My Daddy, My Hero. My Life.

Early on during my beginning existence, my father and mother married. Mom got knocked up by my dad, whom she had been dating for two years, and they decided to get married when she was about two months along. That would be the best decision my mother ever made.

My father is and was a champion. Growing up, my parent's marriage was mostly in discord, but my dad was as good as gold. Being an only child, I was doted on and spoiled and played the Daddy's Little Girl role perfectly, but that is not why I consider my dad a good father. I consider my dad a wonderful dad because he stayed around while most dad's didn't. My mother was 19 and my dad was 21 when they had me, the two of them were relatively young and inexperienced in the ways of the world BUT he did what he was supposed to do, what some fathers don't do, and played his role.

I was often closer to my father than my mother for several reasons which would require another blog entry and another talking point. But let me just say that I don't think my mother really wanted to be a mother at so young of an age, and I am sure that is why she got her tubes tied early and never had any more kids. She wasn't the nurturing type of person, or touchy feely, where my dad was that type. He was affectionate. He attended all of my events at school, took me shopping for my first bra, and pretty much raised me while my mother always seemed to be searching for something other than what she had. I am not saying that my mother wasn't a good mom. I am just saying that when it came to parenting, she was out of her element most of the time and she will even admit that now.

There was a time in my Dad's life where he fell down and my parent's separated and that was when he got into cocaine heavily. In reality, both of my parents dabbled in recreational drug use but my dad got into it quite heavily and we almost lost everything we had. Once he quit the drug use, he began to drink and became an alcoholic and received two DUI's. My dad was not perfect, but when it came to ME, he made sure I was always taken care of and he continues to show me (and now HIS grandson and granddaughter) and he is always there when I need him. STILL!

The drinking caught up with my dad. When he was 35, he had his first heart attack and since then has been diagnosed with heart disease. He also has had several operations on his heart. My father also suffers with kidney problems and is in stage 3 of renal failure and will result in having dialysis weekly. I have already decided that once it gets to that point, I will be tested to see if I am a match so that I can donate my kidney to him. He also has liver problems and it seems his body is breaking down and according to his primary physician, is more like 75 years old instead of the 55 years old that he really is.

Our bond is eternal and I just when I think I cannot love him anymore than I already do, it continues to grow and grow. With his health deteriorating, each moment that I spend him is cherished more than the last. I love this man with all of my heart, and I am so blessed that he has been in my life, the way father's are supposed to be.

LOVE YA DADDY!

That's My Mama

Saturday night will be one to remember. After working half a day, I ran a few errands and planned to relax for the evening. I was invited to yet another Christmas party but I really wasn't interested in going and there was no RSVP required so I didn't feel bad skipping out. But anyway, Mom calls me that afternoon and asks me if I wanted to go out for drinks and dinner. 

Not really. The temperature was dropping and it was getting windy. My toasty house was feeling so good but I relunctantly said yes because I knew she had been under a lot of stress personally and needed to get out the house and enjoy herself.

I was able to make last minute reservations at Magianno's at 9:15 and that gave me plenty of time to get some rest in before I had to pick up mom for dinner. Anyway, when we arrived at Magianno's we were early and our table was not ready so we sat at the bar and my mom ordered her usual Long Island ice tea and I had my usual amaretto sour.

Now let me digress a moment and tell you that my mother and I have quite a rocky past. If you read my blog post about an incident when I was 14, you would know that my mom wasn't the best mom on earth. No one would give her an award for her parenting. While growing up, my mom showed me love, but was also distant in some respects. She was high a lot which I am sure clouded her judgement. She even lost me, according to my dad, when I was 2 years old and he found me walking down a major street by myself. No, I cannot make this up!

The last five years have been a time of healing for my mom and I. In 2000, I moved to St. Louis from Florida and in 2005 after my mom went through Hurricane Rita (the follow-up after Hurricane Katrina) I went to get her from West Palm Beach and move her here. During the car trip from Florida to St. Louis, we healed many wounds. I forgave her for being a less than stellar parent. My mom was 18 when she was married and 19 when she had me. She went straight from her mother's house to living in a home with my dad and didn't understand about taking care of a home or a child. She tried many times, and I think she regretted settling down and having a kid so young. She took that out on me I think. But I no longer blame her. What's done is done and I have moved on from that former pain.

So anyway, back to present day. We are at the bar at Magiannos and she is the life of the party at the bar. Cracking jokes, talking in her patented New York accent that she always does to impress the masses. My mom is a ham and she really puts it on when she has been drinking. She kept saying this is my daughter, introducing me to everyone like I was a star of some sort. She is so cute with her mini-adoration of me. Some even commented that they thought we were sisters and not mother and daughter. But we are used to it because we get it a lot.

We were placed at a nice table in the center of the restaurant and we had a fabulous time. But, my mom was kicking back the teas like it was no one's business and pretty soon, it was apparent that she was drunk. I told her that she didn't need anymore to drink. She agreed.

My mom says she needs to go to the bathroom and before I can volunteer to help her to the bathroom, she fell while walking away from the table. Such a lush! Everyone in that area of the restuarant was gawking at us and I just smiled and kept it moving and helped her to the bathroom. Mama is not a young woman anymore and now has problems holding her liquor.

I love that woman. I do. You only get one and the one mom and I have may not be the best but she is mine. I am sure soon there will be another falling out (we tend to have our little tiffs every now and then) but we always break-up to make up. Can anyone else out there relate?

Cocaine. Binges. Pack-up. Move.

I have been having the same dream ever since I was 14 years old. I run into the street covered in blood screaming for someone to help me. I yell at the top of my lungs as loud as I can pleading for someone to hear me and they never do. I can hear the quiet of the night, the dogs in the neighborhood barking, the crickets chirping, the wind whistling in the late night Arizona skies. I look behind me and I can feel his presence and before I know it, he slams me to the ground and gets on top of me. Before I am able to move, he covers my mouth and I feel the harshness of suffocation.

I usually awake from the nightmare at this point screaming out loud and in a cold sweat. I never really get to the point where he kills me; I don't think the channels in my mind or my thought process would allow it. In my mind I am a fighter, I am chosen to live. And therefore, in this instance, my life cannot be taken away from me.

This dream stems from a real-life event that happened in February of 1990. My mother and I were staying in an apartment home in Phoenix, Arizona while my father was working in Memphis, Tennessee on a contract. We had been separated for several months and due to this, my mother (and I later found out my father) were having affairs and living separate lives. I of course was immersed in my life of being a Freshman and wasn't really paying attention to the obvious decline of my parent's marriage.

Anyway, on this young February night, my mother had a guest over. I don't remember his name but he was this smooth looking chocolate colored cat from the other side of town. Anyway, my mother was in the living room entertaining this dude and I was in my bedroom trying to block it out, doing what 14 year old girls do at that time, like talking on the phone, watching videos and reading magazines. Doing my nails. All of that shit. I don't think I paid much attention to my mom's guest. I wasn't stupid. I knew her game. But I wanted her to be happy so I played along knowing if my dad knew about this set-up, he would be more than 38-hot.

I remember going to bed around 11 that night. I was all geeked up about this Valentine's Day dance that was coming up at high school. This smooth dude asked me to go to the dance and I was all happy and stuff, plotting in my mind what I would wear and how I was going to do my hair. All of that young puppy love type ish.

I remember hearing this blood curdling scream and it awoke me from my peaceful slumber. It was something out of the movie Psycho, only it wasn't a flick. It was my mom's voice. I jumped up out of my bed and ran to the living room and all I could see in the darkness with the moonlight streaming through the window was blood on the wall and my mother laying on the floor. The dude looked at me and then ran out the door leaving it wide open. I got enough courage to go and close the door and lock it and then tended to my mother who was holding her right eye. He had punched her with so much force in her eye that it was nearly hanging out the socket.

I called 911. Then called my mom's best friend Tanya because I didn't know what to do. My mom was crying and in so much pain. She couldn't even talk. I remember getting a towel for her to hold her eye and soak the blood. I was scared but I wasn't crying. I was like a robot, a programmed soldier. The police came in like 10 minutes and my mom's best friend came in right behind them. They took a report and my mother was sent off to Thunderbird Hospital in Glendale.

I stayed with Tanya at the apartment, and the next day, a plain clothes policeman followed me and watched me while I stood at the bus stop, just in case this idiot of a man tried to come back and do something to me. My mom was in the hospital for a week and they performed two surgeries on her eye. My father was told about the incident and immediately flew to Arizona where I was told he was looking for ole boy, although I never saw him when he came. The whole thing was a blur.

Then I was told we had to move. Out of state. Back to Memphis where my dad was. And if you know anything about me or have read my blogs before, this was a pattern that still affects me to this day.

I was so strong that day for my mom and I. I felt like that was when the roles reversed. It was like from that day forward, I became the mom and she became the daughter. And at 14, that was a lot of pressure. I hated leaving my friends. My school. The constant day-to-day of life. But I knew that in order for my parents marriage to work, we needed to all be together in one house under one roof. I had to give up my peace to save my family.

This whole thing happened because my mom and this guy were on a cocaine binge. My mother always smoked pot and had recently got into "harder" stuff like blow and speed. I think old boy may have been doing crack while in the apartment. And I don't know if he clicked or what but he hit my moms, almost destroying her face, and he was never caught. My mom and I haven't talked about this incident since it happened, and this is the first time I have really talked about it in depth.

But every once in awhile, I have that dream and I am face-to-face with him and he kills me. But in real life I got away. And in real life, I am a true survivor.

Reflections Of: The Way Life Used To Be

I have been very reflective lately. It could be from the wine I injested at a Christmas Party I attended earlier but I have been thinking a lot about my past. In order to really get to know me and how I work mechanically in terms of my thought process, you must understand my past and where I come from. My true essence and development is wrapped up in many years of going everywhere but not going anywhere at all. Let me explain.

I was born in St. Louis, Missouri and in 1982, when I was seven, my father got a job offer in Houston and we moved. After that we moved to several other cities such as Las Vegas, Phoenix, Memphis, Jacksonville, Tampa, Ft. Lauderdale and South Carolina. I went to six elementary schools and five high schools. To say I became a chameleon in my environment is an understatement. I spent my young life being the person I was supposed to be depending on the situation and mood of the area. For instance, when I lived in Phoenix for five years, I was a valley girl. When I moved to Memphis, I was a 'hood girl. When I moved to Florida, I became a beach bum. South Carolina? The southern belle. On and on it went. It took me until I was about 25 or 26 to know and understand who I really was and be able to truly define the real me. 

All of that moving around really did a number on me mentally if you think about it. I didn't have a center, a true home. I didn't have structure. The longest place that I lived as a child was 5 years and that was Phoenix, Arizona. As soon as I began to feel comfortable and sure of myself, then my dad announced we were moving. I could never really feel like I had a "home". We were nomads, meandering throughout the country trying to find ourselves. I don't even think my parents understood how that would shape my life in a negative way.

I wanted stability. I wanted structure. I wanted peace and security. I thought I had found all of that when I met and fell in love with my first love, Ronald Lorenzo Davis. I was in Jacksonville. We met through a mutual friend. Over the course of a year, we went from friends to as serious as you could be at that age. He was three years older. He was like a father figure. I trusted, loved, and respected him. But then it got cloudy. And my parents announced we were moving away. My heart felt torn.

I was a divided soul. Living in central Florida but longing to be in Jacksonville. We did the phone thing. I ran up the bill to over $1500.00. I even ran away a few times to see him. Took the Greyhound. I wanted to be with him so much. I didn't care. My parents gave me an ultimatum.

I moved on with hesitation. Then when I was 17, met and fell in love with my son's father. Again, someone else who was like a father figure to me. 4 years older. He had a lot going on for himself. I got completely wrapped up in him. When he asked me to carry his seed, I instantly said yes. There were no questions. I thought that the love we shared would last forever. Suffice to say, in 4 short years, it was over.

I became involved with these men (and some after) searching for someone to give me a foundation. I was looking for it in an individual when I should've been looking inside myself for these answers. I struggled to hold onto people that weren't worthy because I just wanted everything to be the same. I had so much change in my life, so leaving would be just another change I had to face. Didn't want to do it. And over time, I kept myself in situations in which I should've gotten myself the hell away from.

I look back on my life from this point, and wonder what it would've been like had I of stayed in one place like most people. I think I would be centered and more focused. But I also know the lessons learned while growing up in such volitility and change has made me a better person. I've been around. I've lived in every climate. I have traveled. Seen things that most don't. And so I am grateful. I wouldn't change the roads I have taken for nothing in the world.

As this year comes to an end, I continue to reflect on how my life has changed. Evolved. Grown. I went from a shorty, to a woman-child, to a woman of all seasons who holds it down for her family. I am still evoolving. Still growing. Still learning. Still seeking. Still transisitioning. I am happy in the place I am now. And I look forward to continuing the journey that lay ahead...

I Am His Mama

I get this all the time. Actually my son does. I have a son who is 14 (he will be 15 in April) and when we are together, be it in the mall or the store, or anywhere, people think we are brother and sister. Then he will say "MOM" and everyone looks at me like I have the plague. And I am like yep, that's my boy.

Long story short, I had my son when I was 18. Actually, I got pregnant when I was 17. I graduated high school when I was 16 because I went up a grade when I was 7 and my b-day is Sept. 3rd so I started school when I was 4 and was a year younger than most of the people in school. I grew up fast. Only child, daddy's little girl, spoiled rotten. My parents' marriage began to deteriorate when I was about 16 and I met Antonio (my baby daddy--hate that term) at a party. He was 20 and fine and had a nice car and his own place and I thought I was grown. We started dating and after a year I became pregnant with my son. Thought about abortion but in the end, I knew I was going to keep the baby. Antonio and I tried to work it out but 4 years and several black eyes and countless bruises later, I left his sorry ass.

It wasn't easy being a single mother. I was working a full-time gig, putting myself through college, and trying to be a mother and a father all on my own. Antonio wasn't around much, he was too busy out in the streets. But me and my shorty were good. He never wanted for anything. We never wanted for anything. We always had a roof over our head (although we were homeless for a minute, more on that in another blog entry) and I always had a car. Times was rough though. I can remember making a big pot of spaghetti on a Monday night and eating that ish every night that week. But we survived. Two degrees and a marriage later and we are doing VERY well. My son is now a Freshman in high school and I also have a 4 year old daughter from my ex husband (not Antonio mind you).

I see young mothers all of the time and I remember that pain, that burden that they have to carry. I am 33 now and the realization that I have a 14 year old is odd, but I am so thankful and glad that I had him. I am hoping that these single mothers get through the pain like I did. I never thought I would be able to see the forest for the trees back then and now I am chopping a tree down everytime I see an obstacle with no problems.

Life is good, yo.

If you know a single mother struggling, let her know she can do it. Let her know that even through darkness, light will follow. I held onto my dreams when I didn't have a penny to my name. And now I can do anything...

...and I am HIS mama. I am very proud. And blessed.

My Mini-Me

..chillin tonight after hitting the mall.