Mother-Daughter, Daughter-Girlfriend

When there are two strong personalities in a room… it is really hard for them not to clash. Someone has to take a back seat. Ever since, I was a child my mother always made it known that she IS the Queen B so that was my cue to take the backseat. Well when tall glass C is in the room, little C takes a back seat.

On this recent visit, my mother comments that I don’t seem like I am happy to see her. I am sitting here thinking and “what would that look like?” Not to be facetious but serious, “what would that look like?” Before every visit, I make plans (that you are aware of) to do something… GREAT plans… Mother-daughter bonding, new experiences plans but they never come to fruition because you intercept my first attempt. And determined as I am to try again, you always seem to shut it down. Can’t you see I am just trying to avoid answering the same exact question when you leave “How come we don’t do those things when I come to visit?”

There is no room for me to be me. The room is only but so big.

My friends and I, act as equals… we consult. Some personalities might be larger than others but we never over power. I don’t know what to tell you mother, other than I treasure the times we have together the best that I can. I apologize if you don’t see the same smiles on my face in person that you see in photos but after twenty plus odd years of training me to be the way that I am in your presence, I am NOT sure I even know how to be different around you. This is the same smile you saw when I was 6, 12 and 18.

For those of you who don’t know, I have two personas… no Sasha and b, but C and daughter A. Neither one of them is fake or unreal but daughter A is who my mother knows, who tall C is used to. C is not one to be ashamed of but believe me tall C could never handle C. So when tall C goes off on a tangent talking adult type conversations, i.e. divorce, baby making, etc. daughter A lets her rant and says nothing. Why? Because daughter A hardly EVER agrees but is respectful enough to not voice it. Tall C seems to think that because I come from her, that to disagree is to be disrespectful and we should on the same level. You can’t look for me to be your girlfriend now mother that was never nurtured from the beginning.

Now do I try and explain this to Tall C? Hell to the NO! What would be the point, so I smile and I say, of course I had a good time and it was great to see you; which is true. I treasure this relationship for what it is… I don’t expect to be anything else than what it is. Embrace the good aspects that we do share, the grass always looks greener on the other side. It is okay to hear a little something new about me when you talk to others that interact with me in a different setting. I am sure I would hear the same of you.

Much luv until next week… peace :)

I Get It From My Mama?!?

Ladies (and I guess gentlemen too – but really ladies) has your mama ever called you during the middle of the day whilst you were actually doing work (or just bullshyting on the internets – looking at shoes, stalking on facebook, reading an online newspaper, gossip site), but still called you on yo’ job and asked you the craziest question that has you wondering, “is my mama on crack?” No offense or disrespect to anyone’s mama who has ever been on crack. I don’t wanna dredge up horrible memories. So let’s focus on my mother who I know for a fact is not on crack.

But case in point: As you know I live with my mama n’em. And their house is undergoing renovation. For the past week and a half I have been staying with my aunts. So my mother, God bless her, calls me up (and this is pretty much the exact transcript of the conversation) and says,

“Hey. Question. Did you take the little black clock with you to your aunts’?”
“Uh… Excuse me?”
“The little clock, we keep in the bathroom. Do you have it? Your father couldn’t find the one upstairs, so he had to get the one from downstairs. But we’re wondering where is the one from upstairs.”
“Uhhhh… I don’t have it.”
“Oh ok. Well I guess we’ll find it.”

This is one of those times when I be thinking wtf mama? But really, actually, for real, wanna say aloud, “what the fcuk kinda question is that mama?” But then I know that she would slap the shyt outta me through the phone. And while moments like these baffle me. I realize, unfortunately, that I am guilty of the same behavior.

Sometimes a question and/or need will overtake me and I have to respond to it immediately, right away, like right now before I can even see anything that’s happening around me, have to stop and find what I’m looking for, have to call someone to get the answer and to do so must ask them a crazy question, having them wonder I’m sure if I’m on crack - like when I called my brother the other day and asked him if he had seen my little wallet because in that moment I couldn’t find it (even though I don’t even use it) but it had to be found! Now! And then the realization. The picture coming into focus. Wait for it… Shyt! I’m just like my mama!

This past winter while I was tutoring one of my kids, we were sitting on the couch – me in appropriate winter clothes, she in shorts and t-shirt. And she said, “I’m cold.” And I said, “that’s cause you ain’t got no clothes on.” And then I turned around, like who said that? No, for real, who said that shyt? Is my mama in this room? No really, is she hiding behind that curtain? Did she just throw her voice from 10 miles away? Oh hell no, that was me! Shyt! I’m just like my mama!

While there are things about us that are inherently our own, there are other things that we acquire. That are passed down to us, not solely through DNA, but along life’s journey. I realize that sometimes when I’m just staring into space, I sit and hold my hands in the exact same way as my mother. Like her, I make folders when I travel that contain all necessary flight, hotel, car rental and tourist spots info. I have one prepared for the 5 Spot's trip to Chicago this weekend. And I can adopt her same tone when making it known to someone that they don’t wanna fcuk with me.

It is learned. It is transferred. It is handed down. Some of it is good. Some bad. Some just wrong. But it’s all right there. Deep down on the inside of us. All up in the marrow. Waiting for the exact moment to reveal itself. And we may try to fight it. Run from it. Shun it. Ignore it. But we should really just embrace it. At some point, someway, somehow, we become our mothers. In our wisdom. With our soothsaying. Truth telling. And soul soothing. It’s what keeps the world going round.

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!


P.S. - The 5 Spot is off to Chicago this weekend for the Blogging While Brown Conference! And HAPPY FATHER'S DAY to all the daddies out there in the blogosphere!

daddy dearest

fathers don't always get the same love that mothers do. but as father's day approaches i've been thinking on fathers and the fathers in my live.

the stepfather: after i wrote this to my stepfather, many of you suggested that i send a copy to him. i did and he really enjoyed it. i know i'm growing when i can freely share with those i love that i love them. happy father's day, william james!

the biological father: a few days ago, i was looking for a card for my stepfather, picking through the selection trying to find just the right words to convey how much he means to me. once i'd settled on the perfect card, i thought about my real father, whom i think of less as a father but more as the "dear old man who i am fond of." i picked out a simpler card for him, realizing this might be the first father's day card i'd ever gotten him. and more importantly, i might be the only one of his 6 children who would send him one this year. when he calls me for his bi-weekly check-ins, he likes to remind me that i'm the only one who regularly answers when he calls, the only one he can get a hold of. despite what he hasn't been to me in the past, i'm glad i can be the lifeline for him now.

the client father: remember this guy? i almost cried as he expressed his love for his daughters in a crowded courtroom. in the days after he was sentenced, i checked the computer system regularly to see whether he had made it out. i was saddened when an immigration hold popped up on him. but just last week as i was walking over to courthouse, i looked up and saw him walking down the sidewalk toward me. for a second i scrambled to recall his name and case. and then as he smiled it clicked. "you got out!?!" i exclaimed. all is well with him and hopefully he will spend father's day with his daughters.

happy father's day!

holding back tears

when i became a public defender i figured it would be really emotional. dealing with people who are locked away from their families on a daily basis can wear on you. back in my law school clinical course, we imagined what it would be like to be a public defender and pontificated about the caring side of the work. how you might get emotionally attached to your clients. how there would be days when you would want to cry. and i always thought that if this job did make me want to cry, that urge wouldn't come until i got home, under the covers, in the dark, with donny hathaway singing "young gifted and black". then i'd cry. about how helpless i felt. the revolving jail house doors. the feeling of treading water and never getting anywhere, never making any headway with my clients or changing their lives.

i didn't think that i would want to cry in the middle of a crowded courtroom as i stood before the judge with my client as he was found guilty of loving his children too much. in spite of the law. but last night that's just what i felt. i had to bite my lip to keep the tears from spilling out.

my client was charged with violating a protective order, a minor offense that carries up to 6 months in jail. under the letter of the law, he had violated the order which provided that he not contact his wife or 2 young daughters by phone or mail without the court's permission (although he was allowed to have supervised visits with the children 3 times per week). but by the spirit of the law what he had done was understandable and arguably justifiable. while incarcerated in an immigration facility awaiting deportation, he had written one last letter, a goodbye to his oldest daughter. he had gotten word that his daughter was doing poorly in school during his five month incarceration and wanted to encourage her to do better in school despite his absence. he wanted his child to know that he loved her.

so he sent a letter to her at her church school, care of his pastor. and that letter violated the protective order. so as we stood there, the judge pronounced him guilty, noting that he was "forced to do so" given that my client had written the letter, a clear violation. the judge offered a few pacifying words about understanding why my client wrote the letter but that the court had to enforce the order. the judge then looked to my client and asked him if he wanted to say anything.

my client talked about his love for his children and how he didn't know when he would see them again. how close he and the daughter were and how he wanted her not to make a bad turn in her life because of him, his absence. so he considered his interests against his child's interests and decided that he had to write the letter in order to let her know that he loved her and wanted the best for her.

and that's when i wanted to cry. who wouldn't shed a tear at that? no matter what this man had done to his wife, if her allegations of abuse hold true, his love for his kids is genuine.

in the end, my client didn't get the 6 months and instead got 30 days which he had already served. he was happy with what i had done for him. but who knows what will happen to him. he could very well be right back in an immigration facility based on this new conviction. i just hope his daughters know what he went through for them.

Momma's Baby

Okay, so to update ya’ll on my workplace faux pas…I apologized the next day while gently flogging him for looking at my computer, and he accepted while explaining that it was just a misunderstanding he wanted to make sure we weren’t duplicating efforts. Yeah right, and my name is Vodka. But I am happy to report that things are a little less awkward now…not back to good but as my momma said…at least he’s staying out your cube. Amen mom! Amen.

And speaking of mothers… my mom came to visit me for a couple of days last week. Can I just say that I love my mom beyond any words that I can articulate. She’s always been the young, fun, humorous and understanding type and all my friends who have met her say she’s cool. And she is…but she’s also a mother. And with that comes a special little brand mothering that Amaretto ain’t been exposed to since we haven’t lived together for almost five years now. I can remember, back in the day when we shared space we would have discourse slash disputes over things like how to fold the towels. That’s right, how to fold towels! I can’t begin to tell ya’ll, I think there should be laws banning two adult related women from living together. Seriously!

And while we didn’t get into a towel folding contest this time, it truly surprised me how my mother is. I mean I don’t know if she’s changed or if I have changed, or if neither of us have changed and she’s doing her usual mom thing. But I think I have just forgotten what it was like to be mothered without a phone and a couple hundred miles in between us. And for almost four days, I had the woman who helped bring me into this world up close and personal. Live and in living color. Straight with no chaser!

Please enjoy some of last week's highlights...

MOM ON CLOTHES

Scenario: Amaretto is dressing for another day of work. She takes out black pants.

Mom says: Are you really going to wear black again today? You wore black yesterday. Amaretto thinks: Well I bought these clothes with my own money so what? Amaretto says: Yes mom. I like wearing black. Mom says: Humph. You need to wear color…looks like you’re going to a funeral. Amaretto thinks: Well if its any consolation going to work makes me feel like I’m dying a little bit each day…so I guess I’m dressed appropriately. Amaretto says: Yes mom.

MOM ON DRIVING

Scenario: After much discussion mom has selected a restaurant to go to. Amaretto is driving in the direction of said restaurant.

Mom says: On second thought, I would like to go to Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah-being a restaurant behind us. Amaretto says: Okay. Mom says: It’s behind us, you have to turn around. Amaretto continues to drive forward. Mom says: You have to turn around. Amaretto thinks: Lord, have I sinned greatly against you lately? And knowing the answer says: I know mom, but I can’t turn around in the middle of the street during rush hour. Mom says: Oh. I just wanted to make sure you knew. Amaretto thinks: I know where the place is, I do still live in the area. Amaretto says: Yes mom.

MOM ON MOTHERING

Scenario: Food finally arrives at the table. Mom offers a prayer to God thanking him for the food but more importantly our time together.

Mom Says: How blessed she is to have a daughter and how thankful she is for all the wonderful things He is doing in Amaretto’s life. Amaretto thinks: Wow. I miss my mommy. There nothing like having a mother who cares enough to continue mothering while baby is an adult. I am blessed. Amaretto almost tearfully says: Amen. Then eats. And listens to mom talk about how good it would be to have unlimited money and to also have some grandkids. Most of her friends have grandbabies, some got two or three of them. Afterall it would be nice to have some while she is still young enough to recognize them and their mother… Amaretto thinks: Really mom? Maybe I should get her a puppy and put a bow on it. Amaretto says: Yes mom, I hear everything that you are saying.

See You In Seven

Mother, May I?

While there are a few disadvantages to living at home (the lack of privacy for instance), there are some advantages. One of them has been being able to see my mother as a real, live person. Now, I had been thrown out the notion that my mother is perfect. I mean as we grow up, move out the house (and sometimes back in), travel the world, make new friends, become adults, we really start seeing our parents for who they really are, their distinct personalities, idiosyncrasies, faults, strengths and weaknesses. But now that she is done rearing me and laying down the law, we have truly formed a friendship. I am constantly learning new things about my mother and the life she led before children.

Now I’m not saying that my mother was a wild child, but she did have some fun (and not so fun) experiences. And when she shares these things with me, I wonder why she didn’t tell me sooner. I think the mother/daughter relationship is one of the most fascinating because here is this person, this “mini me”, you can put all your hopes, dreams, and missed opportunities into. Someone you work hard to ensure does things better than you did them, avoids the mistakes you made, doesn't endure the trying times you did. However, to do this, mothers who oftentimes know the landmines and pitfalls of life through first hand experience, in an effort to protect their image, give their daughters blanket lessons. Keep your legs closed. Don’t do drugs. You bet not get pregnant. Finish school. Don’t drink and drive. Come straight home. Don’t go down the hill to that neighborhood. Don’t hang with those people. Don’t date that n****a.

I know that mothers have to walk that fine line of rearing a child by example and revealing who they really are to their children. Do you reveal to your child that you used to smoke weed, only to have it thrown back in your face when they try it? Do you tell them about your “first time” or tell them to wait until they’re married? Do you tell them about that abortion you had as a teen? I mean I don’t know how I would have handled hearing some stories about my mother while I was a teen. How would knowing that even my mother made mistakes have affected the decisions I made, the way secrets I kept, the lies I told, the life I tried to lead because I didn't want to disappoint? While I grew up in a house where my mother was very open with her children, where she spoke frankly about all topics, including sex, she rarely interjected herself into these stories. Growing up I saw my mom as someone who had never done wrong, never made poor decisions, never dated men other than my daddy. Of course over time I learned this was false.

And so there are times when I do wish that when I was younger she would have opened up more about her life. Maybe I would have come to her with a whole ‘nother set of questions. And I wonder if I ever have children (especially daughters) what I will share with them. Once when I was going through my photos and I saw one of me in a shirt that revealed plenty of cleavage, I said to my mother, “What will I tell my kids when they see this?” And she said, “Tell them, ‘I was going out to look for your father.” Ha!

But seriously. What would I tell my kids about my life and what would I edit? Would I tell them about me having an older boyfriend when I was in high school? That I got a tattoo at the age of 17? That I had a fake id and snuck into nightclubs? That I drank before the age of 21?!? Or will that seem like a whole 'nother lifetime, not worth sharing or mentioning? Will I reveal my past to them or play it close to my chest? So that they never know the before kids me, and think that I just came into the world as an unhip, uncool mom who never lived and then when they try to put something over on me I can be all, “You must not know ‘bout me…” Regardless of if I try to mold myself into “perfect” parent, my mom is already talking about, “Wait til you have kids. I'ma let 'em know...” So I know that she will be somewhere in the background telling my kids how I really got down. Dang, those witnesses!

But for real, readers of the 5 spot, what do you wish you knew about yo’ mama and what do you wish yo’ mama had told you ‘bout herself while you were growing up?

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Daddy's Little Girl

You are the god and the weight of her world

So fathers be good to your daughters

Daughters will love like you do

-John Mayer, Daughters

This might be two posts in one, but follow me down the rabbit hole anyway. So, last Sunday it was Children and Youth Day at the church I visited. The choir loft was at least 50 kids deep. So, when they sang one song, three girls shared the “solo” part. Two girls were older, maybe 8 or 9 years old, and the other girl was significantly younger and too cute! They would hand the little one the mic and she would sing her one line with all her heart. Everyone laughed and applauded. You know how we do. So, when they were finished, pastor calls the little girl down and asked, “How old are you?

“Three,” she said. More ooohs and ahhhs.
“You are so pretty. Did you know that?”
“Yes,” she said shyly.
“You did? Who told you you’re pretty,” he asked.
“My daddy,” she said. You could almost hear hearts breaking.
And then pastor asked the father to stand up. And when he did, he had the biggest grin on his face. “She got you wrapped around her finger,” pastor said.

Indeed. There is nothing like having a daddy who tells you that you are beautiful and makes you feel loved on a daily basis. I thank God for mine. And I wish more women had a father like mine. I know that having a father in the home, not having a father in the home, the kind of father you have (whether in the home or not) has an impact, both positive and negative, in so many areas of a woman’s life ranging from how they view themselves to how they interact with other men. Like Chris Rock said, “every man has dated a woman with daddy issues…”

Now this is where I go farther down into the hole, but stay with me. Awhile back when I lived in Atlanta, my friend and I were sitting at a bar of a restaurant named after a jewel and the day of week. They had great 2 for 1 drink specials. Can’t beat that with a bat. So, friend and I are drinking and there’s a group of guys next to us doing the same. So as drinkers are apt to do, we stuck up a conversation with one another. We learned that a majority of the men in the group were married. Rum Punch’s Disclaimer: There’s nothing wrong with a guys’ night out every now and then. End of Rum Punch’s Disclaimer But this was these men’s routine: drink with one another every night to avoid going home. How do I know? Because that’s what they said to us.

“I don’t want to go home. My wife nags me,” the chorus sang.
“Well maybe if you went home and didn’t leave her alone on the daily to raise the kids, feed the kids, wash they asses, help them with homework, put them to bed, she wouldn’t nag,” we said.

And then it was on like popcorn because these men had the nerve to use that tired line and say every man cheats. What? Not our daddies. Oh yes, your daddies too, they said. Those were fighting words. Because these men didn’t know about us. Word up Yonce. Or our daddies. We had daddies in our lives that came home every day on the regular, I mean same Batman time, same Batman place, regular. My homegirl’s daddy used to pick her up from school and make her soup and baked potato, or some “weird” combination that she loved, every.single.day.

I had to let them know that I don’t have any memories of my father coming home late after a night with the guys, missing the everyday moments of my brother and I growing up. What I remember is having dinners together as a family, him helping me with a science project, taking us kids for the day so my mom could get some rest. And I say this not to brag, but to make the point that even though I don’t know the intricacies of my parents’ marriage, growing up I learned and watched my father’s character and actions and they spoke volumes, and were louder than any words ever said. And you know this can work in reverse, right? Yeah... However, in terms of words spoken, my father always said that, “A man doesn’t have to cheat. He chooses to cheat. There is something called free will and self control.” Tabernacle, Synagogue! But as usual I digress...

The thing is that little girls (and sons too, but stay with me) need love from their daddy, regardless of if the father is in the home or not, regardless of the crazy baby mama who won’t “let” you see your child (that’s a post for a whole ‘nother day), regardless of if a man sees his child every weekend or every day. Certain things like knowing you are wanted and loved, feeling important, worthy and valued, can permeate no matter how hard someone tries to block it. And certain things can linger for too many years, like feelings of abandonment, of being unwanted and unloved, or not loved enough.

I had this post in mind before I realized that Father’s Day is this Sunday, but I’m glad it came to me. And I’m glad that last Sunday I saw that little girl and her daddy’s love. It gave me hope. It gave me encouragement. It made me smile. And it made me reminisce. Because despite all the negativity, the statistics, the mess we see and hear in the news and in our everyday lives, there are great men out here, getting the job done by being involved in their kids’ lives. So, if you know a man: your daddy, granddaddy, step daddy, uncle, cousin, baby daddy (I'm sorry father of your child), deacon, neighbor, friend, who is putting in the work to be a good father, tell him how much you appreciate him this Sunday (and of course everyday-but you know) And if you’re a father who is making sure your daughter knows her worth, well, Happy Father’s Day! And shout out to my daddy, the best daddy in the whole wide world who still tells me I’m beautiful! Everybody say awwwww...

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!