Book Cover for 2010 title, Dorothy

Dorothy72

(Rough synopsis)

Child psychologist Chocolate Campbell learned self-hate early in life. At six years old she knew that her sea green eyes and silky golden hair set her apart from her sisters—her beautiful black sisters in the eyes of the only father she knew. The product of an adulterous affair, as an adult Chocolate finds herself in turmoil of whether to forgive the man who rejected her and her biracial features while accepting his legitimate daughters. While reminiscing on a past of longing for the same love from her father that her sisters received, Chocolate is also reminded of how his rejection, anger, and drunkenness resulted in the death of two of her siblings.

Undercover detective Danni Campbell doesn’t want to know love. She has seen too much hate to consider giving herself—her heart over to a man the way she witnessed her father give his to her mother only to end up with more pain and regret than anyone she knew. She dates men that are already taken, and lets no one close enough to her heart to break it. When she meets Muhummad, who is a far cry from conventional ideas of “handsome,” her footing becomes shaky and she finds herself seeking her true identity in him. She battles with sticking to her vow to never love or letting go and falling head first into the unknown.   

From a prison cell in East Texas, James Ray Campbell serves time for the murder of his daughters. Dying from cancer and seeking absolution from Chocolate, he attempts to reappear in her life through letters and messages from Danni.

As the sisters face their pasts, embrace the presence, and look forward to their futures; a sibling bond is built, held onto and threatened in a major way. In order to heal completely, Chocolate has to reevaluate the past and determine whether it is too late for her to forgive her father and give him a chance to make good on promises he never made, let alone, tried to keep.

 

 

What do you think?

Published in:  on October 13, 2009 at 10:50 pm Leave a Comment

Big Kid (I wrote this for an Imitations Class)

            Don’t curse loud enough for adults to hear you and make sure you say gotdamn and not goddamn; chew tobacco when your mother and father ain’t looking and make sure you spit it away from their feet; cheat on your homework in nice teachers’ classes; change the sheets early in the morning when you pee in the bed; don’t eat berries off trees outside; Is it true that goddamn is cursing God?; don’t get in the car with nice strangers and run if they offer you candy; close your mouth when you chew beans and weenies; turn on the fan in the bathroom when you’re taking a dump; make good grades and keep your chin up when the mean kids hit you; punch the weak kids soft like you wanna be punched; don’t put matches to the gas stove unless your daddy’s around; eat cornflakes now and throw the Honeycombs out;  but I like Honeycombs and cornflakes make me sick; when you talk back to your folks, do it sly so they can’t tell; ain’t it true that only the berries with seeds will kill me?; don’t doze off before nine p.m. and wait until after midnight on weekends; don’t believe in fairytales; am I one of the weak kids?; trade your lunch at school; don’t let anybody see you change out in P.E., you got things on your body that only you need to see; ride your bike in the street and not on the  sidewalk; don’t  jump rope, double-dutch; can I open my mouth when I chew everything else?; you can chew chewing gum when your parents are watching, but you can’t chew hubba bubba anymore; roll your eyes at the principal behind his back; say yuck when they talk about hog mogs and bacon grease; try carrying your weight and getting a paper route and then keep the money all for yourself; answer the phone every time it rings and don’t let anybody else touch it; can I light the gas stove with matches when momma is around?; hog the bathroom for at least four hours a day and the TV much longer than that; don’t fall in with the wrong crowd, those chess club kids will make you look bad; but I’m a chess club kid?; you mean to say you want to be the kid who is in the right crowd, but hangs out with the wrong crowd? 

Mr. I'm-Officially-A-Big-Kid

Mr. I'm-Officially-A-Big-Kid

Published in:  on at 9:14 pm Leave a Comment

Loser Chronicle #17

Welcome back to the Mind of an Ex-Loser. I would like to make mention of the fact (again) that all losers come in the female version too! I write about losers from the feminine perspective, because this is my perspective, but please feel free to insert either sex into any of these chronicles as I know that women kick up dust too. So once again, sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

 Too Good for You Loser

Some people will enter a relationship with you knowing good and well that they think they are too good for you. This loser really gets under my skin. If you look at a person or go out with an individual and feel like you are out of their league, leave him/her alone. Do not torture them or yourself with this relationship. It will not work.

Some of us enter relationships knowing that the other person doubts that we are good enough for them. There are signs for determining this. For example, if you are in a relationship with this guy and he is reluctant to do things like take you out in public, introduce you to his family, or constantly criticizes you, then either he has some secrets that may point to other loser types or he thinks that he is dating down.

If you are the person on the downside of this spectrum, this type of relationship can kill your self-confidence. It is not necessarily just appearance that gets to this person either. We live in a superficial society, so your partner may think that he/she is too good for you for any reason ranging from your level of education to your income. I have witnessed and even been a part of relationships where partners are ashamed of a person’s familial background or just doesn’t like the way he/she wears his/her hair. If you are reading signs that your partner may feel that he/she is settling by being with you, get out. It takes a lot longer to build a person’s level of confidence than it does to tear it down.

Today, people do a lot of things to make life easier; this includes settling for someone they will end up hurting in the long run because of their perceptions of their partner.

My Story

I am guilty of staying with a guy who thought he was better than me once upon a time (way too long—over three years). He told me flat out once after we were already deeply involved that he was “settling” by being with me. He said, “I asked God for a woman with a degree, no children, and who just generally had her stuff together.” Then he looked at me with a wide and sincere smile spread across his face and said, “And he gave me you.”

If I recall correctly, at the time I was in college completing my undergraduate work and was kind of beating myself up about a class. This was his twisted idea of a pep talk, so he continued, “God does what he wants to do, not what we want him to do. I asked for something and he made me fall in love with something totally different.” And then he had the nerve to laugh.

I was working on my degree and I had children, so he might as well have told me straight out that he was settling. At that point I began to pay attention to the fact that we never went out or visited any of his friends. He never came to my house; I always visited him. He gave half the effort that he would have given if he had thought that I was worth it. I sat around and beat myself up wondering what it was about me that wasn’t good enough for him. Yeah, I had started life out a little unambitious, but by the time he met me, I was pushing hard. I thought maybe it was that I had children, and if so I needed to stay with him because nobody else was going to be as gracious as him and accept my baggage (even though he didn’t pay any attention to my kids). Then I started thinking it was because of my shaved head (yeah, that’s right, LSW wore her head shaved for four years ya’ll, she is thinking about going back.) Then I started looking in the mirror at my smile and it was crooked, so I got braces. The list of things I did to get him to see that I was worth his love grew so long and endless that I am embarrassed by it now. He had mentioned the fact that I didn’t have a degree a few times, so I began to put all of these negative perceptions that he had of me in a bowl and stare down into it daily until I saw myself how he saw me. I began to think he was right!

Despite the fact that I knew what his underlying feelings for me were, I hinted at marriage every now and then. Why? Not sure. I think that I was so deep in denial about it that I was willing to do anything to test his feelings.

Well, I had just received my undergraduate degree and was working hard to get into graduate school about six months after we broke up (which eventually happened when I realized that I did not have to try and change who I was or beat myself up for who I was not to fit the standards of any man), when he called and invited me and my kids to dinner. I thought it was a congratulatory dinner of sorts. I hadn’t talked to him much since the break up, but we were still cool as friends. He pulled out a ring and proposed to me right there.

Needless to say, I didn’t accept his proposal. I moved on, but it is hard on my winner because to this day, I guard myself and sometimes accuse of him of seeing me through the same eyes as Mr. Too Good for Me.

 

Afterword

I am glad that I was able to see the situation for what it really was, but I always wonder—what if I hadn’t? What if I had said yes to his proposal? I have grown out my hair, fixed my teeth, and am in the process of obtaining my doctoral degree. But would he have ever seen me as anything or anyone more than whom I was when we met? Do those superficial ideas make me who I am? No, they don’t. I had the same goals then, I just needed to identify what my true goals were and take the time to attain them.

When I met my winner, he accepted me—he loved me as I was. I didn’t need some costly title in front of my name for him to want to add his name to it. There were no I love her buts from him. He did not settle. He asked God and received exactly what he asked for (per his words).

 Think about that…

inlovewithlosers721

LSW

 

 

I like me

I like me

Published in:  on June 23, 2009 at 6:58 pm Comments (3)

My Paw Still Love Me

So as we step into an age where fathers are fathers again, I bid all of the fathers in my world a Happy Father’s Day. For those of us or you who don’t know what one is, he is protector and provider to his children (in all aspects; be it by the default of a non father at heart or biological father). Fathers do not stop being fathers least it be by death. Fathers do not hold the actions of mothers against children. Fathers are love, give love, thus teaching love.

I got a voicemail on my phone a few weeks ago and as soon as I heard it, I knew that I’d save it for as long as my voicemail system would allow. The message came through at six in the morning and in a hushed, husky tone the caller said, “Hey Toy, what are you doing? I just called to say I love you and I hope you have a good day.” My dad does that sometimes and he has seven kids. He called us all that morning, my mother later told me. “He kept me up all night talking about ya’ll. I guess he must have still had ya’ll on his mind when he woke up because he called every single one of you and left the same message on your phones.”

My dad is a father. Not a day goes by that he’s not proud of us no matter where we are or what we’re doing, he knows he was there and that that was enough to keep us on the right paths. Happy Father’s Day Dad, I love you!

To Walter Lee Gardner (my 1st father): It’s been over 25 years and I still remember you drilling in me that I was smart and to take care of my sisters. I remember barbeque chicken on Wednesdays and basketball in the park on Thursdays. I remember the Lubbock Club and that great white chef’s hat. I remember the Burgundy Riveria you left us and that Faith has your smile. I’ll remember you forever because fathers leave their footprints in the hearts of their children.  Thank you for being a father.

To my husband, the lunch packer, bath runner, scrapped knee bandager, and favorite dinner maker. I knew that you would be a good father, but I had no idea that you would be amazing. I was watching when you lingered in the door to make sure that they would be okay at the first day of summer camp and how you searched for their dogs all day when they escaped from the backyard just so you wouldn’t have to face their pained and hurt faces. I smiled when you brought home the stack of “Lost Dog” photocopies and didn’t give up until they had both Howsie and Bigger back at home. You do a wonderful job of doing your job, being a father. Happy Father’s Day.

To all the fathers out there holding it down as you should, keep doing your thing. Your rewards lie in the lives of your children.

Without fathers life can be hard. I wrote a short story that even when shortened is too long, but I’d like to share it. Here is an excerpt from “Lackton’s Rage.”

“He didn’t have no love left in his ole dark heart by the time mama was born. That had been drained from him with the blood from all the babies he took before her. She was invisible to him. He didn’t have time for her sweet chocolate cooing; he was too busy blaming all his problems on Mr. Keepus and grammy. But he still yas sired Mr. Keepus till it was sickening.”

Ms. Moore looked up at me with innocent eyes and forced a vacant smile. It was a hard smile that I knew she had become accustomed to making in order to pacify white people when she was younger. It saddened me that she had chosen to gift this smile to me. I found myself wishing she would be true to us both and just cry or frown.

“Musta been hard on him though, don’t you think? To have to look at a man that kept ya wife pumped up with his babies so much that he could never put his own in there. You ever heard of a man named Lynch?”

I shook my head no. I was so close to tears that if I had opened my mouth to answer her, I would have released a river of tears.

“Well, he the reason they call lynching lynching. He taught slave masters during slave times bout how to break they slave mens. Taught em that the way to break the slave man was to break the slave woman. I ain’t never blamed a black man for being who the white man worked hundreds of years to make him. The black man. I ain’t never blamed the black woman for being the reason that a black man is or think like Lynch wanted him to. Them white folks took the nurturing part of a black woman and made her use it to kill her sons. Black to this day being sheltered by they mamas, so the white men can’t beat em. They can’t even stand on they own cause of the way they was raised. Killing em, and all they know how to do is crack and hurt us.

“He finally left. She got pregnant again, and he just left. Guess he couldn’t handle anymore white babies. Grammy sank into depression and her sick body wouldn’t let her work. So at thirteen my mama went out and sold her innocence. Whoring was the torch that had been passed to her, so I was passed into her young womb as an unwelcomed and unwanted stain upon her already soiled life.”

Alas, we need our fathers.

My sister and my dad

My sister and my dad

My husband and our daughters

My husband and our daughters

Published in:  on June 21, 2009 at 12:46 am Comments (1)

Loser Chronicle #16

This loser is a tough one to point out when you are actually in the situation, but while you may be blind to what kind of loser you have on your hands, those around you can probably point him/her out. Shoot, you may have pointed him/her out on somebody else’s plate before. This loser is not only a loser in romantic relationships, but in every other relationship that he/she encounters as well.

You never know, you may find that the loser in this chronicle is the loser in you.

So as always, sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

Jealous Loser

Jealousy is a plague that has haunted the hearts of most people at some point in life. Merriam-Webster says to be jealous is to be hostile toward a rival or someone who you believe to enjoy advantages over you. Make note that I will not focus on jealousy coupled with envy in this particular chronicle as that creates a-whole-nother loser. (Envy is the painful awareness that someone really does have advantages over you with a desire to possess those same things or more—and it leads to megalomania).

Anyway, if the jealous loser at hand is your romantic partner, you are in trouble. A partner (per Merriam-Webster) is one that shares—plain and simple. If you are attached to someone who is not sharing or feeling like he/she is benefiting from your success (the definition of success is total subjective), then you may have trouble. Many times jealous nature can come from someone being way too competitive. It’s like this: you and your partner have a garage sale together. At the end of the day, he or she earns fifty bucks and you earn twenty-five. Do you see this result as him/her earning more than you or as both of you making seventy-five dollars off some stuff that you didn’t even want anymore?

Sometimes we can cause this jealous nature by not knowing how to share. Before I met my winner, I courted another, of course. We went on a little trip to a casino and I took my first and last shot at gambling. I felt real uneasy about it because I had heard that it was addictive and bad, but he assured me that it was OK for us to play and he just wanted me to experience it. He fed me lines about us being gambling partners for the evening and we even split the twenty bucks that we were going to play with right down the middle and put all the coins in a cup, so I finally gave in and played with him. We didn’t spend much, so the coins that I pulled from our joint cup didn’t win anything, but he won a couple hundred dollars from one of OUR coins. I got mad because he refused to share his winnings with me. Maybe I shouldn’t have and didn’t have a right to the money that he had won, but we were gambling partners that night and as soon as he won, the partnership was over for him. He cut me out of the deal. No fair.

I feel that in relationships, especially marriages, winnings derive from a communal effort.

Many of us have seen it all before. Instead of a husband being proud to have his beautiful wife on his arm, he becomes jealous of her beauty, which then brings out the beast in him, making him an overprotective or an insecure loser (same thing goes for women).

If my theory is correct and winning equals WE (not he or she), then if your man/woman looks good enough to capture the attention of others when you are out together, then you have both commanded that attention. Therefore you both look good.

Make sure that you are not causing jealousy to arise in your partner. Don’t entertain flirting if you know that your partner has a problem with it. Don’t belittle your partner about earnings if you know that he/she has a problem with you earning more than him/her. Include your partner in your decision making, accomplishments, dreams, and goals. Inclusion helps people see the WE in partnership.

A jealous partner can be a hindrance, so first, make sure that you have done nothing to contribute to the jealous energy that comes from that partner; and second, when you discover that your partner is jealous, don’t dismiss it. Handle it. Talk to somebody as a couple. You will be surprised at the things that can come out by speaking with an outside third party such as a couple’s therapist or your family minister.

If the jealously is severe, head for the hills waving your arms in the air. You don’t want your girl showing up at your late-night poker game with rollers in her hair because she heard that Bonita and nem were there; and ladies, you don’t want a fist upside your head because some dude was staring at your backside a little too hard for your man’s liking.

 

My Story

I know this guy who had this girlfriend who put the j in jealous. This guy grew up the only boy in his household—the baby boy with four big sisters. There were always girls at the house, and he would just blush when his sisters’ friends would tell them, “Girl, when your brother grows up, he is going to be my man. He is so cute.” Anyway, he grew up and wasn’t feeling anybody accept Ms. Jealous, but you couldn’t tell her that.

She swore up and down that he wanted one of his sisters’ friends and whenever they came to visit for family functions, she would act a plum fool. He was crazy about that nut anyway, but he finally had to stop bringing her around because Ms. Jealous and one of his sisters almost came to blows when she accused the sister of trying to hook him up with one of her friends. So, he started coming alone to family functions, but she would blow his phone up while he was there. He’d have to leave the family function just to deal with her on the phone and appease her jealous hallucinations. His family couldn’t stand her after a while, and the strain of the conflict between his family and his girl became too much. He stopped going to family functions and just called his family a couple of times a week to set his girl at ease. Even though he missed talking to his mama every day and hanging out with his uncles at Sunday dinners, he scaled back on bonding with his loved ones to satisfy Ms. Jealous’s ludicrous assumptions. Did that help his situation? No.

She found someone else to accuse him of liking when his new single neighbor moved in across the hall in his apartment complex. Even though the guy hadn’t given her a reason to be jealous—he would give her the moon if he could—she felt threatened because the neighbor was gorgeous.

The guy finally gave up and called it quits. He could no longer handle her jealous behavior, and it was sad too because he really loved her. He put up with a lot of crap from her to make things work, but she couldn’t be convinced that he was with her and nobody else. Everything and everybody was a threat to her. He tried to move some things around to make her feel more comfortable about their situation—even sacrificing the health of his relationships with family members—and that didn’t even work in the end.

 Afterword

A partner makes life easier not harder. A jealous person can make things very difficult on you. Jealousy can come from any direction. A person can be jealous of your house, your car, your relationship, or you period. It really doesn’t affect you much if Mr. Jealous is just some random person on the street, but if you have a jealous partner on your hands, you will want to fix it or move it. Your true partner will be comfortable with you by all means. Men go get her, women, wait on him.

 

Think about that…

inlovewithlosers721

LSW

Published in:  on June 8, 2009 at 6:28 pm Leave a Comment

Loser Chronicle #15

One of the main underlying themes in my book, In Love with Losers, is the overlooking of our own flaws. To point out the loser in others, we must first be comfortable with recognizing the loser in ourselves. The index finger you point with must be one of love. That love point is meant to help change, not condemn. Change is constant in human nature and being able to identify our own flaws and loserdom contributes to the spinning of the wheels of change. For all of you who have been with me since “Burnt Cookies,” I’m sure you’ll feel me on this!

All right, as always, get ready, buckle up, hold on tight, and enjoy the ride!

The Loser in Me

So the long weekend was cool—but I wasn’t, really. I had a lot of work—I mean a lot of work. My husband is the type who likes to accommodate my many personalities. So when I let my family know that it was time for me to become a computer hermit and hole myself up in my office, of course, my winner created an invisible force field and blocked all my haters from entering.

I have some hateful tendencies though, and I think those tendencies tend to surface when he’s trying to be nicest to me. When I kept burning cookies because I was trying to play superwoman, superman came to the rescue. There are no more burnt cookies. After about ten dozen worth of cookies tossed about our kitchen, we bake them together (He is good about watching for that eighteenth, nineteenth, or twentieth minute). No more burnt cookies.

So, as I chipped away at the computer and heard the faint sounds of his and the children’s laughter on the other side of the house, jealously rose within me (I know this is not good. Love is not jealous). Now that I think back, I was doing what I wanted to be doing—writing. But like a selfish child, I mentally forbade them from having fun without me. I tried to push the rising anger (stemmed by the jealousy) back down with Maxwell and Sade at first, but when it grew too sizable for “Somethin, Somethin” and “No Ordinary Love” to handle, I had to switch the playlist to Dottie and Shirley. I think by the time Dottie got to chanting “Can’t nobody do me like Jesus” and Shirley started hollering “He’s working out,” it was too late.

I soon realized that Danni was angrier with James Ray than she should have been in my work-in-progress, so I stopped writing. I had to release this steam that I had created on my own, and it just so happened that at the very moment that I was considering an outlet, out of nowhere my husband pops his head through the door.

“You wanna go running, honey?”

“Huh?” was all I could reply to his chipper toned question. I had been bugging him for two months about joining my workout regimen; which I had recently switched up when I realized he was not climbing on board. I had started my own cycling movement and barely jogged at all anymore. “Let’s run” used to get me fired up, but not anymore. Not since I fell in love with a bicycle.

This added fuel to my fire. My trail of crazy thoughts went something like this: I cannot jog when I’m irritated. Plus, I don’t have time. The weekend is winding up and I have laundry, folding, and one last nap. I’ll do my bike ride later, but—where was he getting off? Where did he get those workout clothes? I was supposed to ask him to run, not the other way around.

He was being so sweet about it with his happy peaceful smile and plus he had no idea that I was heated about not being a part of the family fun. So I had to say, “Give me a minute to wrap this up and change clothes, then we can go.”

Why I agreed to jog in ninety-five-degree weather beats the heck outta me. I almost fell out before we reached the bike trail—one that I usually take on with ease. But Mr. Show-Off-Ex-Track-Star who had probably only worked out once this year skunked my butt real good. I mean when I finally cleared the dust out of my eyes, I had to pick the tiny grains of dirt out of my teeth. Did I mention that I am extremely competitive?

So when we got back home, I was quiet in an attitudy sort of way, but I had to shake it off because Mr. Show-Off-Ex-Track-Star had cooked up a feast. (He is the weekend chef at our camp, and I hold it down on the weeknights.) He had put some tabretas and vegetables on the grill (squash, zucchini, and eggplant), fried some asparagus, and made the most delicious and beautiful white crab sauce to pour over it. It was coming down! So I smiled, ate, and forgot all about our run together.

Until he asked me to run again tonight. OK, you already know what happened. I put my best foot forward and still got skunked. This time I didn’t hide my anger. I came home and rose H-E-double hockey sticks. Like I really had a right to do so. Justifiable? Heck nawh! The sad part was he wasn’t even racing me. He thought we were having a lovely jog together.

Afterword

Just like with “Burnt Cookies,” I have to go to God on this. When I see loser qualities like the ones I have been exhibiting the past couple of days (selfish loser, jealous loser, etc.) I know that there is definitely something within me that needs renewing. I cannot beat this man over the head for having longer legs, which makes his stride bigger than mine, causing him to lead me.

What a gesture from a jog? How about me becoming comfortable with my husband leading me? If he was a man who I thought was being led by anything or anyone other than God, would I even be here with him? Why must I fight him for the head seat at the table when I thank God daily that he has it? One word—baggage. I think I better let it go. If I don’t, something will break soon. Carrying the losers of your past with you into the future with your winner can and will be detrimental to your relationship.

I felt that letting him ahead of me during that jog meant that I was losing. I felt like that made me weak and I wasn’t the strong woman that I pride myself on being because of my experiences with losers after all. So my anger at him for outrunning me was an anger toward the losers that once ran over me. I have to let it go. This man will not put up with loser qualities long, and I am sure that he knows a loser when he sees one. Loserdom runs deep, people. Loserdom runs deep.

So, I pray (again).

Lord, give me the patience to handle the everyday obstacles of being a matriarch and wife. I don’t take it lightly, but I know that there is a perfect balance in your plan. Give me vision to see anger before it has a chance to engulf my spirit. For your word says anger but sin not, and in my anger I am prone to sin. Humble me before my husband as he follows you, and I shall follow him. Position my family so that the true head is the head and I am but a help-mate. Give me comfort in the fact that he will outrun me many more times, but let truth be in no more angry love.

I’m thinking about it…

 inlovewithlosers721

LSW

Published in:  on May 27, 2009 at 12:27 pm Comments (4)

Loser Chronicle #14

OK, I think I ran into this loser sometime this week or last, maybe today or tomorrow, maybe just sometime in between, but he is out there, so beware—not all men, just a few. So, don’t be too cautious but watch for signs. I truly thought this guy was a myth and have dismissed all stories concerning him, but I am not so right that I can’t admit when I’m wrong.

All right, as always, get ready, buckle up, hold on tight, and enjoy the ride!

Down-Low Loser—Yep, Down-Low Loser

I have dreaded chronicling this loser. I am the last person (or close to her) who wants to have women looking at all men out of the sides of their necks, but after this week or last, today or tomorrow, sometime in between, I must go here.

Sometimes we tread on the grounds of denial when dating this dude. We ignore rumors (which is not a bad thing) coupled with obvious signs. We know what we should be paying attention to the way he holds his cigarette if he’s a smoker, the motions and flips of his hands during intense conversations, and even some of the words that he may use in conversation. Let’s face it ladies, there are just some words that straight men don’t normally use (honey child; girlfriend, please; etc.).

Most women have nothing against people who live openly homosexual lifestyles, but it becomes a problem when we are dating the down-low loser. This loser is selfish and a coward. Although in society many negative connotations come with the idea of men living a homosexual life, they should still be man enough to protect the safety and health of the bearers of life—women.

A lot of times women will disregard the signs and carry these relationships to full-term, meaning marriage. We rationalize that if he was “like that” he would not be marrying a woman. We even assess the personalities of our men and come to the conclusion that they would never look at another man like that or that if they did, they are real and straight up enough that they would be true to themselves.

Religion, overbearing parents, ego, and being afraid to deal with societal views are all reasons or issues that some guys mask their sexuality and use you as a cover. Masking can also be attributed to some type of trauma (there are many forms of trauma, for all of you psychoanalysts) in his past that has led him to believe that hiding his sexuality is the best way of dealing with it.

Whatever the cause of his mask, or the battle that he is fighting within himself, he will do anything he has to in order to maintain his cover. He will lie to you; he will deceive you; he may even possibly endanger you by using you as his shield, as his cover from the world. You definitely deserve better. You are so much more than a shield for someone else. You are the mother of all things. You are a lover and a caregiver and a protector and a queen. So, avoid this loser’s turmoil at all costs. Pay attention to the signs—the simple signs—even though they are sometimes difficult. (We must believe in our instincts; it’s called women’s intuition for a reason.) He will find his way, and you (and your children, if applicable) will remain safe.

 

My Story

A friend told me this story. There is this woman who married this man. She knew before she married him, but she argued that the signs were faint. Yet they still existed. The woman would sometimes complain about how the guy would smack and curl his lips when he got real excited during a conversation and would snap his fingers and wave his arms harder than her. But he wanted to marry her. He was a strong and outspoken man; she felt that if he was gay, he would admit it and live openly. So she dismissed the subtle signs.

After ten years of marriage, she thought they were happy. They had three beautiful children and lived in a beautiful city. She had helped him build his medical practice to success, and they had all that she could have ever wanted, materialistically speaking. Then one day he came to her and told her that the practice was in trouble. There was no way for her to know otherwise, because he had never been a liar to her knowledge. He told her that they would have to leave their lavish lifestyle and move back to their hometown. He would commute back to the city until the practice was doing better.

“We are going to have to cut back on our spending, baby,” he told her as they unpacked their things inside the small and raunchy house that he had found for them to rent. The children no longer had their own rooms, their son slept with their daughter in a tiny space where guns were heard popping at night and roaches threatened to crawl into their ears. Even so, she trusted her husband. He had married her and fathered their wonderful babies. This was just a test; God would sustain them and raise them back up.

Well, the family attorney was an old friend of the woman and flew to town just to tell her the truth about her husband a few months after the move. Turns out rumors were surfacing in the city about her husband and another attorney—a male attorney. He had come to the family friend about filing for a divorce. After ten years of blessed marriage, he decided that he was tired of living the lie. He had been seeing the male attorney the entire time they were married and he didn’t want to continue to hurt him by being with his wife anymore.

The shocker is that her coward of ten years had taken everything—every penny that they had together out of her name. The only thing she had was the lease on the raunchy little house. And of course, no salary to pay for it. As they had a “traditional marriage,” he worked and she raised the children and took care of the rest of the world. Too bad you can’t get paid for that. There was never any trouble at the medical practice. He was just planning his escape. She had been his wife and his help-mate, but he showed his loser qualities with his selfishness and lies.

She finally got what she deserved, because her friend fought hard for her in court. But her husband’s lover advised him at the divorce trial, so it was a messy and drawn-out battle. Afterwards, she said she was scarred and wounded. But she added that she wishes she had done different one thing different—followed the signs.

 

Afterword

This loser is a tricky one. As women, we are inclined to see the good in people. We have evolved into a being that can identify things (and people) that are harmful to us. The trick that we must learn is what to do with those harmful findings. Do we turn them into our project and stay and fight them out? Or do we protect ourselves by any means necessary, even if it means that we head for the hills running, possibly losing our true partner in life?

Women have an institution that is unique to our makeup. We can tell if someone is lying, cheating, backstabbing, or playing us. We know things—even when we don’t know we know them. It’s almost paranormal—but women most definitely know.

I don’t think that God leaves us blind. Does 1 Corinthians 2:10 not offer proof of this insight?

“But God hath revealed them unto us by his Spirit: for the Spirit searcheth all things, yea, the deep things of God.”

 Lastly, practicing safe sex is always so important, but especially if we choose to ignore the signs and lay with someone who may be a bit suspect to us (straight or gay, for that matter).

And while I’m here, even though we do not wish to give our children permission to be promiscuous, we must arm them for the battles that may come with sex and life.

Think about that…

inlovewithlosers721

LSW

Published in:  on May 19, 2009 at 12:06 pm Leave a Comment

Loser Chronicle #13

First, today I want acknowledge the work of my fabulous and fearless editor, Kathryn Bianchi. Thank you for always giving me your best. You are a jewel; that Billy is one lucky fella!

 This loser comes only days after Mother’s Day, as this particular loser recently surfaced from the inner crevices of my mind. Somebody actually scratched him out, and I appreciate it; otherwise I would have missed him. The loser discussed here is a simple loser that sometimes goes dismissed, but make no mistake, he/she is a loser just the same. As always, sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

 Disrespects-His-Mother Loser

That’s right. The loser who is disrespectful to his mother cannot possibly respect you as his woman. This is one of the many loser traits that is sometimes dismissed as nothing. When we meet a man (woman), we do not always know the history of their childhood or even the details of their past. So, at times we shrug our shoulders and lay a pillow of “his mother gets on his nerves with that nagging” or “I don’t care, she doesn’t like me anyway” over the problem.

There is trouble in the water. We are living in a time where it is crucial for men to step back up to the challenge of being men (there are countless amounts who are stepping up). Our standards or definitions of respect have diminished tremendously over the years. We have all heard our parents and grandparents say, “Back in my day, you shut up when grown folks was talking,” or “These kids nowadays are too disrespectful.” Our elders are not lying or just making this stuff up for kicks and giggles. Before the age of technology, our kids were being raised by people, not television sets and video games. Kids knew not to go to school pulling guns on teachers. They would get “the beat down” at school and then get it again when they got home (and probably all the way home from every neighbor they passed who’d heard about it).

 Anyway, women have been raising men the best that they know how, but there are many other influences that have begun to effect the respect level that young boys and men have for women. In most cases, if there is a positive male role model in the home with a male child, that child will respect his mother, because that man respects the child’s mother. The rap videos that disrespect women will not overpower that male figure’s example. The reality television shows and video games that portray women as sex objects will not justify that men going upside their heads, because of the male role model’s respect for women. His example is up close and personal, realistic and true, and it has the power that media outlets do not—to beat the little man’s butt!

 So, now we have those men who lack that learned respect, but an engrained love and compassion within them that leads to respect for their mothers should still exist. I know that we can argue that some mothers are bad, as we are also creatures of a time when mothers are doing everything from abandoning and selling to abusing and killing their children. But does the Good Book not say, 2 “Honor your father and mother” (this is the first commandment with a promise), 3 “that it may go well with you and that you may live long in the land” (Ephesians 6:2-3). Also, “Children, be obedient to your parents in all things, for this is well-pleasing to the Lord” (Colossians 3:20); I know this is an obedience scripture, but the honor in all things part is relevant.

 I would not be so easy to dismiss the actions of a man toward his mother. (I admit that I have been guilty of this in the past.) I am subject to human error just as his mother is or has been in the past. No matter how hard I try to never upset or disappoint my mate, the truth of the matter is that this will happen at some point. The disrespect for his mother can become disrespect for you at any time. And don’t get me wrong ladies, I’m not talking about the ignoring of mama’s demands that a mama’s boy loser succumbs to; I’m talking about the blatant disrespect of a mother. I’m talking about “Shut up, mama!” or cursing out his mother, or cursing out anything or anybody in mama’s presence.

 Most women know this disrespect when they witness it, so no guide of disrespect needs to be laid out for them. We just need to begin to rate this disrespect as high on the list of things to check off for a loser.

 My Story

Last Thursday, three days before Mother’s Day, I received a call from a close family member. She opened her conversation with, “Girl, let me tell you what this fool called me and said!”

 I knew exactly who she was talking about when she said it, because since the two of them separated, he has been acting a plumb fool. Anyway, it was evident from the beginning of their relationship that this guy didn’t like, let alone respect, his mother. And his mother is an elderly sweet little jewel who has literally handed over her life to his children in an attempt to raise them on his behalf. He is a loser in the biggest way. (I pray that he will not always be one, but he shows signs of many of the previous losers that we have discussed.) But for whatever reason (one that may be engrained in his history), he feels that she has failed him. He feels this so strongly that she does as well. So this lady bends over backwards to make up for whatever error she has made in their past together.

 So, this family member knew that her ex was disrespectful to his mother, but she tried to justify it and even understand it at times. Sometimes she would admit that he was crazy, and she had no idea why he mistreated a mother who stood in for him as she did without complaint, but with plenty of love, forgiveness, kindness, and devotion. So, she went on and ignored or accepted what she witnessed between him and his mother and went on to parent a child with him, a daughter no less.

“What did he do this time?” I responded dryly, because quite frankly his disrespect sickens me.

“Girl, he called me and told me that he needed me to drop the baby off at his sister’s house later. I said ‘OK,’ and you know what that idiot said?”

I didn’t know, but I must admit that when she told me, I was surprised. It was pure disrespect to his sixty-plus-year-old mother who was sacrificing her golden years to do the best at a job that he was choosing not to do—raise his sons.

“He said, ‘They been bugging me to get her, because they want to get all of that bitch’s grandchildren and get pictures made for her for Mother’s Day.’”

My relative said that she was speechless. Although she had been called worse by him, she couldn’t believe she actually heard those words come from his mouth in reference to his own mother. It had struck her as shocking and appalling.

I was surprised that this was the first time my relative considered that her ex’s disrespect for her had stemmed from his disrespect for his mother. But I guess we all grasp a hold of things in our own time, huh?

 Afterword

There is not much to be said after a man (or woman for that matter) calls his mother the b-word. If he cannot respect the woman who bore him into the world—just on principal alone—what more can I possibly do to convince him to respect me?

 My father-in-law spoke to me and my husband a few months ago after the passing of my mother-in-law. He said to me, “Ask your husband why he didn’t allow his mama to go to that nursing home when he was presented with the option.” When I looked to my husband to answer the question, my father-in-law cut me off and said, “Son, what did I say to you guys right before I headed out to work each day?” My husband looked at me with still sad eyes and said, “You boys take care of your mama—and if I don’t come back, you boys still better take care of your mama. Always love and respect your mama.”

 My mother-in-law took her last breath in our home, because my husband’s father taught him a significant lesson. No matter what the situation became with his mother, he was to always love, care for, and respect her.

 Don’t settle for a man who can’t even respect his mother. Demand respect for yourself by making sure he has respect for the woman who gave him life.

 Deuteronomy 21:18-21

 18 “If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey the voice of his father or the voice of his mother, and, though they discipline him, will not listen to them, 19 then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his city at the gate of the place where he lives, 20 and they shall say to the elders of his city, ‘This our son is stubborn and rebellious; he will not obey our voice; he is a glutton and a drunkard.’ 21 Then all the men of the city shall stone him to death with stones. So you shall purge the evil from your midst, and all Israel shall hear, and fear.

 

Think about that…

 inlovewithlosers721

 LSW

Published in:  on May 12, 2009 at 12:52 pm Comments (2)

Sentimental Mood

harpo

Last year around this time I was laughing at this photo. Seems ironic now as I sit here and remember the sadness that still beamed through my mother’s slight smile when she remembered the day it was taken. “That was at my little brother Reggie’s funeral. Everyone was sad that day.” She hung her head just a bit, but the slight smile never left her lips.

I mourned through time with her for about half a second before I killed over laughing (again) at the guy on the end wearing the red shirt and over sized tie, and then the big haired dude behind him. They seemed to be the two who commanded my attention from inside the faded picture. Seriousness–they begged from me, but laughter was my reply.

Tis only now I see the sadness that they must have felt–burying their baby brother that day. But I knew they’d understand my chuckles as they were fellow jokesters themselves. I matched a little song to go along with the photo as mockery to the guy in the black gloves–funeral gloves. Oran Juice Jones–
                                                                  

I saw you (and him)
walking in the rain
You were holding hands
and I’ll never be the same

Does not hold the same humor today that it did last year–the photo. My uncle, the red shirt and the big tie, Jessie B., for as long as I could remember, delivered Christmas gifts and bought groceries for people he met on the street. He would take the shirt off his back (which always seemed be a Dallas Cowboy jersey) and give it, if someone was in need. There was an eternal smile plastered across his face that made everyone feel like that special someone under his gaze. My uncle. He passed away suddenly in September and my heart still grieves his kindness, his smile, his laughter, his barbeque. There were so many things that I was supposed to say to him before he closed his eyes for good and as I gaze at this photo and try as hard as I can to conjure up laughter, I can’t. He is gone from here for good.

The guy with the huge afro peeping from behind him–we called him Lil Ron’. They were thick as thieves. He was the type of person who smiled like the sun, but never could catch a break. He was as good as my uncle; which is why they were twin cousins by nature. He never met a person that he did not refer to as ‘cuz’. The way the ‘c’ caressed you from his tongue, followed by the ‘u’ that massaged your ego, and then that long and drawn out ‘z’ that acted as the psychotropic substance that made up the word he’d just highed you with, made you ask, “Man, who is this guy?” You were somebody if he ‘cuzzed’ you, and Lil Ron’ ‘cuzzed’ everyone. He followed Jessie B. by way of auto accident in January of this year. He was a good man, his son said a good father, a good brother, and a good cousin. Now, I wish I hadn’t laughed at his hair. As I look at it today, it is beautiful. So, large and free, like he is now.

And though I am saddened by their departures, they had some rough times. They have no CV(s) or resume(s) that I can post with scholarly accreditations, awards, or formal recognitions. But today, I recognize them as carriers of laughter, hope, and good. Instillers of love, faith, and happiness. Creators of tradition and translators of light.

As my tears tap the keyboard almost at the same pace as my fingers, I feel a warmth in the pit of my stomach. It inches its way up through my chest and is now tickling my confused tongue. Laughter has captivated me once again. As I gaze innocently with desolate eyes at the guy on the end with his red shirt and oversized tie, and then the big-haired dude behind him, I laugh. I do not regret my laughter today as I understand the pain captured in the photo. It is my pain now. I carry it and will forever understand the sadness of that day. I choose to turn the pain around and remember my people with laughter, in this sentimental mood.

 

Published in:  on May 10, 2009 at 11:48 pm Leave a Comment

My Mama Too (excerpt from LaToya S. Watkins’ “Dying Room”)

When the beating of a mother’s heart stops, something within us all dies. MOTHER. A hugeness embodies this word. I call mine everyday, and fidget if 3 days pass and I have not seen her smile. Even deep into my own adulthood, I value and cherish her as mama. She still kisses scrapped and skin knees, only as emotional massages now, but her kisses are healing just the same. She still has the backs of all her babies and their babies too. As I sit here and think of life without her, I am reduced to tears. Depending on my mood, I call her, “MAMA, MOMMY, MOTHER, MOM.” I wish I could steal a bit of Glow (Tananarive Due readers feel me on this) and keep her always, even longer than I keep myself. 

She is so amazing as a woman that I cannot begin to know where to start with my thank yous to her. All I can mention are a few. First, for being her, I thank her;  for life, I thank her; for the God in her, I thank her; for dropping me off on my first day at Parkway Elementary and getting all teary eyed because I was her baby, I thank her; for the Sunshine Band at Ford Memorial, I thank her; for that little pink huffy, the one with the banana seat and the little bucket on the front, I thank her; for the adopted monkey that sat under the tree on my sixth Christmas, I thank her; for letting us hang out on the east side (Parkway) with our cousins everyday, I thank her; for all the times she said no because she knew it was best, I thank her; for pushing me towards better, I thank her; for being the best granny I know, I thank her; for Dorothy, I thank her; for beaming with pride and loving me  through the ugliest conditions, I thank her; for staying on her knees for us, I thank her; for being my Mother, I thank her.

My mother as a child along with my grandmother

My mother as a child along with my grandmother

My mother and her girls

My mother and her girls

I love my mama every day!

My mother loves this piece, so today mama, this piece is for you.

Excerpt from “Dying Room”

Her death was not beautiful like the pink lace chiffon that she had always kept on the arm of the couch in her warm, mothball-scented den. Her lips were cracked, and little red slits of old life rested between those gaps. Words could no longer pass through her lips. Her once glowing smile was years behind her, and her mouth curled down, almost in a permanent exhausted frown. She had been an extraordinary woman. Of this, I am sure, but all traces of brilliance had been stripped from her by relentless disease and sickness. The breasts that had nursed my love into adolescence were no more. They sagged like deflated sandbags carrying the treacherousness yet preciousness of our own Kalahari Desert. The hands that had rescued him from falls and had brushed away creeping bristle grass from his hair were frail and pinned to her sides, places of eternal rest. I read somewhere in our country too that death was the only beauty in life. Her death was not beautiful. A mother’s death is not beautiful.

“Water?” I managed a strained voice from the side of the bed opposite of him.

He was seated in the comfortable recliner beside her bed that was usually reserved for special guests. His presence made an uneasy feeling erupt inside of me. I wondered what he was thinking besides “My mama is dying.” I wondered if he blamed me. I was her guardian each day when he went off into the world to make sure that I had meals, and she, a dying bed covered with a leaky roof.

I shifted my weight in the hard wooden chair as I anticipated his response. I asked myself many questions in the thirty seconds it took him to respond. “Was she dying because of me?” “Was I not diligent enough in my duties to her as a daughter-in-law?” “Did I forget to wipe her nose or bottom completely at some point?” “How could I let his mother slip away from him in such a way?”

She exhaled deeply and then let out a series of short gasps to catch her breath. Soon her chest rose and fell in a rhythm that was reminiscent of Wednesday nights at the Blues Palace. Breathing was such a struggle for her. I marveled at her attempts to hold on to her miserable life. She valued it in some way. I suppose we all value our lives in some way, no matter how doomed or pathetic they can become.

“Listen,” he whispered and drew his head closer to the space where her breasts had lived in another time. I was attentive to him. I wanted so badly to help. My eyes begged to carry his pain. He opened his mouth and let out a deep and throaty moan meant to be a song:

Beautiful is your name,”

He paused and waited for a response from her. I became angry with myself, because I wanted to laugh at him for expecting this horrible animal cry to revive her. She loved music—especially Asa’s tribute to motherhood—and this butchery would have upset her if she were remotely conscious. Did he not understand that wailing without drums would offend the ancestors and maybe even his dying mother? No. He knew. Drumming was his tradition too. Others had visited his body by way of his drumming on many occasions. He was aware that the drumming was of great importance. With the opening line to a beautiful song, he had managed to offend me, but I sat nervous and quiet.

Wonderful is what you are to me
It’s you I see in my dreams
Everyday I pray for you
Queen of my life you are so beautiful mama
You’re beautiful,”

Still no movement came from her. And of all the tears that I had seen him shed on this day, the one that dropped before he continued in song hurt me the most. It was a lonely tear. It somehow took away my existence. A single drop of love erased me. I was no longer only a few feet away from him, full of love and desire to make him whole again.

“Emi n wa mama kan ta lori ye ye yen
Mama, mi ko roju ri
And that is why I’m loving you

Nitori omo o jiya ni le oko
Mama, mi ko roju ri
And that is why I’m loving you.”

 

Dorothy Johnson Watkins- Muse for "Dying Room" Rest In Peace 1949-2008

Dorothy Johnson Watkins- My muse for "Dying Room" Rest in Peace 1949-2008

LSW
Published in:  on May 9, 2009 at 9:16 pm Comments (5)