it’s a lotta independent women wanna be claimed
marrying the money or marrying the fame…
(c) Rapper Big Pooh, "Take it Slow," Little Brother
For some women it starts as early as high school. Picture it…..(insert name of) high school, 1996. Homecoming dance, in the gym, a group of lil’ fresh teenage girls in a circle, dancing with one another while furtively looking over their half exposed shoulders, hoping that all their switchin’ and dippin’ will entice some yungin’ to come over, and pull one of them away from the sista-circle. He’ll be cute, a little arrogant and will want to dance with just her. And of course when he comes she’ll act slightly dismissive before slinking away into some dark musty corner where he will proceed to grind on her for the remainder of the night.
Fast forward ‘bout 10 years and instead of the high school gym, it’s the yuppie happy hour at Negril or Friday night at Love or that trip to South Beach with your girls or even the 11 o’clock service at New Birth (don’t get it twisted). Nothing’s changed…..the players remain the same with a little more skin exposed and a lot more male bravado in the air. Women look beautiful and available, stand on the sidelines and dance in those same sista-circles while men still doing the choosing. But now instead of just a dance as the goal, women are aiming for that illusive prize, the golden ticket…
Marriage....ahhhh
Marriage....when life begins (don’t steal my slogan people). When all her dreams come true. Here’s how some women think even though you will never ever (eva… eva… eva…eva get a strong black woman to admit this): If I can just get married I’ll be ok. I’ll be complete. I’ll be able to buy my dream house (two wage earner household baby!) I can stop working and stay at home or at least change to the job that I really want. He’ll give me my beautiful brown babies, “boy for you and a girl for me.” My life will get better, I’ll be happier. The flowers will smell fresher, my butt will grow bigger and we’ll finally catch osama bin laden.
Uhhhhhh…..no. not gon happen (c) new new. Cause what if you never get claimed? Or worse still, what if you do get claimed errr...... married, and it doesn’t make you happier or sexier and your life isn’t richer or fuller? What then?
I say claim yo damn self!
Look at men, they don’t wait to be claimed. They are the claimers. They just live! They decide when and where they enter yo space and when they be up out that piece. That’s the difference….so simple isn’t it….yet so hard for us (yes….*dipping her head*….I’ve been known to subscribe to the claim-me school of thought a time or two) to wrap our heads around.
When women meet a man, we immediately think of the possibilities: will he be a good huzband? what will our kids look like? what is this we doing here? does he like me? does he wanna be my boyfriend? if I give him some cookie, will he like me more? how long are we going to date before we get engaged?
All this goes on while we completely forget about the real flesh and blood man who we’re supposed to be just getting to know. Just learning about, just enjoying his company. We create who he is in our heads without fully engaging in the man who is sitting across from us at dinner, laying next to us at night, and taking up space in our hearts. If we took a closer look, maybe we’d see he doesn’t have all the qualities we want (and preferably this would take place before any cookie got passed out but alas it doesn’t always happen that way). We make it work cause he claimed us and that counts for something right? We overlook his shortcomings, his mishaps, his slip-ups in maintaining the level of respect we deserve. Or we look for that man that claims us to be our savior: the greatest lover ever, our best friend, our travel partner, our benefactor, our shopping buddy, our stand-in daddy to tell us what to do every once in a while, and the greatest intellectual the world has ever seen, after Drs. West and Dyson of course, all rolled into one.
Gurl stop! (c) big boi. That’s why you have your best friends, your real daddy and mama, that gay dude from your job who always finds the best bargains, and most importantly……wait for it…..
yo damn self!
So then, why do we give up all of that, all these people, all of us, when Mr. Man approaches, asks us to dance, takes our hand, and claims us?
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