MamaSpeak: Too Much Unfinished Business

For most people Thanksgiving is a day to enjoy food, fun and family. But this year, a day that brougt one Florida family together also ripped it apart when a relative shot and killed his sister, an aunt and a 6-year-old cousin after thanksgiving dinner. Relatives say that as he walked away, r turned and said, “I have been waiting 20 years to do this.”

I don’t know what made this man kill there generations of his own flesh and blood, nor do I know what he had held onto for 20 years before he snapped. But I do know that this man’s story is not an original script. No, I have never survived a family ambush. But, I have had a front-row seat at family events where relatives showed up with anger and resentment in tow from some past transgression, only to isolate themselves and sulk instead of mingling and having a good time.

The wounds of childhood can take a lifetime to heal, if ever. And left unchecked, these feelings of resentment begin to fester and cause one to distance themselves not only physically, but also emotionally. Some say time heals all wounds. But I say time heals nothing. This gunman is proof that unfinished business doesn’t heal itself. I’ve also witnessed it in my own family.

My parents grew up in the same Mississippi town. Their families were close, and for the most part everyone got along. But with 23 children between them, there were bound to be conflicts from time-to-time. And although they’re not quite the Capulets and Montagues, there is some ongoing bitterness between between them that should have been dealt with and buried a long time ago. But it’s like the elephant in the room that no one is willing to sink their teeth into to start a healing process. If not for them, for their children.

As a child of divorce, my mind was polluted with information about why my father left and how my mother’s family drove him away. I heard things from aunts and uncles that should have been labeled “For Grown Folks Only.” I didn’t care about it then or now, because those are their issues, not mine.

When I found myself going through a divorce, any issues I had with my ex-husband or his family were dealt with directly, and not by way of the children. It wasn’t always easy for me to not bash him, even in truth sometimes. But I took the high road, choosing to keep our problems between us.

My ex played more of a victim role than me. His way of dealing with me was in much the same way that my folks dealt with each other, through the kids. Although I don’t believe he acted maliciously, that doesn’t alter the long-term effects it could potentially have.

My children will deal with the divorce as an adult differently than they did as children. I can already see how they are processing it through a different lens. An adult lens. My prayer is that they know that we did the best that we could with what we knew how to do, even if we fell short. And if they have any resentment, we don’t have to let this go on for 20 years. Let’s finish that business now, so we can come together in peace and harmony.

MamaSpeak: Guess Who’s Not Coming to Dinner

I love spending time with family. Holidays, reunions, weddings, and even deaths, have their way of bringing us together. And, like most families, we have a love/hate relationship where we love each other harder than we fight, fight for one another more than against each other, and yearn to be together when we’re apart. I just wish all this love didn’t come with such a high price or any feelings of obligation.

Family love has made me sometimes spend money I couldn’t afford to spend, buy gifts I didn’t want to give, and travel to places I didn’t want to go. All because I knew saying, “No,” would require an exhaustive explanation, replete with a list of why I couldn’t do it, only to be met with a rebuttal of why I should. A simple, “I can’t afford it,” would never suffice. So I’ve never offered. But, this year it’s a must.

I’m making a lot of changes in my life. As an empty-nester who put herself on the backburner to raise her children, I’m learning to be single. And, alas, I’m back in the city where I’ve always wanted to return. My relocation caused a temporary financial setback from which I’m still recovering, but making the sacrifices necessary to accept a job that pays 200% more than the highest bidder in my previous city made perfect sense to me. As an added bonus, I get to live in a place that I love. But to those who can’t relate to living life on one’s own terms, it is illogical. They say that surely, I must be chasing a man. And that’s okay, because on November 26, 2009, I will be a Thanksgiving orphan—no explanation needed.

Although money is an issue, I know that it is not the only issue. If it were, I wouldn’t keep having flashbacks to places of unfinished business: a father who wasn’t—and isn’t—around, a mother—MY mother—picking up her infant daughter from her mother-in-law and asking about a child of the same age lying on the same couch (It was later learned that it was my father’s child with another woman.), and an aunt’s voice yelling at me after my mother was admitted into the hospital for the last time, saying that the reason my brother was so angry is because my mother always criticized my father. I still find it peculiar that, out of seven children, he’s the only one with whom she had those private moments of criticism.

My tone may sound angry, but I’m not. In an ongoing effort to take back my power and reclaim my purpose, I must learn to function from a place of love and not duty. In order to be emotionally whole, I must process the pain and move on. An honest conversation would be nice, but since my mother isn’t here to defend herself, I’m not even interested. On top of that, I’m tired of folks trying to rewrite history with lies, even with the things I witnessed firsthand.

Unfortunately, my kids are having similar experiences. They made tremendous sacrifices to spend Thanksgiving with their dad’s family last year, and he didn’t show up. He simply said that he had other plans. The children were very upset, but I didn’t comment either way, because it’s important that I allow them to own their feelings. He and his brother called a couple weeks ago and said they’d like for them to come again this year. They all declined, opting to enjoy the holiday together with their friends. In a perfect world, they would be excited about spending time with their family. But in that same world, my ex’s family wouldn’t make spending time with them feel like such an obligation.

MamaSpeak: Etiquette Tips for Our Sons

I recently moved to Washington, D.C, and one of the nice things about being here is that I can listen to Steve Harvey in the morning. Steve is a funny guy. But along with his comedic flair comes a softer, gentler side that’s passionate about teaching young men to act like men and helping women make a love connection.

Last week Steve’s show sent 29-year-old “Lirpanla” on a date with 27-year-old “SELDOM1.” After the date they came back on the show to tell how it went. And you could tell by their tone that it didn’t go well.

Lirpanla called SELDOM1 immature and childish because he opened her car door and made her scoot over, so he could get in. And, then he didn’t walk on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street when they were walking to the restaurant. SELDOM1 called Lirpanla high-maintenance because he had never heard of a man walking around to get into a car after letting the woman in, nor did he know that a man should walk on the sidewalk closest to the street as the first line of defense, if anything happens to the woman.

At that point I did have some compassion for the man, and especially after I read an article in Sports Illustrated about Miami Hurricane’s coach, Randy Shannon, talking about taking etiquette classes at 17 to learn how to open a door for someone. I guess I just thought it was innate. Maybe that explains why I have friends who have never had a man open their car door. It could also explain why my children’s friends would come into my house, and my son would have to tell them to take their hats off They don’t know, because they’ve never been taught. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve dined in restaurants and seen teens wearing caps and hats, and the adults they’re with say not a word.

Some men consider opening doors and pulling out chairs outmoded. And some feminists find it offensive. But, chivalry is not dead. As a true Renaissance woman who knows what makes me a strong black woman, there are some things that will never go out of style, nor are they signs of weakness for me or my male companion:

• When going down stairs or an escalator, the man goes first. In case the lady trips, he can catch her.  When going up stairs or an escalator, the man follows for the same reason.
• When entering and exiting an elevator, the man holds the door open and lets the woman enter or exit first.
• When entering a building, the man opens the door for the woman so that she may enter first. (Except when entering the house. A man enters the house before his wife and kids.)
• When exiting a building, the man goes to the same side of the woman that the door hinge is on, reaches around her, pushes open the door and holds it while she exits.
• For revolving doors, let the lady enters first.  Gently get the door moving; step into the next “stall”, and continue pushing, so she doesn’t need to.
• When walking down the street, the man should be between the lady and the traffic.
• Always open a car door for a woman. After you open the door, walk around and get in. Don’t ask her to scoot over.
• Go to the door to get your date. Never sit in the car and honk your horn.  After a date, a man walks a lady to her door.
• If a woman drives to a man’s place, the man walks her to her car when she is ready to go, opens the door, and helps her get in.
• A man respects a woman’s boundaries. “No” means “no,” even if he thinks it’s probably “yes.”
• A man never calls a woman out of her name.
• A man never…E-V-E-R hits a woman.
• A man never tries to buy love, because he’ll never finish paying for it.
• A man ALWAYS pays for the first date.
• A man helps a lady with her suitcase.
• A man remove his hat upon entering a restaurant.
• A man pulls out the lady’s chair, and helps her get seated before he sits down.
• When the lady needs to go to the restroom, the man stands up and pulls out her chair.  When the lady returns from the restroom, the man stands up and pulls out her chair.

Mamas, we might not be able to teach our sons everything about becoming a man, but we can certainly join Steve in teaching them how to treat women.

WeParent Family, what do you think we should be teaching our sons?

Being Right or Having Peace

It’s been eighteen years since I sent fear packing and conjured up the courage to walk away from a marriage that had me mentally exhausted and emotionally depleted. It was a huge leap of faith. I had four children in tow. The youngest was six-months and the oldest hadn’t started school. I had just been furloughed from my job, and I was three-months pregnant. But, even though my circumstances looked bleak, my future looked brighter than what I was leaving behind.

When I told my husband about my plans to move, he protested and told me I wasn’t taking his kids anywhere. He knew how strongly I felt about raising our children in a two-parent home, where the mother and the father were married to each other, so he constantly reminded me that whoever left would be the one who broke the pact. I didn’t want to let my kids down, because I was raised by a single mom, and so was he. But at the same time, I could no longer stay at the expense of my sanity. We were living a lie, and I was tired of the façade. What good was it for us to keep up the image of happiness when the disdain we felt for each was about to make one or both of us go postal?

After he told me I wasn’t taking his kids with me, I called his bluff. I knew he had no intentions of keeping the kids, so I reiterated that I was moving – not the kids. I told him when I was moving out and where I was moving to. And over the course of the next few weeks I went about the business of buying things for my apartment. Thank God I did because three days before I was scheduled to move, he came home and announced that he was moving that night. Not only did he move out, but he took everything but the kids: the furniture, the TVs, and the car. When I asked if he was taking the kids, he said he only had a one-bedroom and didn’t have room for them.

So, why did he need the kids’ beds if he didn’t have room for the kids? The only answer he gave me was that he knew somebody who needed them.

I was disgusted, but not surprised. I called my cousin and told him what was going on, and he told me that he had a sofa and loveseat for sale. Perfect! I needed to buy them. He also agreed to move me, so that was another thing I didn’t have to worry about. Plus, my mother had a bed in storage that she let me have, and I went to a furniture store the following day and financed new canopy beds for my daughters. Life was looking up.

It took a few months for me to get on my feet, but I eventually got my bearings. Bureaucratic rules held up my unemployment check for two months, and my husband was determined not to help out. My mother sent money when she could. And I’m forever grateful for friends who comforted me when my son was born stillborn, gave me food when I couldn’t afford to buy any, babysat for free after I went back to work, and gave me a ride to work until I bought a car.

As time went on, my husband did ask me what I planned to tell the children about our breakup. To be honest, I really hadn’t given it much thought. I’m sure what he really wanted to know was if I planned to make myself a victim and sing them a somebody-done-me-wrong song. But, what would I get out of that? I was so happy to be living in peace, that I had no desire to prove who was right or wrong in the marriage. And as far as I was concerned, we were equally at fault for not being able to make it work.

As a self-proclaimed daddy’s girl, I wanted my kids to spend time with him and develop a strong father/child connection, even if I felt like he was a pitiful husband. I didn’t want to sway their opinion, like my mother didn’t sway mine. My dad never provided emotional or financial support for us, and I still have an exaggerated perception of him. I know he was no daddy of the year, but my mother never said a negative thing about him. She was phenomenal. She stayed when she could have left, bridled her tongue when I’m sure she wanted to burst, and allowed me to form my own opinion about the man I call Daddy.

And I did the same for my kids. 

Teaching My Son about Violence

I was stunned when Chris Brown and Rihanna cancelled their Grammy appearance because one was in the hospital being treated for bruises from a domestic assault, while the other – her accused assailant – was being booked for beating the woman he loved. And in the days that followed, my emotions ran the gamut: sadness that Brown had already been tried and convicted in the trial of public opinion, befuddlement as to how a man could inflict bodily harm on a woman he loves, and confusion as to why so many people – men and women, young and old alike – felt like Rihanna brought the attack on herself.

Like most people, I saw this as a teachable moment for my daughters. As a woman who has never been hit by a man, I grapple with my understanding of how a love affair can go so wrong that a heated exchange of words can escalate to a point where someone – the man, the woman, or both – is left bloodied and bruised. My girls need to know that there is never an excuse or a reason for a man to hit a woman. And they should also know that that knife cuts both ways; they have a duty to keep their hands to themselves.

But no sooner than Brown could post bail and cause another media stir about a much-rumored reconciliation with Rihanna, Gospel megastar BeBe Winans was arrested for allegedly shoving his wife to the ground when he showed up at her house, and the two started arguing about custody issues. And, once again, the blogosphere was ablaze with comments that Winans’ wife must have made him do it. That’s when I realized that these incidents were teachable moments for my son, as well.

Girls can be dramatic

I’m a reformed drama queen. Just ask my three older brothers, and they will tell you about how I would get out of bed every morning and pick a fight, knowing they couldn’t hit me. I’m not talking about us having a physical fight; my tongue was my weapon of choice. And there was nothing I liked more than a fight, than another fight. So, even though my daddy had a strict rule against my brothers hitting their sister, at the very least I wanted them to return my verbal assaults. But, nooo, they ignored me. And that annoyed me. But as time went on, I was the one who gave in and eventually had to come up with other ways to get attention.

That’s the same thing I want my son to do. If he finds himself in a heated situation where he feels like he’s being pushed to the point of hitting a woman, I want him to let cooler heads prevail and walk away. That’s not the time to be prideful. I want to assure him that his pride will still be intact after he cools off.

Roughhousing can land you in jail

My son is a 6’3”, 325 pound man. He’s 18 now and was always a big kid. I had to constantly remind him that he couldn’t play with his classmates the same way that he played with his sisters. (They’re as rough as he is.) Now that he’s a grown man, I tell him that his size is already imposing, and that he really needs to be mindful when engaging in horseplay, because horseplay between adults is not child’s play. A simple shove or push can land him in jail.

Violence doesn’t equal strength

I think it’s unfortunate that so many young men define their manhood by violence. I will teach my son that hitting a woman – or a man for that matter – doesn’t make him a man. I think it’s really important that he understands that respecting women will make him a much stronger man. When he was younger, I used to tell him to impress me with his intelligence, not his stupidity, and that his mind is his strongest weapon. The same holds true for him now that he’s an adult. There’s nothing impressive about a man using physical violence to prove his strength. That’s stupid. He’ll get far more kudos and accolades by exercising self-control and self-restraint…And in doing so, he’ll also avoid a run-in with the law. 

Lisa Maria Carroll

Lisa Maria Carroll is a woman of courage, destiny and purpose who is sharing her insights through her blog, www.singlemomandmore.com.  This single mom of four adult children is hellbent on combating the single mom stereotypes portrayed by popular media. Moreover, she wants single moms to redefine how they see themselves.