NOTE TO SELF...

Dearest Self,

Here we find you again, second guessing your competency.  This is really getting kind of tiresome.  I’m really going to need you to put on your listening cap.  You’re an independent, single mom, single-handedly taking care of an entire household!  The universe knows that you are stretched thin making sure every member of your pack is physically fed, financially supported, emotionally bolstered and spiritually nourished.  At the end of every day you are fatigued, overwhelmed and feeling lonely.  Given all you are required to do by yourself it’s no wonder.  Even though you may not currently have a partner supporting your efforts and keeping you warm in his arms at night, your work and selfless acts are not going unnoticed.  You probably don’t see it, but God is working in your favor! 

While there are a million players, users and abusers, the Lord is preparing you to be ready for a great man who is RIGHT NOW looking for all the redeemable qualities you possess.  He is willing to accept all your greatness as well as all of your flaws.  This man will not be the one trying to “holla” at you in the club.  He will not be the man who will try to strong-arm you into a commitment, because he believes he is God’s gift to all women and you are the most recently identified conquest at hand.  He will not be the one who can’t maintain eye contact, because he’s too mesmerized by the swell of your breasts or the shelf of your behind.  He will not be the dude who pretends to be genuine… perched-up at your crib, grinning at you while trying to sweetly wheedle his way into your panties after a few dates.  He will not have unresolved steamer trunk baggage with “baby mamas”, ex-wives and other random straggling women, women with broken hearts brimming with unfulfilled promises made by him to ease the transition into a relationship for his comfort with no intention of ever developing into anything more permanent.    

This man will be God driven, hardworking, respectful, and appreciative of what you bring to the table.  He will be a provider.  He will be a great role model and step father to your kids.  He will embrace all of you, always keeping in mind that you and your children are not individually acquired but are a package deal. 

Girl, just keep being the great woman you are!  Quit looking!  Remain focused and keep presenting yourself with class, never settling for less than you deserve.  Remain patient and keep doing the great job you are doing with your multitude of responsibilities in preparation for this Way Beyond Z man to find you in God’s time.   

Blessings,

The Universe

“He who finds a wife finds a good thing and receives favor from the Lord.”

Proverbs 18:22

JUST TOO

I do a variety of things while riding the train in the morning.  I sleep, pray, snack, sit extended Shiva for Prince while listening to Adore on repeat and wonder why he didn’t leave a will.  I read when I can maintain my concentration, which lately is not often.  This morning was very different.  This morning I had a discussion with my 11-year-old daughter who asked me about self-love in a decidedly roundabout way.  I panicked.  In that moment I thought back to every piece of generic advice I’d ever received about the importance of loving oneself.  The same generic shit that I’d been feeding her for her entire life.  But this morning, while spitting the perfunctory “know-your-worth”, “straighten-your-crown”, “you’re-a-queen” spiel, it dawned on me that this was a love that I had been moving farther and farther away from for the better part of the last decade, essentially her entire life.  I suddenly felt ill-qualified to advise her on a self-love that I’d become increasingly unfamiliar with.  Well damn!  For years I dressed up the negative self-talk in funky gear and fancy friends, but now here I was on the 6 train feeling exposed before my own perceptive, Afro-Latino, abandoned-by-her-first-love (daddy) Black girl, who needed me to teach her about a love I didn’t quite understand anymore.

While both my parents were adamant about teaching me how to love myself in all my Afro-Cuban-girl glory, it is amazing how one person’s behavior towards you at the right time has the ability to topple a lifetime of esteem, painstakingly assembled like a house of cards.  During the last decade, two relationships with men who professed to love me (who I recognize now were simply incapable of loving me completely due to their own steamer trunks of baggage) was the resident monkey on my back that recently made every emotion needlessly complicated, especially love.  Don’t get me wrong, I have a tremendous capacity to love.  I can love other people.  But myself… that depends on the day.

Rationally, I know that the cheating and lying behaviors that were common threads in both my marriage and the relationship that followed, were not due to anything I did or did not do, but my rational mind isn’t the culprit here.  My irrational mind is totally culpable and it tries endlessly to convince me that if I were just prettier, more accommodating and less… me, somebody could love me fully.  Then I wake the fuck up and shake it off… depending on the day, of course.    

So, back to my daughter who is, by the way, approaching the age when boys aren’t as “yucky” as they used to be (and with her being gangly, which apparently isn’t all that attractive to a pimply, hairy-palmed, adolescent boy... the nerve), is expressing uncertainty about anyone’s ability to love her when her first love broke her heart.  After all, when your own parent chooses not to love you, in the mind of an 11-year-old, you’re pretty much doomed.  Sweet, wooly-haired, baby Jesus… WTF am I supposed to do with this?!?  Not to mention that she watched both of my last two relationships crash and burn.  These facts, combined with her smarts and the intentional lack of information and details provided to her about my failed relationships, she formed her own opinions which are decidedly unflattering.  Geez!  Here I was thinking that I was providing a strong and unwavering role model for her by pretending that one failed marriage followed by one failed relationship didn’t rock the foundation on which my self-love had been firmly seated.  What an intergalactic idiot I was to think that this sharp-witted, little chick wouldn’t see right through the thinly veiled “strong-black-woman” façade (cue Gloria Gaynor's I Will Survive) and jump straight to the place that I thought was mostly healed and land in a raw spot where I picked at the scab daily without even knowing.  So, now what?

What now is I’m worried about her looking for someone to fill in the empty spaces, the lonely places that exist because she doesn’t completely believe that she is… enough.  I’m worried that she needs someone to “complete” her or validate her.  My ex-husband had me convinced that I was just never going to be enough for anyone.  That place of inadequacy is an awful place for your head to reside.  He reminded me often that I was divorced, had two young kids, was too tall, too skinny, that my hair was too curly, my eyes were just brown, I had an angry looking C-section scar, I was too opinionated, and too independent… I was just too.  He forgot to mention that I was just too damn expansive for him to comprehend and therefore appreciate, but that was for me to figure out.  Unfortunately, before I fully came to that realization, the door opened just a crack for the next relationship to float in on silver-lined wings… because he was so “different” from my ex-husband.  It turns out that while he was certainly different, that didn’t prevent him from putting himself first, or not cherishing the love that I freely gave nor did it prevent me from tolerating a fair amount of nonsense because I was still recovering from a mild Celie complex.  

We’ve all loved people that didn’t deserve a look from our direction.  We bend and contort ourselves to an image that might hasten the attainment of that crystal stair that we’ve been previously denied.  These are things that I never wanted for my daughter.  So, when my ex convinced our baby girl, not by his words but by his deeds, that she was also… just too, I did the only thing I knew how to and turned on the generic self-love advice.  

She. Saw. Through. Me. To. The. Raw. Spot.

I promised myself, and her, this morning on the 6 train that I’d find a way to fill in her gaps and spaces, as well as mine, and knock it off with the hokey, generic self-love advice.  I know that we Black girls are born with lemons in our hands.  We just choose different recipes to make our lemonade.  I think I need to add honey… 

Have a WayBeyondZ Day, my loves!

“I believe when life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade...and try to find someone whose life has given them vodka, and have a party.” 

― Ron White

JUST TOO

I do a variety of things while riding the train in the morning.  I sleep, pray, snack, sit extended Shiva for Prince while listening to Adore on repeat and wonder why he didn’t leave a will.  I read when I can maintain my concentration, which lately is not often.  This morning was very different.  This morning I had a discussion with my 11-year-old daughter who asked me about self-love in a decidedly roundabout way.  I panicked.  In that moment I thought back to every piece of generic advice I’d ever received about the importance of loving oneself.  The same generic shit that I’d been feeding her for her entire life.  But this morning, while spitting the perfunctory “know-your-worth”, “straighten-your-crown”, “you’re-a-queen” spiel, it dawned on me that this was a love that I had been moving farther and farther away from for the better part of the last decade, essentially her entire life.  I suddenly felt ill-qualified to advise her on a self-love that I’d become increasingly unfamiliar with.  Well damn!  For years I dressed up the negative self-talk in funky gear and fancy friends, but now here I was on the 6 train feeling exposed before my own perceptive, Afro-Latino, abandoned-by-her-first-love (daddy) Black girl, who needed me to teach her about a love I didn’t quite understand anymore.

While both my parents were adamant about teaching me how to love myself in all my Afro-Cuban-girl glory, it is amazing how one person’s behavior towards you at the right time has the ability to topple a lifetime of esteem, painstakingly assembled like a house of cards.  During the last decade, two relationships with men who professed to love me (who I recognize now were simply incapable of loving me completely due to their own steamer trunks of baggage) was the resident monkey on my back that recently made every emotion needlessly complicated, especially love.  Don’t get me wrong, I have a tremendous capacity to love.  I can love other people.  But myself… that depends on the day.

Rationally, I know that the cheating and lying behaviors that were common threads in both my marriage and the relationship that followed, were not due to anything I did or did not do, but my rational mind isn’t the culprit here.  My irrational mind is totally culpable and it tries endlessly to convince me that if I were just prettier, more accommodating and less… me, somebody could love me fully.  Then I wake the fuck up and shake it off… depending on the day, of course.    

So, back to my daughter who is, by the way, approaching the age when boys aren’t as “yucky” as they used to be (and with her being gangly, which apparently isn’t all that attractive to a pimply, hairy-palmed, adolescent boy... the nerve), is expressing uncertainty about anyone’s ability to love her when her first love broke her heart.  After all, when your own parent chooses not to love you, in the mind of an 11-year-old, you’re pretty much doomed.  Sweet, wooly-haired, baby Jesus… WTF am I supposed to do with this?!?  Not to mention that she watched both of my last two relationships crash and burn.  These facts, combined with her smarts and the intentional lack of information and details provided to her about my failed relationships, she formed her own opinions which are decidedly unflattering.  Geez!  Here I was thinking that I was providing a strong and unwavering role model for her by pretending that one failed marriage followed by one failed relationship didn’t rock the foundation on which my self-love had been firmly seated.  What an intergalactic idiot I was to think that this sharp-witted, little chick wouldn’t see right through the thinly veiled “strong-black-woman” façade (cue Gloria Gaynor's I Will Survive) and jump straight to the place that I thought was mostly healed and land in a raw spot where I picked at the scab daily without even knowing.  So, now what?

What now is I’m worried about her looking for someone to fill in the empty spaces, the lonely places that exist because she doesn’t completely believe that she is… enough.  I’m worried that she needs someone to “complete” her or validate her.  My ex-husband had me convinced that I was just never going to be enough for anyone.  That place of inadequacy is an awful place for your head to reside.  He reminded me often that I was divorced, had two young kids, was too tall, too skinny, that my hair was too curly, my eyes were just brown, I had an angry looking C-section scar, I was too opinionated, and too independent… I was just too.  He forgot to mention that I was just too damn expansive for him to comprehend and therefore appreciate, but that was for me to figure out.  Unfortunately, before I fully came to that realization, the door opened just a crack for the next relationship to float in on silver-lined wings… because he was so “different” from my ex-husband.  It turns out that while he was certainly different, that didn’t prevent him from putting himself first, or not cherishing the love that I freely gave nor did it prevent me from tolerating a fair amount of nonsense because I was still recovering from a mild Celie complex.  

We’ve all loved people that didn’t deserve a look from our direction.  We bend and contort ourselves to an image that might hasten the attainment of that crystal stair that we’ve been previously denied.  These are things that I never wanted for my daughter.  So, when my ex convinced our baby girl, not by his words but by his deeds, that she was also… just too, I did the only thing I knew how to and turned on the generic self-love advice.  

She. Saw. Through. Me. To. The. Raw. Spot.

I promised myself, and her, this morning on the 6 train that I’d find a way to fill in her gaps and spaces, as well as mine, and knock it off with the hokey, generic self-love advice.  I know that we Black girls are born with lemons in our hands.  We just choose different recipes to make our lemonade.  I think I need to add honey… 

Have a WayBeyondZ Day, my loves!

“I believe when life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade...and try to find someone whose life has given them vodka, and have a party.” 

― Ron White

PEER PRESSURE WOES

So, I’ve been suffering with a serious case of writer’s block, which is less than pleasant considering that the majority of my job consists of writing.  I was painfully plugging away at an RFP when I received a phone call from the Dean of Students at my daughter’s school a few days ago.  The tale the dean recanted was way too ridiculous to make up, and I’ve decided to share it.  It’s a tale about peer pressure, luckily harmless, but peer pressure requires immediate intervention, none the less, lest it balloon into a more significant issue if left to its own growth pattern.  

  

As I mentioned, I was sitting at my desk, when the phone started ringing.  I wasn’t having a great afternoon, as my creative juices hadn’t been flowing freely for a few days.  I leaned over, glanced at the caller ID and sighed.  No parent likes to receive calls from school in the middle of the day, as it either means that your kid is ill and needs to be picked up early or he or she is in hot water.  Schools never call to wish you a pleasant day or tell you that your kid is a rock star… bummer.  I picked up the call and was greeted by a very tense sounding Dean of Students.  She gave me her obligatory greeting and segued immediately into the reason for her call.  She sounded sketchy and spoke haltingly but I patiently waited as she informed me that Julia was given detention as a result of an “incident” that she witnessed earlier that day in the girl’s bathroom.  She went on to say that she was apologetic that Julia, who had never, ever  been given detention for any reason, was  going to have to attend; but she felt it imperative to send a message that no student is ever exempt from following school rules and adhering to appropriate standards of conduct.  Hmmmm… standard of conduct?  What in the devil did this child do?!??  When I realized that she was rushing through this explanation because she was clearly uncomfortable with having this discussion I stopped her.  I asked, “What exactly did you witness?  What did Julia do to earn herself a stint in detention?”  The dean paused, took a few heavy breaths and proceeded to tell me a tale that almost caused my naturally curly hair to straighten.  She said that she was passing by the girl’s bathroom when she heard what sounded like cheering and clapping.  When she poked her head in to see what the disturbance was all about she witnessed my child, my nine-year-old, academically gifted fifth grader, “way up high… surprisingly high, actually” on a pole in the bathroom!  She stood there long enough to watch Julia wrap her skinny, pre-pubescent leg around said pole and determinedly SLIDE slowly down and around it.  This noteworthy performance apparently caused the dean to blush deeply and caused the other girls in attendance to cheer.  Jesus be a fence!  I was completely speechless, fully unable to find any words to articulate my scattered emotions.  I had shot straight from writer’s block into articulation impaired and was careening into cardiac failure at a breakneck speed!  I was hot and cold and confused and ashamed and frankly I was as angry as hell!    

  

The dean assured me that she’d had a full discussion with Julia, that included Julia bursting into tears and owning up to the whole incident (I mean, how could she deny it?  She was caught red handed!)  Julia asked if there was any way that she could serve detention without informing her mother… fat chance, Cookie!  Anyway, my newly-errant, pre-pubescent child was caught red-handed doing a pole dance in a school bathroom and I could NOT WAIT to speak to her!  Unfortunately, there was early dismissal that day and Julia was en route to her dance class (how ironic) and a pull-up would have to wait.  Sigh…

… 7pm and Julia is seated on my bed, facing me, head bowed as I paced my room like a caged tiger.  “What in the HEYELL could have possessed you?  What in the universe could you have been thinking?” I asked, not so calmly.  Julia turned her little angelic face towards me, with huge, teary, doe-eyes and simply said, “But mama, I had to do it.  A sixth grader challenged me!  You know how competitive I am and she said I couldn’t do it.  Then she climbed the pole and slid down herself!”

 

Huh?  Well thankfully this behavior was learned and not self-initiated, but HWHAT in the HEYELL?!??  Then my little doe-eyed child stood up and folded her skinny arms across her birdlike chest and said, in a strong voice that contradicted the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, “Mama she was obese!  There was not a chance I could let her think that I couldn’t do something that she could do… even her ankles are fat!!”  Julia dissolved into tears and I walked out of my bedroom to process (and laugh... don’t you dare judge me).  I needed a shot of tequila but settled instead for a glass of sauvignon blanc and marched back up the stairs to address my daughter and her faulty thinking.  God doesn’t give you more than you can bear, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to bear having to talk to my 9-year-old daughter about pole dancing.  Ay Dios!

 

I began with the whole… “she was obese” thing.  I explained that her description of the sixth grader was rude and unkind, and covered why it was unacceptable to label people.  I spent a significant amount of time on the hazards of falling victim to peer pressure and used detention to illustrate how there are negative consequences to being a follower.  This point took a while to sink in because Julia disagreed that she was following, but accepted the sixth grader's challenge willingly… I stayed on script.  I eventually segued into how I was disappointed that my daughter was caught by a school administrator doing a pole dance and how this reflected poorly on our “team”.  Through our conversation, I recognized that Julia viewed this as a purely physical challenge and not a display of seductive behavior.  (Thank God for small favors.)  Still she understood what lens she could have been viewed through.  All in all a pretty upsetting incident led us into a very productive conversation.

 

I had a few questions though.  I asked Julia if the pole was a steam pipe?  Because if it was, wasn’t it hot, and shouldn’t it have been too close to the wall to climb?  Julia said it wasn’t a steam pipe and was in the middle of the bathroom?!??  What?  Can someone please tell me why there is a pole in the middle of the girl’s bathroom?  That’s like an invitation, no?  I recognize that that’s not an excuse for her pole dancing extravaganza.  There could be a double-hump dromedary in the bathroom and I would no more expect her to ride it; although, at this point I wouldn't be surprised, but I’m just sayin’… why?

Peer pressure is unfortunately a fact of every kid’s life and this becomes heightened during the teen years when the opinion of one’s peers is more significant than the opinion of one’s parents.  No matter how popular your kid is, how well liked your kid may be or how together they might feel, sooner or later they’ll have to face peer pressure.  Whether it is pressure to conform to a group norm or pressure to act a certain way, peer pressure is something everybody has to deal with at some time in their life.  How successfully they handle peer pressure depends a great deal on how they feel about themselves and their place in the world.  When peer pressure kicks into high gear it becomes easy to get caught up in the moment and forget about consequences.  We, as parents, have to be relentless in our attempts to build esteem and empower our kids.  We must build character and instill core values.  In this way, hopefully they will always stand up for what they think is right no matter who feels differently.  It’s a difficult line to walk though.  Kids need to learn how to be assertive without becoming preachy or self-righteous.  If they are ostracized because their methods have them standing on a soap box while they're standing their ground the pressure to conform may be heightened and kids have a strong need to belong.  Alas, we must teach our kids to be WayBeyondZ leaders not followers.

 

“I’m not in this world to live up to your expectations and you’re not in this world to live up to mine.”

― Bruce Lee

IS IT AFFECTION, ENVY or STALKING?

It is said that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  It is also said that copying someone is flattering because it shows you want to be like that person.  The bottom line is that when you find yourself in a situation where you your movements are being mimicked… it’s creepy, disturbing to the recipient of this behavior and even borderline stalkerish!  This is especially creepy if the person mimicking your movements is only a casual acquaintance or even farther removed from your circle than even that.  You meet someone at a conference, in school or are introduced by a mutual friend and BAM… a stalker is born.  You go out to lunch… there they are!  You attend a workshop… there they are!  You go to parent/teacher night and you guessed it… they are there, carrying a similar Gucci handbag and are rocking the scarf you just purchased!  Damn, now the scarf has to be donated (keeping the bag though).   

We don't typically consider what it is like for those who are envied, but people who are the recipients of envy can be made to feel uncomfortable.  Imagine having someone dislike you, or even hate you, because you have an attribute, a possession, or a privilege that they want and are feel they are clearly lacking.  Envy can be triggered in circumstances that involve a social comparison where someone perceives that you have possessions, attributes, or attainments that diminish their own status.  These triggers often mirror admiration, but admiration lacks the hostility of envy.  In either case, people will glamorize or idealize who you are or what you possess.  Yet the flavor of envy is ugly whereas the essence of admiration is warm, even if it creates discomfort in those who are admired. 

Envy can make a person preoccupied with comparison and repeatedly measure their self-worth against what they perceive to be your own.  They may try to position themselves or align themselves with your friends, allies, networks or physically position themselves to replicate your activities (which mimics stalking).  Although envy can motivate someone to damage the position of the person who is envied, either in their imagination or in reality, their envy can also make them work harder in order to attain what the envied person has.  Yes, it is creepy; however, preoccupation with an envied person is compelling, even if it is a waste of time.  Creepy may even border onto dangerous depending on the level of preoccupation. 

Stalking is defined as unwanted or obsessive attention by an individual or group toward another person.  Stalking behaviors are related to harassment and intimidation and may include following the victim in person or monitoring them.  The word stalking is used, with some differing meanings, in psychology and psychiatry and also in some legal jurisdictions as a term for a criminal offense.  When admiration turns into envy and lends itself to stalking you may then want to consider protecting yourself through legal means, i.e., an Orders of Protection or Temporary Restraining Order (TRO), because you can never be too careful when dealing with people who attempt to interfere with your personal space and peace of mind.

    

The daggers that accompany envy are anything but enviable.  So if you doubt that emotions influence human behavior and decision making, step back and take another look at envy as one of many examples.  Everyone is great in his or her own right.  Have WayBeyondZ love for yourself! 

 

“They'll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you.”

― Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay

IN SEARCH OF UNICORNS: Part II (Spark Notes Version)

I see that I touched on a few nerves with last Wednesday’s post.  I’m going to attempt to kill several proverbial birds with one well-lobbed stone and reiterate my position on being a “ride or die chick”… like it or not.

This is the part where I need you all to focus… the “ride or die chick” is different than a good woman!  Good women, in mutually beneficial relationships, where they not only offer, but receive, support are not subject to the “ride or die chick” phenomenon.  They are not falling prey to this perversion where women are being manipulated into thinking that they have to allow themselves to be doormats in order to accommodate someone else’s twisted impression of what it means to be loyal or dedicated.  Relationships require work and I am not referring to the NORMAL adversity that may arise.  Normal adversity is not always due to circumstances that could easily be avoided and is not always caused by only one party in the relationship.  I would not call this type of woman (nor would she likely allow herself to be referred to as) a “ride or die chick”.  A good woman will look at the man who (to use last week’s example) presents with a wife and five kids and needs a place to stay and she will insist that he prove himself to be trustworthy, loyal (a stretch with a wife in tow) and at the very least, a contributing member of her team BEFORE she opens her door and invites him in to stay… because she realizes that just any man will not do.  She will wait for (to use a comment from last week’s post) God to provide her with a good man and use the intelligence that God has bestowed upon her to evaluate the situation in its entirety and make an informed decision based on HER needs and the needs of her family.  God provided her with wisdom for a reason.  A good woman does not accept abuse, disrespect, dishonor and devaluation.  A good woman is loyal and loving and receives support in return.  A good woman exercises good judgment.  A “ride or die chick” has no concept of what any of this means and sees her life through the lens of the man who she is riding with or more significantly, dying for.

I worked for many years in a setting where I interacted with court involved youth.  This system is filled with many young women who are incarcerated and languishing there because they bought into this inane belief that a woman should stand by her man no matter what variety of nonsense he has the unabashed audacity to bring to her door.  They wore their twisted “ride or die” badge of honor proudly and as a result I’ve seen drug charges, assault charges (mostly from fighting the random women who the man they were “riding for” kept introducing into their lives and upon occasion from fighting the man himself after becoming fed up with the constant disrespect and abuse), a few murder charges (for the same reasons), robbery charges, grand and petit larceny and a variety of child abuse and neglect charges (because who has time to be a good mother when you have a man to ride or die for).  These women ADMIT to feeling devalued, having low self-esteem and being willing to do anything, even risking their own lives, freedom and their happiness for the sake of someone who does not love them reciprocally.  Don’t be mistaken… the “ride or die chick” does not only rear her head in prison settings, or among the young and inexperienced…. Oh no!  The “ride or die chick” is stealthily hiding in plain view.  She can be found in board rooms, court rooms, concert halls, church pews... and mirrors.  The “ride or die chick” is a mother, sister, friend and confidant.

 

As an artist, my job is to generate healthy discussions, and given the number and variety of responses I’ve received, I’ve done just that.  Many of my posts are not told from my own perspective but from the perspective of others and I use many observations and discussions with other people as fodder.  The post last week sprung from a conversation that I had a few weeks ago with a young and cherished woman in my family who recanted a recent incident involving a young female acquaintance of hers who was cajoled into performing an illegal act by her boyfriend (and I use that term loosely, as no man who loves and cherishes you would manipulate you into standing by his side in the face of potential danger.  Love doesn’t require personal sacrifice from one party greater than the other party is willing to endure themselves).  He pressured this woman, using the very term that women have been conditioned to respond to… he taunted her for not being his “ride or die chick” (hence the post topic) until she relented.  Unfortunately, this young woman is looking at a substantial term of confinement as a result of her low self-esteem (yes, I said it) and inability to refuse a ridiculous request because of her dedication and loyalty to someone who was clearly undeserving.  She simply could not accept that having no man is better than having one who doesn’t love you enough to, not only keep you out of harm’s way, but not use you as a shield to protect himself from harm’s way.

 

The take away here is not to be so desperate for companionship that you become shortsighted.  I think we can all agree that a good woman supports her family; she stands up for, stands beside, and holds up said family.  When she gets mowed over, disrespected, manipulated into acting against her own character… and still holds on to that man, she moves from being a good woman to being a “ride or die chick”.  Copious amounts of Vaseline (to protect against scaring), brawl related hospital stays, regular interaction with local law enforcement, court appearances and most importantly: incessant feelings of expectations that are not reciprocated are not signs of a fruitful relationship.  From one good woman to another, if you find yourself in turbulent waters and your man is holding on to you as tightly as you are to him… and not trying to climb onto your back to use you as a life raft or submissive partner, then by all means hold on with both hands!  You are going WayBeyondZ! 

Nothing is perfect.  Life is messy.  Relationships are complex.  Outcomes are uncertain.  People are irrational.

~Hugh McKay

IN SEARCH OF A UNICORN

Urban dictionary defines “ride or die chick” as follows:

1.    A chick that ain't afraid to be down with her man; she'll do anything her man needs her to do.

2.    “Ride or die chick” refers to someone who (normally a girl, hence the word chick) is down for everything & anything.  Basically down for both the bad and the good.

I’ve heard full grown, decently educated, adult men say that ‘ride or die chicks’ are the only type of girls that they date and those are the only types of girls that make the dating experience completely worth it.  They mysteriously define this girl as the total package… “She’s your homegirl, your lover and your friend all rolled up into one delectable package.”  She’s been said to know the “tendencies” of her man and understands the way he “works”.  I hear that these ‘ride or die chicks’ are as elusive unicorns, but they are out there and once you find one, you may never want to let her go.

 

Here’s the part where I pick this whole ‘ride or die chick’ theory apart and offer another perspective.  Look fellas… unicorns are real, and easy to find!  They’re just fat and gray and we commonly refer to them as rhinos.  WAKE UP!!  Of course I’m being funny but my point is: Quit looking for imaginary unicorns when alive and well rhinos are in your midst.  You're not looking for a unicorn... you're looking for a woman with low self-esteem who will allow you to take advantage of her loyalty.  If you love purely and reciprocally you will receive the same benefits without breaking another’s spirit or risk compromising someone else’s values.

 

‘Ride or die chicks’ are not a new phenomenon.  They’ve been stealthily moving among us for ages, knitting blankets, robbing banks and fighting their men’s battles.  For instance, Sarah, of the Old Testament, was Abraham’s ‘ride or die chick’.  She was willing to be deceitful and pretended to be Abraham’s sister and allowed herself to be taken into another man’s bed to save Abraham from certain death… not once, but TWICE!  Why would she do this for him?  Better yet, why would he allow his wife to be delivered into another man’s bed in order to save his own neck?  Modern day examples include, Virginia Thomas of the Clarence Thomas sexual harassment fandango, Dina McGreevey (before her husband, Jim McGreevey, declared himself a gay American), Huma Abedin of the Anthony Weiner political-suicide sexting mess, Hillary Clinton (nuff said) and the Depression Era, bank robbing Bonnie Elizabeth Parker (sidekick to her Clyde Chestnut Barrow).

 

Good women who are, and have been, accustomed to standing by their men in the face of normal adversity are now being expected to dash away all of their home-grown, mama-bestowed, you-know-you-know-better senses to stick by their man no matter what manner of foolywang that arrives at her doorstep.  This new millennium, ‘ride or die chick’ beneficiary can present with a wife (“we’re separated, baby… never mind that car seat in the back of my car”), five kids and problems with adhering to common values associated with integrity and fidelity and the new-fangled ‘ride or die chick’ will open the door and invite him right in!  He can arrive in the middle of the night, a full 6 hours after he was expected, and the ‘ride or die chick’ will not only greet him with open arms and a shut mouth, but is expected to warm up his dinner and draw a bath... all while massaging his feet and pole dancing wearing nothing but stilettos!  He can come with some craziness regarding how or where he acquired yet another baby during the course of their relationship and guess what?  He, his baby AND his new-baby-mama-shenanigans are accepted with open arms... we all make mistakes, right?

 

Why are we rocking this new title like it’s some Boy Scout badge of honor when it’s really the same old shameful situation placed in a blue box with a white ribbon tied into a pretty bow wrapped around it?  At what point do you go into the bathroom, wipe the sharpie printed, “I’m a she-ass”, off your forehead and realize that accepting disrespect and humiliation and the expectation that your desperation to keep your man will dictate your unwavering acceptance of his downright impudent and irreverent behavior is pure and unadulterated foolishness?!  At what point do you draw the line?!??  What I will say is that the man who came up with the “ride or die” philosophy is an absolute genius!  He has convinced women across America to give their all, only to receive very little or nothing in return.  Women have been conditioned to readily toss their self-respect, integrity and dignity to the wind because (for some women) it is better to have a man (any man) than no man at all.  She gets very little satisfaction from this type of relationship, but, in the end, you’re both comfortable with that idea.  She gets a scoundrel of a man, who is no prize and he gets his way without having the added pain of consequence and with the added value of acceptance and continued reinforcement of his bad behavior.  

If you are a follower of television series, The Real Housewives of Atlanta, you’ve probably witnessed the shenanigans of one Stevie J.  Stevie J spent the entire season finale episode using a bus analogy where he said that he’s the bus driver and women get on and off the Stevie J bus as they please.  He provides the gas, the air in the tires, the entire bus.  He goes on to say, “Get with the program or I’m going to have to leave you in the desert.” for surely, there is another ‘ride or die chick’ ready to accept Stevie J’s ongoing shenanigans.  This perfectly characterizes the problem.  Stevie J… and probably a lot of other men who are pursuing the unicorn realizes that there are a great many women who have been conditioned to believe that they’d better “get on (whatever) bus” pulls up to the curb, for fear that bus service will be suspended.  They sadly have no idea that they are perfectly capable of ambulating on their own.   

  

Alas, a man who is accustomed to dating these types of women who suffer from staggeringly low self-esteem, low enough to allow her to compromise her principles and expectations in order to stand by a man who probably doesn’t deserve her support, will ne’er be satisfied with a stand-up, woman of high values who will support her partner without fail as long as he shows her that he is deserving of her undying support.  This type of woman is way too much work.  Be a WayBeyondZ partner and respect and value the one you claim to love. 

“Never assume that love is enough to make someone stay or come back to you. Because when pain strikes the heart love will fade no matter how great it is.”

- unknown

“Better to have one woman on your side than ten men.”

― Robert Jordan, The Great Hunt

SUPERHERO DADS ROCK!!

My fondest memories of my dad have no basis in cash imbursements.  My memories do not include showing gratitude regarding tuition payments, or the purchasing of school uniforms.  My memories don’t extend to ever wondering how bills were paid once I received my coveted bright orange, daisy-print banana-seat, yellow-basket-in-the-front bike for my ninth birthday.  My fondest memories do, however, include my dad running alongside my bright orange, daisy-print banana-seat, yellow-basket-in-the-front bike while teaching me how to ride all while wearing what I’m pretty sure were uncomfortable dress shoes and socks that looked “slippery”.  My fond memories also include my daddy who eventually rode me on the back of the aforementioned little-girl bike when I fell off, lost interest and just could no longer be bothered ‘cause my girlfriends were playing double-dutch and my best friend Yvette, who wasn’t double-handed, was turning.  My fondest memories ensured me that I was unconditionally loved… my dad was a superhero!  MY superhero!

My dad who I thought was as big as a mountain as a kid and turned out to be only 5’11’ tall and not as hulking as I previously thought once I approached adolescence (and his height) and had to finally stop (with many tears and much ado) making him bend down so I could climb onto his shoulders, which was my preferred mode of transportation.  At almost 5’5’’ tall I’m sure this looked absurd, but my daddy indulged me (much to my mother’s amusement) for as long as he was physically able… because he was a superstar!  MY superstar!

My fondest memories include getting all dressed up early Saturday evenings and going to Serendipity on the UES for no reason at all.  I also remember that my first Tiffany’s blue box that enclosed the most perfect, tiny platinum ring with three tiny inlaid diamonds across the top came from my daddy.  With the ring, came a card that let me know I was adored and cherished.  My dad never missed an opportunity to let me know that I was his Princess and should be treated as such.  This set the stage for my expectations from men going forward.  MY daddy rocked!

How a father treats his daughter will shape how she views herself and how she expects to be treated by other people, but especially men, for the rest of her life.  She needs her dad’s unconditional love and acceptance!  With this she will not crave male love, as she has always had it (we’ve all seen the tragic outcomes of this during adolescence).  Dads play a major role in how girls feel about themselves.  His encouragement and approval help to develop her confidence and feelings of adequacy.  While men judge each other by performance, women often judge each other by physical beauty.  A father who comments on his daughter’s internal qualities gives her a healthy self-image that is not overly dependent on her physical attributes.  It is a father’s duty to help develop her self-esteem by connecting her accomplishments to something not related to her physical beauty, for ultimately she has very little control over that (I was a late bloomer and thank goodness I knew I was a Princess… a narrow-hipped, flat-chested Princess, but a Princess none the less).

 

It’s also very important for a girl to have respect for her dad.  Let’s face it, an adolescent will only abide by her dad’s rules and follow his directives if she respects him.  When she is a young child this obedience may be more fear driven, as fathers represent a natural authority figure.  This will change as adolescence sets in and she realizes that there is nothing forcing her compliance other than her love and respect for her father.  One way to reinforce respect is to speak the absolute truth to her.  When you lie she loses faith in not only you, but men in general as well as in herself as she will believe that she doesn’t deserve honesty.  Transparency is important!  Fathers who can admit when they make mistakes are a blessing to their daughters.  A dad who can admit that he has made a mistake or that he doesn’t know something teachers his daughter to trust in him, and by extension to trust men in general.  Make an effort to be a WayBeyondZ superhero dad!  Your daughter will hold all the fond memories you’ve given her and lessons that you’ve taught her in her heart forever. 

"[Dad] was a unique man who hurtled through life like a geologic force, depositing gold nuggets for me to mine.”
― LeeGale Gruen, Adventures with Dad: A Father and Daughter's Journey Through a Senior Acting Class

“Daughter, we didn't need your note - or a prince's visit - to tell us you'd done nothing wrong. We know the daughter we raised. We fear for your future, but never for your character. You take our love and our trust wherever you wander. 
Father.” 
― Gail Carson Levine, Fairest

MIDDLE SCHOOL AT 9

Most of my regular readers know a significant amount about my dyslexic son, Jordan, and our circuitous academic journey towards achieving reading fluency.  This post will introduce you to my youngest child, Julia.  Julia, like Jordan, is a tremendously gifted child.  But unlike Jordan, her ability to read and comprehend text way above her grade level and colorfully express her thoughts in writing are pretty impressive, if I do say so myself!

Julia began talking super early, very clearly and she went from cooing to stringing words together into sentences practically overnight.  Julia mostly taught herself to read at three-and-a-half and developed an almost eerie level of spelling accuracy.  Julia once told me that she saw words in her head in colors when people spoke to her.  I didn’t quite understand the weight of this statement when she relayed it to me.  In all honesty, my response was something akin to “how cool is that!” and chalked it up to some nonsensical “kidism”… you know the odd things that little kids say that often don’t make sense, but you don’t dare tell them that for fear of hurting their feelings or worse yet frustrating them by having to explain to a clearly dumb (foggy from fatigue) mommy who lost the ability to think like a kid “way back in the day” as my kids are fond of pointing out (insert Aunt Esther from Sanford and Sons’ sideeye here).  At this juncture, I might add, that Julia had a lot to say, ALL THE TIME, which combined with the fatigue inherently connected with actively parenting two kids born less than two years apart significantly enhanced my mental fog.  Julia chattered from the moment she opened her eyes in the morning until bedtime and beyond as she was, and still is, prone to talking in her sleep!  When around 3-years-old I began to see her ability to retain and utilize vocabulary in her daily speech pick up speed at an amazing rate her “colorful words” comment became clearer, but when she began showing a talent for expressing herself in writing, a few years later, the “colorful words” in her head really took on a grander meaning.

        

Julia’s pre-k experience entailed her being bored and often escorting the school’s admin around to deliver things to various classrooms and helping other kids with spelling their names… not exactly what I was hoping for in a first school year experience.  Julia attended the charter school where Jordan was enrolled for her kindergarten year.  This was a far more fulfilling experience for me; however, she kept getting reprimanded for leaving her seat.  When I asked her why she wasn’t able to remain seated she said, “There are kids who can’t read yet and need my help.”  Unfortunately, this behavior progressed to taking control of the smart board when the teacher was distracted and finally escalated into a spirited back and forth with her first grade teacher, on day 2 of school, over choosing a book in the library.  Julia wanted a chapter book and her teacher insisted on a picture book.  Julia won the argument and the ability to choose her own reading material going forward.  An added bonus was the option to skip the first grade.  The offer was promptly accepted and Julia (and her chapter books) moved across the hall into her new classroom!

There are definitely some immediate benefits to grade skipping.  The most obvious one being that your child will be academically challenged and stimulated by their school work.  For those with a child who is bored stiff in a class where every bit of material presented is material that the child has long ago mastered, they know what it's like to watch their child lose interest in school and have that energy be transferred to less productive activities, like poking around at the smart board.

Julia’s adjustment was seamless and she quit trying to take over the classroom!  Her social interaction with other students improved as she no longer felt the need to mother them.  This seemed to be, at least in part, due to the fact that she was spending more time with children who were a bit older, and generally, a bit more mature than the students who filled her previous class.  Academically advanced children are sometimes often a bit mature for their ages as well. 

Although the effects of grade skipping really do often appear to have some strong benefits for the child throughout their elementary years, once that child enters middle and high school, things can change.  Thankfully, Julia has continued to flourish academically and socially, but my concern is that she is now in middle school just shy of three weeks after her ninth birthday.  Some of her peers are travelling to and from school alone; some are interested in initiating boyfriend/girlfriend-like relationships and not to mention that part of the middle school curriculum includes a sex education class.  In addition, kids who are now, because they are all one to three years older than Julia, well into their puberty transformation, making them not only physically more mature, but sometimes downright huge?  Jesus, hold the wheel!  Thankfully, Julia is pretty tall and does not stand out as being significantly younger, save the still immature body.  Her lack of ‘fatty deposits” doesn’t bother me in the least and quite frankly she hasn’t mentioned it yet, but I’m sure it will become an issue at some point and I would hate for her self-esteem to take a hit as a result.

If this goes well, Julia will enter high school at 13 and will be going away to college at almost 17.  Scary that at this age most kids will have experimented with drugs, alcohol and sex.  Jesus be a fence!  My only advice is to keep the lines of communication open.  I talk to Julia about any and everything openly and honestly.  If I don’t have answers immediately, I find her the answers that she needs and circle back around to her.  I’m hoping she will have a WayBeyondZ year!

“Middle school is kind of like Middle-earth.  It’s a magical journey filled with elves, dwarves, hobbits, queens, kings, and a few corrupt wizards. Word to the wise: pick your traveling companions well.  Ones with the courage and moral fiber to persevere.  Ones who wield their lip gloss like magic wands when confronted with danger. This way, when you pass through the congested hallways rife with pernicious diversion, you achieve your desired destination—or at least your next class.

― Kimberly Dana, Lucy and CeCee's How to Survive (and Thrive) in Middle School