sentimental experiment, and he’s yield some surprising growth spurts. Surveying his growth has been harshly invigorating, as I witness the patience pour out of me when I respond to him. I’ve found the balance of my father’s sternness and my mother’s compassion when dealing with him. I smile more when I watch him play in solitude, dripping with admiration for his imaginative exploits and his coddled innocence. He reminds me so much of myself as a kid; playing alone – fabricating fictional friends that fit his protocol of play. I’m tickled by his boisterous narratives as I secretly pray that he retains that essence into his elder years. His charisma is heartfelt, and at the apex of it all, I reserve supreme confidence in Jaiden’s ability to be a great brother to his younger brother, Amari. Jaiden has been human for 3 years, and he’s been teaching his little brother how to play, speak, and behave; his compassion is admirable. He’s in a good position as an older brother showing acceptance of his responsibility early in his developments. Amari definitely shows signs of trailing his older brother. They seem to recognize their roles in each other’s lives as they’re protective of each other. The love is present, and the most inspiring thing is that none of this was taught! I observe the next generation of our family…and I feel good about where the destiny that the love instilled will flow.

But the essence of this post is about memories. Legacies.

My financial depression has recalled me to the realization that money does not define character. I have loved my family from lengthy distances. But, this distant love was given with the intention of providing what we have always lacked – economic stability. We experienced homelessness for a brief period when I was about 6. My mom was still recovering from two abusive relationships (my father and my little brother’s), and abandonment from my sister’s father. She enters a relationship with a religious man named John whom seemed very well-rounded and stable. That is, until we moved to Alabama…..with his mom, whom resented my mother. Eventually, we had to move out, and we vacated to a Waffle House. My mother had no job, no savings, and 3 kids; the hue of this bleak circumstance would make a woman wanna fade into nothingness and just give up. As a child, I didn’t know the severity of the situation, but I was aware of what was going on. I remember the mysterious man who bought us food and referred us to Salvation Army. From that point on, we were on the rise back to stability. But it was in the thicket of those moments that I realize what we didn’t have, and what I believed we should have in order to be happy. So I made it a priority to do whatever it took to make sure that my mother and my family were safeguarded from that level of poverty. From elementary school towards high school, I reached for excellence by exercising the system towards my benefit. In all of my endeavors, my purpose in life was to make my mother proud. Her expression was my gauge for success. From living in trailers to living in the projects, we persevered. Our lifestyle motivated my strides to travel and search for more. No matter where I travelled, I always returned home to add sentiments to our legacy.

The side effects of paper-chasing: money becomes the primary method of problem-solving and bonding, which will lead to a lack of emotional substance, virtue, and character.

Being financially depressed will not only reveal the presence of a transcending love, but its intensity and form. We are less than 12 hours from an official Mother’s Day, and I have packaged a gift for my mother – but it’s something that I feel that my whole family can share. I laced together a slideshow/song combo for tomorrow. It’s fascinating what a few pictures, a beat, and some words will conjure. Of course, it’s all about the meaning. The creation course has offered a large entrée of fulfillment along with few side orders of sentimentality. I’ve cried during the course of creating this compilation – capturing the substance of the memories. Thinking to myself that my financial health may not equate to mountains, but I’ve endured an extraordinary life that transcends them. I have a solar system of relatives, and their presence catapults my pride beyond the stars. During my search for mementos to stitch into the slideshow, I found a video that was captured by my best friend Eric. He’s more like an older brother, truthfully. Ever since our move to Regency Village in Moultrie, he’s been accepted as one of us. The chemistry was just a statement of perfection. 18+ years we’ve maintained our bond. He’s always been family-oriented. He’s always been prone to capturing the moment….so our Black Peter Parker captured these deep-rooted emotional scenes of our reunion.

We have a few dysfunctions in our family, but they don’t overshadow the cohesions. If anything, they glorify the love that’s present. What I value the most about my family is that we extend our legacy. We multiply it within this tight-laced sphere, and then like the Big Bang – it scatters; creating new worlds, and unfolding new possibilities. But this love always returns to the Singularity – my mother. Everyone isn’t approved for the opportunity to meet my mother personally, but they receive a representation through each of her children. We’re all very protective of her in our own unique way because she is the core of who we truly are. Yet still, we retain our paternal essences. And as we strive to each become autonomous, we continue to solidify our union whenever we’re cognizant of its presence.

As effective as I am as a wordsmith, my definition of family transcends words.


The One That Got Away

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Ok babe, I’m headed out the door

She planted a loose kiss on my cheek

And a dry “I love you” jutted from her lips

Smooth Criminal, she was; and I almost let her get away with it too

Whoa! Hold up…say, it again”

Huh? ….Say what?

Tell me you love me…..slower

She fashioned a frustrated lip curl as tension melted into her eyebrows

I smile….”I’m listening

Vigorously, she unloads “I….love…..youuuuuu, Jooooooohn

No, no, no….you gotta come closer and say it

John! What are you doing?! I have to go!

I walked to her

Reaching to possess her hips, which were cloaked in her baby blue dress

Mmmnnnn…I love it when she wears dresses

Especially when there’s a thong buried innocently beneath

I massage my way into cupping her ass

Flashing assured eyes, and a confident smirk

Say it….again….

Her eyes blazed wider as she felt the spark of inspiration

…..She feels the hint of sex in the air

Low-toned and blasé, she chuckles “I love you

My hands were the silkiest electric currents surging through back

As I sunk my face closer into hers

We paused…..our eyes stole each other

And as my lips reached in for a comforting hug

Air bolted from her nose as if there were fire within

mmmnnnn….” Kiss*….kiss* “mmnnnnn….Joooooohn”, she muffled

My palms glide up her dress

Silky smooth thighs that pay tribute to her robust apple bottom

I revolved her with snap-action force

Pitching her dress to rest on her lower back

mmnnnn……babe….we…..mmmn….hurry up and put it in

I reach in, and joust out my pulsating shaft with one hand

While pulling her emerald thong over to the right with the other

The tip of my pink helmet began to wiggle between the rims of her pussy

It felt as if she were sucking it in…sluggishly… forcefully…

Her rosy tunnel clinched on…caving in as I lunge through

Her knees unbuckled into a slender tremor

Our pace: slow and steady

Each stroke was sponsored with increasing intensity

I was swelling up inside her….

Ugh! She was sooooo wet…..

I dip all the way in, and yank all the way out

Her silk-like, shadowy hair draped to the left side of her face

As her neck sagged into submission to the deep, animated rhythm

In which our bodies rocked

Sweat beads decorated my face, and her upper back

John……ooooohugghh….John……John……John

I……ah……ahhhh……la……laaaooove…..

(buzzing alarm)

My eyes open…..deep breath

I laid in the bed on my stomach…frozen-still

Recollecting fragments of the dream

Interpreting the events that preceded it

And then my face crawls into my palms as I shake my head thinking

Damn….the one that got away….sighs…I never told her how I felt

Could she have been….the one?”

My imagination churns in my mind with what-ifs

….like a glass of wine as it’s swirled

Is it so childish to imagine what life would be like if I was the inspiration

That moved her….to say…. “I love you, John”? I wrote her today

…and told her how I felt, careless of what the consequence was

It’s amazing how we can find happiness in being reckless and daring


Great Souls See Alike

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Today was a great exhibition of family time. Samario was our guest, and was considered an honorary family member. My mother always supplied hints about his character; stating “Eric, he reminds me so much of you. I’m telling you! You two would get along great!” My level of astonishment is for how well my mother knows me is unquestionably high. Some people have an expectation of mothers not realizing that not all women are passionate about this state of being. Speaking to Samario was a mirror match minus the combat action. We cradled the same ideals and personality traits, and yet, here is our first interaction! I saw so much of myself in him. The chemistry was a sign of cohesion. It was all love. There was a mutual acceptance of all energies; the atmosphere embodied a small pond positivity.

We began the symbiosis with some palm reading. My little brother jested at me for asking if I can read Samorio’s palm. It was the 2nd thing that spilled from my mouth when I spoke to him. I pride myself in knowing that I’m one of the few people in the entire world who can greet someone by saying “hi…um…can I read you palm?” After calling off his attributes, we hopped in a rabbit hole of dialogue. He confirmed a lot of my readings. He figured that since my mother spoke about him that most of my readings were founded from what she said about him. This was a fair assumption, of course. His palm revealed to me that he would stop working before 35, and that he loves autonomy, solitude, and inner peace. Later on in our dialogue (while speaking about Capitalism and the government regime) he announced his ambitions of retiring by 30 in an isolated location (an island of some sort). He confirmed much more of my readings, which vitalized some satisfaction within me. The meeting that we inherited is not an offspring of chance or luck; and we both knew this. My mother’s energy and his we’re of a matching signature – being in the same environment, we were bound to commune together. Indeed this wasn’t a typical interaction.

He carried a familiar contentment in his disposition as we delved into the mysteries of life using film, video game, and book references. Even the way he expressed himself was of a related bearing to mine. We were building our knowledge bases. For me, those are some of the best conversations. Everyone cannot chime in the stuff that I’m truly elevates my interests. Before Samario, there was Theron. I’ve always know Theron through Camp Arifjan’s Poetry Night Crew. He and I knew of each other, but never really got close enough to build with each other. We were assembled through a friend (Taahira), and we instantly bonded. It was perfection! We had a carpool of many interests. He was the one who plugged me into Dr. Malachai York, The Legacy of Black Gods, and Dr. Delbert Blair. It was one of the most enlightening relationships that I’ve come across, and meeting Samario was a resurrection of that enlightenment. We were speaking on subjects of spirituality, secret societies, esoteric sciences, life’s purpose, being different, the relevance of imagination, unearthing hidden potential. The conversation was just full of wonder and depth. We didn’t talk about daily life or other people, but rather the bigger picture as we analyzed pieces of an obscure puzzle. We were on the same flight; especially when he aroused my curiosity with the mention of quantum jumping. It was a fascinating concept that aroused my conscience. The reality that there are many versions of ourselves co-existing in this moment of now is one that’s not foreign to me. For him to speak on it, just confirms how self-conscious and open minded he is. He meditates. He visualizes. He writes… like me. He was dripping with powerful information, and at such a young age (23 yrs old). Samario is clearly a radical thinker with loose grasp on his intuition. We had pages of resemblances in character and vices; it was soothing and exciting at the same time. I’m not implying that we’re clones, but when two souls see alike, the “we” becomes unified as one “eye”. Our rapport was merely a testament of clarity.

We meet people all the throughout this enduring voyage; and if we’re sensitive enough, we become cognizant of the other person’s nature. We sense how their auric field affects ours. Let’s hold this example. A warm-hearted intelligent soul enters a room and sits down next to another of their likeness. They communicate with each other, and it’s an enriching relationship; even if it’s just 10 minutes. One of them leaves. A few minutes later a cold-natured, fairly educated, and uncultured soul sits down. They’re nonresponsive to each other at first. The cold-natured person feels warmer, and develops the impulse to be social while the warm-hearted soul is now repulsed as he responds succinctly. The warm-hearted soul shifts into an irate and stiff disposition. Because these auric energies have blended into an exotic smoothie, these two are no longer the same person they were before their interaction.

So just because you feel better being around a positive spirit, doesn’t imply that the positive spirit feels the same about you; they can change because of you.

Samario introduced to a lot of information that was worthy of researching. He plugged me into a movie called “1984” by George Orwell, which I’ll be watching that today on YouTube. I previewed it, and so far I’m intrigued.

At the conclusion of the day, I had to give my mother a warm, tight hug. Family, friends, dinner, dessert, wine and exotic conversation mixed with laughter = a great present! And it was all authentic. It was just revitalizing. This was just what I needed to take my mind off of the perceived inadequacies in my life. My sister even chanted “Mom! Wow…you know your kids! Eric and him are just alike” This may not be extraordinary to most, but when you meet someone who mirrors you more than alters you, it’s almost like eating a Sensu Bean (for all the DBZ fans out there who feel me). This is not a rendition that opposes opposites, because people of other natures can alter you to the point of expanding your consciousness and compassion for others. It’s a profound appreciation for the simple things.

~Condemn no one, and move away from those whom don’t align with your soul’s purpose. It’s ok to say “no, but thank you” because all of life, every soul, every essence… is a gift. And you are free to receive and refuse these gifts as you are to give and withhold them~


Someone like Me…..

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I know this is the first time that I’ve ever called you….and it’s more than likely going to be the last. I deactivated my Facebook account today, and I’m just going to be recluse for a little while until I feel I’m content. I’ve really been receiving the things you’ve said about me, as the weeks passed. I never really spoke up about them; I just left them as they were. The biggest thing that you spoke about is how I internalize things. That was one thing I didn’t like. But, regardless if I liked it or not, it’s unfair for the progression of any relationship. I know I was stale, unresponsive and stubborn on Friday. I came along the trip with the intent of being supportive, and essentially, I wasn’t. As I reflect on it all, I realize that you were better off going with someone else. I should’ve stayed home. In my head, I was more focused on helping you get the jobs you had applied for – just trying to be supportive…logistically. Friends need emotional support too. And I was happy that you got the jobs – relieved actually, but I didn’t really show it. Instead, after you got your jobs, I felt like the mission was accomplished. So then I shifted my focus towards home to handle my own personal issues. I understood that you were with family, and that you were in a celebratory mood. And my mood wasn’t really complimentary. I understood that you were on a break from your kids, and you just wanted to soak in the joy of being free. I understand it all more now that I had the chance to really contemplate everything that happened. I could’ve done better, and I accept that. There’s a lot more that I would speak on, but for the most part, I’m calling to say that I’m going on a hiatus. I’m withdrawing before I add more poison to the chemistry. My intentions were to be supportive, and I was, in some ways. But now, I’m not in a position to help. And I didn’t wanna leave you with an open door and a room full of confusion.   

This was my good-bye speech to a friend (spoken by phone, of course). After weeks of her receiving an introverted, seemingly insensitive guy who refused to acknowledge his wrongs, this is what I gave her as a going-away present. This was a good friendship. There was no physical sex involved; the dynamic was unique from my other relations with women. And that’s how I prefer each one – to be distinct from the others. We just enjoyed each other’s presence. That’s usually how it unfurls. She was slightly speechless and sorry, but she also expressed pride in me for taking such a leap outside of my character. Finally, some emotional content with depth; but only to remove myself from the scenes. I just couldn’t cope with being around her after this level of vulnerability. Plus, I really do need to focus inward with my internal cleanse. But, I’m glad that I talked to my mom about my behavior with women. I was able to see things from a different perspective which afforded me the words to open these blinds and allow the light to shine through.

It stung a little when she replied via text message: Truth is: I don’t want to leave without saying [that] these past few weeks, you have shown me a friendship [that] I have never experienced with a man. When I’m nervous, you calm me. When I get too excited, you bring me back down to Earth with your kind spirit. Honestly, you made more checks on my list than any guy I have been friends with. I guess what I’m trying to say is [that] I don’t want to leave before I can tell you how special you are to me. I can’t wipe these tears fast enough. I love you, and I wish you the best; because you deserve nothing but the best.

 

Why is it that the song “Someone like you” by Adele is cued in the background of my conscience?

……. I guess that’s how she feels.

This isn’t the first time a woman has expressed this temperature of sorrow to me. It could be said that I’m a playa; but am I trying to be? Do I ask for these experiences subconsciously? My intentions are always in the name of love. But the deepness seems to be consequent with sorrow as it chaperones emptiness when I leave. When I empathize with the people I’ve impacted, I sense the void that I’ve left. For someone to be so capable of loving to the extremes that I have, and then exit so unexpectedly, that invokes fear. I always find myself saying “she deserves better than what I’m offering”. Even my mom agrees that although my intentions are good, there’s better. I am holding back. I am holding on to something….or maybe that should be plural. (shrugs) It’s not as if I am careless about others; and yes I am a bit critical of self. If I’m seeking to be my own version of greatness, then I should be.

(sighs)

I just remember thinking to myself that I wish I could meet someone like me….and now, who I think I am is not worthy of being met. There’s better; and I will be better. No matter how amazing a person may perceive John, they’re only looking at one side of the diamond. By portraying myself in this light, it just heightens the gravity. They want more than what I’m willing to give. How will I feel when I meet the one who refuses to surrender the love that I deserve?

I’ll keep that rhetorical for now…..but I have an educated guess

 To hurt or be hurt….it’s the same thing.