Today was a pensive day for me.
I received a text message from a white man that I’m fairly close to. We met at work and kept in touch over the past 2 years. I was running errands when this text came through:
“Happy New Year! I hope all is well with you and yours. I have a something to tell you. I got married on New Year’s Day!”
I stood still for a moment and reflected on this man and our friendship.
He was tall and a bit over weight. His hair was thinning in the front and his belly bulged over his too tight trousers. He never appealed to me sexually as I do not particularly like Caucasians as a whole. But, he had a lightning quick, dry, almost dark humour that I enjoyed. I remember laughing at his jokes and stories. This man worked and worked and worked himself to the bone building as much wealth as he possibly can.
One day, during a brief recess, he admitted to me why he had “a formula” in life. I listened intently. He explained that he knew he wasn’t good looking. He wasn’t blessed like his older, more attractive brother. His skin was pale, almost sickly looking and his overall physique was nothing to stare at. I glanced at him and said nothing.
He went on to tell me that a man needs to prove his worth before he can take a bride. He had no money, no house, no stable plan to build a family, no plans to homeschool his children and before he could ever marry a woman, he’d need to lay down the groundwork. That was the real reason why he was killing himself to become “somebody”.
I slowly nodded as I listened. I watched this man, whom I was intellectually attracted to, tell me how men function. How men work. How men deal with life. How men deal with women. Then I had flashbacks of my own life, especially my youth, dealing with black males.
One by one, from all over the Diaspora, black male after black male, told me how he and I would “have some pretty babies together” without once mentioning the institution of marriage. Then I thought about:
- The black man who become enraged at me in public because he took me to a “nice” steakhouse restaurant, the kind where they have a Dress Code, and I didn’t wish to invite him back to my place afterwards.
- The black man told told me to my face that I’m ok to play with but he’d rather have white girls.
- The black man to asked to pay for his meal when the check came because “things are tight right now.”
- The black man who lied to me about being married with children just so he could have some playful fun with a young, black, hippie yuppie from NY.
- The black man who once wrote me a two page list of all the things he required in a woman but his duties as a man were never on there.
- The black man who became almost violent with me because I refused to date him.
- And lastly, the black males who write to me to call me every dirty name in the English language because I’m finally speaking out against the bullshit.
Sometimes I sit quietly and ponder what happened to the Original Man .
He loves to call himself a Mighty King but never realizes that he lacks a Kingdom.
Today, whilst running errands, a haggard white female called one of her biracial, brown children a nigger.
What the black man wants is to nest prettily in another man’s Domain and live off of his labour and his sweat. A young woman that wrote me called them:
That way, when something goes terribly wrong, and it will as ALL Kingdoms have deep issues and idiosyncrasies, he can bear zero responsibility and have the comfort of knowing that a capable man will “handle it.”
I texted him back:
“Congratulations “X”! If anyone deserves this, it’s you! Give the blushing bride a kiss from me.”
I meant every word.
There are times when I feel 100% sure that the Creator will get us through this…this…rough patch. After all, we are reaping the Generational Curses of refusing to do what is right in our very own communities. Then I sober up and look at who we are.
I look at who’s doing all the fighting.
I look at who’s trying to make real change.
I look at who’s running the households and working a full time job.
And I begin to think again.