Wednesday, December 6, 2006
The Nature of a Hustler
Every hustler has certain characteristics that stand out above the average Joes of the world. Their natural instincts allow them to see the world from a more radically different perspective than most. At a time when most Americans are overly concerned with self-indulgence, true hustlers are able to step outside themselves and capitalize on the greed and needs of others. Pessimists see a glass of milk as half empty. Optimists see a glass of milk as half full. Hustlers see a glass of milk as a chance to make fifty cent a pint. Some folks hustle for money. Others hustle for love. But the true masters of the game hustle for the hell of it—they can’t help it; it’s as much apart of who they are as their genetic makeup.
The Composition of Game
Game can come at you in all shapes and sizes—the texture and degree by which a motherfucker tries to play you varies according to the situation and circumstance. A niggah who is good at sniffing out street scams can be taken to the cleaners when dealing with broads. Anyone claiming to be able to recognize all forms of game is either lying, ignorant, or just plain stupid as hell.
Game mutates constantly, according to the person or persons delivering it. Golddiggers don’t dig for riches with the same type shovel. Some broads are straight forward and ghetto, while other broads are more secretive and subtle with their shit.
Game is an ever-changing pollutant that has the ability to kill in a variety of ways. This is why it is so important for true hustlers to maintain a united front. With snitching replacing rapping as the new urban art form, the plight of the modern day hustler is exceedingly difficult. The only real hope for hustlers now-a-days is to band together and weed out the fake. United Hustlers, Inc. was created to do just that. We are dedicated to idea of promoting genuine hustlers to the next level. We will work tirelessly to expose the ugly head of game from all angles.
Game mutates constantly, according to the person or persons delivering it. Golddiggers don’t dig for riches with the same type shovel. Some broads are straight forward and ghetto, while other broads are more secretive and subtle with their shit.
Game is an ever-changing pollutant that has the ability to kill in a variety of ways. This is why it is so important for true hustlers to maintain a united front. With snitching replacing rapping as the new urban art form, the plight of the modern day hustler is exceedingly difficult. The only real hope for hustlers now-a-days is to band together and weed out the fake. United Hustlers, Inc. was created to do just that. We are dedicated to idea of promoting genuine hustlers to the next level. We will work tirelessly to expose the ugly head of game from all angles.
Half Full
I have learned many lessons over the course of my life, some good, and some bad. One of the lessons that has helped to bolster my prosperity in this world has been the idea of always surrounding myself with positive minded folks who have a optimistic perspective on life. The world we currently live in is oftentimes dark, cold and unforgiving. Pain and suffering can sometimes hop onboard the life of even the most undeserving of us.
Because of this, I have learned that our only real defense is to shield ourselves in the cloak of faith and to arm ourselves with the ability to see beauty even in the ugliest of situations.
It takes strength and courage to mentally maintain a positive outlook on life—especially during those moments in life when there is honestly no visible light at the end of the tunnel. It’s easy to smile when a crafty joke catches us by surprise or when everything in our world is in order and filled with joy. But it takes a certain amount of strength to smile when your life has become a combination of disasters and misfortune and pain. To smile in the face of adversity as the bible instructs requires a certain amount of confidence and faith in the overall design and purpose of things that is both inspiring and impressive.
I have met people who could stare into the eyes of death and struggle, and smile. They were at peace. They were happy. In the middle of life’s deadliest storm, in the mist of losing everything they cherished in the world, these people looked into my eyes and smiled. Like the man who was paralyzed in a multi-car accident and broke down in tears, thanking God for the good fortune and blessing of being alive. He could have been bitter at the drunk driver who caused such a senseless tragedy. He could have turned angry toward God and cursed the undeserving punishment as an act of unjustified spite. He could have become a miserable and withdrawn man, pushing everyone who attempted to connect with him and love him away. But instead, he had the spiritual strength to see beauty in a very nasty situation.
His story moved me. I am touched by the human ability to overcome adversity in spirit. They are the ultimate testimony of a higher power in my eyes. Because I know how the average person deals with destruction. I know how I used to deal with pain and disappointment. So it has to be a spirit moving inside of them that is more powerful than us. And I am awed by this. I seek it out in everyone I meet.
I know how easily negative perspectives on life can seep in and steal away whatever joy we have left in life. I have known people who were so caught up in what’s wrong with their life that they never got a chance to enjoy the things that were right. The mother who loses a child to a horrible tragedy, spends so many years morning the loss that she forgets that she has another, living child that needs her.
The old question of “Is this glass half empty or half full?” is actually a serious question that can ultimately tell us a lot about the way a person is naturally inclined to view life. I seek out those who see the glass as half full. I am a romantic. I am too passionate for my own good sometimes. I am the boring dreamer who still stares at the clouds some days and picks out the designs of faces and images. I have blind faith in a higher purpose. This childlike belief in a design beyond my understand makes it easy for me to not accept life at face value. It enables me to experience hardship and difficulty and problems and pain and heartache, to morn and grieve my loss, yet still have faith in a brighter day tomorrow, to still enjoy—truly enjoy--the taste of a strawberry Popsicle an hour after a funeral. I am a very sensitive man. I feel compassion for my fellow human beings deeply—sometimes too deeply, the story of injustice by my fellow man in a country thousands of miles from me can bring tears to my eyes and inspire me to attempt to write and fight on their behalf—but at the same time, I still am able to appreciate the life I now have, however disorganized, however uncertain, however painful, however disappointing, however sad, because it is all I have.
In poker, you are not always dealt pocket aces, which is the best starting hand possible. Sometimes, you just have to make the best out of the hand that you are dealt. That is what I do in life. I make the best of what I have, all the while understanding that it could be much better, but accepting it for what it temporarily is, and making the best out of it.
When we focus solely on the things that are wrong with our world, we oftentimes lose sight of all the things that are right with it. The confidence it takes to remain positive in even the worst of circumstances is amazingly attractive to me.
Because of this, I have learned that our only real defense is to shield ourselves in the cloak of faith and to arm ourselves with the ability to see beauty even in the ugliest of situations.
It takes strength and courage to mentally maintain a positive outlook on life—especially during those moments in life when there is honestly no visible light at the end of the tunnel. It’s easy to smile when a crafty joke catches us by surprise or when everything in our world is in order and filled with joy. But it takes a certain amount of strength to smile when your life has become a combination of disasters and misfortune and pain. To smile in the face of adversity as the bible instructs requires a certain amount of confidence and faith in the overall design and purpose of things that is both inspiring and impressive.
I have met people who could stare into the eyes of death and struggle, and smile. They were at peace. They were happy. In the middle of life’s deadliest storm, in the mist of losing everything they cherished in the world, these people looked into my eyes and smiled. Like the man who was paralyzed in a multi-car accident and broke down in tears, thanking God for the good fortune and blessing of being alive. He could have been bitter at the drunk driver who caused such a senseless tragedy. He could have turned angry toward God and cursed the undeserving punishment as an act of unjustified spite. He could have become a miserable and withdrawn man, pushing everyone who attempted to connect with him and love him away. But instead, he had the spiritual strength to see beauty in a very nasty situation.
His story moved me. I am touched by the human ability to overcome adversity in spirit. They are the ultimate testimony of a higher power in my eyes. Because I know how the average person deals with destruction. I know how I used to deal with pain and disappointment. So it has to be a spirit moving inside of them that is more powerful than us. And I am awed by this. I seek it out in everyone I meet.
I know how easily negative perspectives on life can seep in and steal away whatever joy we have left in life. I have known people who were so caught up in what’s wrong with their life that they never got a chance to enjoy the things that were right. The mother who loses a child to a horrible tragedy, spends so many years morning the loss that she forgets that she has another, living child that needs her.
The old question of “Is this glass half empty or half full?” is actually a serious question that can ultimately tell us a lot about the way a person is naturally inclined to view life. I seek out those who see the glass as half full. I am a romantic. I am too passionate for my own good sometimes. I am the boring dreamer who still stares at the clouds some days and picks out the designs of faces and images. I have blind faith in a higher purpose. This childlike belief in a design beyond my understand makes it easy for me to not accept life at face value. It enables me to experience hardship and difficulty and problems and pain and heartache, to morn and grieve my loss, yet still have faith in a brighter day tomorrow, to still enjoy—truly enjoy--the taste of a strawberry Popsicle an hour after a funeral. I am a very sensitive man. I feel compassion for my fellow human beings deeply—sometimes too deeply, the story of injustice by my fellow man in a country thousands of miles from me can bring tears to my eyes and inspire me to attempt to write and fight on their behalf—but at the same time, I still am able to appreciate the life I now have, however disorganized, however uncertain, however painful, however disappointing, however sad, because it is all I have.
In poker, you are not always dealt pocket aces, which is the best starting hand possible. Sometimes, you just have to make the best out of the hand that you are dealt. That is what I do in life. I make the best of what I have, all the while understanding that it could be much better, but accepting it for what it temporarily is, and making the best out of it.
When we focus solely on the things that are wrong with our world, we oftentimes lose sight of all the things that are right with it. The confidence it takes to remain positive in even the worst of circumstances is amazingly attractive to me.
My Plea To Tiyatti
There was a time, years ago, (before the marching, before the picketing, before the sit-ins, before the preaching, before the riots, before Jim Crow, before the struggle) when black folks may have had an excuse to be horrified by the conditions of the public school system as it relates to African-American history. I'm not so sure we have that excuse anymore. As a race, we have become almost impotent--we deal with issues facing our communities only after they have exploded in our faces.
At some point we are no longer able to blame "the system." The most educated and successful within our race have become so consumed by the pursuit of the American Dream that they have left most of our brothers and sisters behind in an American Nightmare.
We can only blame ourselves—majority of the sideline problems that directly affect our communities are self-inflicted. There is no excuse why public schools do not have thorough, integrated courses and classes exposing the rich culture and history of Africans and African Americans.
It's time--I would even argue that it is past time--for our people to stop sitting underneath the shade tree of laziness, waiting on the system to help us. The idea that some other entity can care about us more than we care about ourselves should have permanently evaporated after hurricane Katrina.
Your voice, your passion, your natural curiosity is a powerful one, Tiyatti. I can only imagine how deep and influential your words will become as you continue on your journey into the history of our people. We need that voice—may it come bashing in the doors of our sleeping minds and shake us awake in the middle of the night soon.
Learn. Read. Write. Speak.
You may not know it yet, but a lot of us are listening.
At some point we are no longer able to blame "the system." The most educated and successful within our race have become so consumed by the pursuit of the American Dream that they have left most of our brothers and sisters behind in an American Nightmare.
We can only blame ourselves—majority of the sideline problems that directly affect our communities are self-inflicted. There is no excuse why public schools do not have thorough, integrated courses and classes exposing the rich culture and history of Africans and African Americans.
It's time--I would even argue that it is past time--for our people to stop sitting underneath the shade tree of laziness, waiting on the system to help us. The idea that some other entity can care about us more than we care about ourselves should have permanently evaporated after hurricane Katrina.
Your voice, your passion, your natural curiosity is a powerful one, Tiyatti. I can only imagine how deep and influential your words will become as you continue on your journey into the history of our people. We need that voice—may it come bashing in the doors of our sleeping minds and shake us awake in the middle of the night soon.
Learn. Read. Write. Speak.
You may not know it yet, but a lot of us are listening.
Kunta's Revenge
.
Kunta’s Revenge
The slap of the whip had become too painful to bear. I could feel the skin from my back being ripped away in jagged slabs. Blood and dirt mingled together to form chunks of mud that staggered down my back. I no longer had the strength to scream out my pain. The stench of my own urine made it difficult to breathe. Tears welled up inside my eyes and flowed freely down my face in spurts of intense rage.
The crackle of the whip sounded again. More flesh was snatched from my body. Rusty iron shackles plowed into my wrists and ankles each time I collapsed into silent spasms of pain. My consciousness weaved in and out like the shadow of a clever boxer.
I could hear the whip being whooshed in the air again, ready to lash out at me. I forced my head around and stared back at my captor. Our eyes grabbled for several stubborn seconds. It suddenly became apparent to me that I was about to be murdered.
This realization challenged my resolve. “Is this worth it?” I wondered. “Am I really prepared to die for this?”
A smile formed across my chocolate face. Without warning, my smile began to mutate into a hoarse chuckle that somehow transformed into a vigorous, almost hysterical laughter. Time stuttered clumsily in place as the sound of my laughter vandalized every ear in range. A deep sense of peace enveloped me. I would rather die than tell this inhuman monster that my name is "TOBY!"
I will be Kunta Kinte 'till death.
Kunta’s Revenge
The slap of the whip had become too painful to bear. I could feel the skin from my back being ripped away in jagged slabs. Blood and dirt mingled together to form chunks of mud that staggered down my back. I no longer had the strength to scream out my pain. The stench of my own urine made it difficult to breathe. Tears welled up inside my eyes and flowed freely down my face in spurts of intense rage.
The crackle of the whip sounded again. More flesh was snatched from my body. Rusty iron shackles plowed into my wrists and ankles each time I collapsed into silent spasms of pain. My consciousness weaved in and out like the shadow of a clever boxer.
I could hear the whip being whooshed in the air again, ready to lash out at me. I forced my head around and stared back at my captor. Our eyes grabbled for several stubborn seconds. It suddenly became apparent to me that I was about to be murdered.
This realization challenged my resolve. “Is this worth it?” I wondered. “Am I really prepared to die for this?”
A smile formed across my chocolate face. Without warning, my smile began to mutate into a hoarse chuckle that somehow transformed into a vigorous, almost hysterical laughter. Time stuttered clumsily in place as the sound of my laughter vandalized every ear in range. A deep sense of peace enveloped me. I would rather die than tell this inhuman monster that my name is "TOBY!"
I will be Kunta Kinte 'till death.
The First Love Letter I Ever Wrote as an Adult
Close your eyes for a moment. Seriously. Close your eyes. Not long. Maybe five to six seconds. While you are doing so, I would like for you to take three very deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling everything else that may be on your mind right now. Push everything aside before reading what I am about to say next. Make sure you are alone and able to concentrate completely. Close your eyes now.
Yes, right now. Close your eyes and take deep breaths.
……………………………………………………………………………………………
Open your eyes and imagine something for me. I want you to imagine the deepest love you have ever felt before, a love without pain or hurt. I want you to imagine that love in it’s purest form, before doubt, before heartache. It doesn’t matter when or with whom the love was with or for, just imagine it. I want you to imagine how it felt to love. Imagine what it felt like to be loved back. And just hold that thought for a moment. Remember it. Pure love. Innocent love.
Marlon loves you in that way.
Don’t let go of the memory yet. I want you to try and remember where exactly you felt this pure and deep and innocent love. When you experienced this love, where did the feelings come from? Did you feel it in your stomach? Or did you feel a tingling in your chest? Or was it the thoughts that traveled around in your mind? I want you to remember where you actually felt this love and I want you to place your hand there. I want you to tell me so I can eventually touch you there as well, so that I too can place my hand on the place where your love goes.
Marlon loves you there.
I need for you to concentrate a moment on the feeling that love gave you. If you take a moment to think about it, I’m gambling that you can also tell me what color this love was, what color that feeling was. I know it sounds crazy but just think about it a moment. When you think about the deepest love you have ever known, when you put your hand over the place on your body where you could actually feel this love, can you also put a color to it as well? When you are thinking about this love, what color comes to mind if you had to choose one? Is it light blue? Is it green? Is it red? No matter what the color is, I want you to remember it and tell me. Let that color be bright and radiant in your mind right now. Hold onto it.
Marlon’s love is the same color.
Imagine me now, reaching deep inside of you and using my fingers to paint your entire body with that very same color. Imagine my hands massaging that love, that color, all over your heart, your soul, your being. Can you feel the color spreading throughout your entire being? Can you feel yourself being painted with love this very moment? You are my canvas, and I would like the chance to spend the rest of my life painting a masterpiece on your soul. I would like the chance to dedicate the rest of my life to finding new and exciting ways to make you happy. I would like the chance to one day be the man that you call your husband.
Marlon loves you completely.
“Me and you forever.”
Imagine the tree in the back yard that we carve those words into. Imagine the grandkids that will eventually look at those words and laugh. Imagine a household where your thoughts and opinions and feelings matter. Imagine having someone by your side that supports your decision and encourages you as you pursue your career and dreams. Imagine a relationship where you get to support your man’s dream to become a writer. Imagine a chance to have a solid family unit, mommy and daddy going to PTA meetings, softball games, doctor appointments, school plays, high school graduation, and college graduation. Imagine a world where our kids gets exposed to different cultures, places, and people; a world where they grow up honestly knowing that they can become anything they want in life. Imagine a situation where you never have to struggle again to make ends meet, where your major decisions will be made based on time instead of money. Imagine having someone you trust so completely that you can be your true self around him, someone who is willing to love you in spite of your imperfections and insecurities. Imagine being able to talk about anything with him without ever being judged or condemned, all by a man who wants to take the time to learn who you really are. Imagine a relationship so strong your man will never cheat on you or hurt you intentionally. Imagine a love so powerful that his happiness is based on yours, his pleasure intensified only when you have found pleasure. Imagine never feeling satisfied or complete until the arms of your man is around you. Imagine always feeling safe and secure, knowing that your king will defend his kingdom to the death.
Marlon loves you.
I’ve asked you to imagine these things because they are a portion of the endless possibilities that we have in front of us, they are a few of the things that our relationship has to offer. How much are those possibilities worth to us? How much are we prepared to sacrifice for the relationship to become a reality and reach its full potential? How much are we prepared to give each other, how much are we prepared to take away from each other? How much are we willing to deal with and take in the name of our love?
Imagine. Just imagine,….then let me know if this is possible for us.
Love
Marlon
Yes, right now. Close your eyes and take deep breaths.
……………………………………………………………………………………………
Open your eyes and imagine something for me. I want you to imagine the deepest love you have ever felt before, a love without pain or hurt. I want you to imagine that love in it’s purest form, before doubt, before heartache. It doesn’t matter when or with whom the love was with or for, just imagine it. I want you to imagine how it felt to love. Imagine what it felt like to be loved back. And just hold that thought for a moment. Remember it. Pure love. Innocent love.
Marlon loves you in that way.
Don’t let go of the memory yet. I want you to try and remember where exactly you felt this pure and deep and innocent love. When you experienced this love, where did the feelings come from? Did you feel it in your stomach? Or did you feel a tingling in your chest? Or was it the thoughts that traveled around in your mind? I want you to remember where you actually felt this love and I want you to place your hand there. I want you to tell me so I can eventually touch you there as well, so that I too can place my hand on the place where your love goes.
Marlon loves you there.
I need for you to concentrate a moment on the feeling that love gave you. If you take a moment to think about it, I’m gambling that you can also tell me what color this love was, what color that feeling was. I know it sounds crazy but just think about it a moment. When you think about the deepest love you have ever known, when you put your hand over the place on your body where you could actually feel this love, can you also put a color to it as well? When you are thinking about this love, what color comes to mind if you had to choose one? Is it light blue? Is it green? Is it red? No matter what the color is, I want you to remember it and tell me. Let that color be bright and radiant in your mind right now. Hold onto it.
Marlon’s love is the same color.
Imagine me now, reaching deep inside of you and using my fingers to paint your entire body with that very same color. Imagine my hands massaging that love, that color, all over your heart, your soul, your being. Can you feel the color spreading throughout your entire being? Can you feel yourself being painted with love this very moment? You are my canvas, and I would like the chance to spend the rest of my life painting a masterpiece on your soul. I would like the chance to dedicate the rest of my life to finding new and exciting ways to make you happy. I would like the chance to one day be the man that you call your husband.
Marlon loves you completely.
“Me and you forever.”
Imagine the tree in the back yard that we carve those words into. Imagine the grandkids that will eventually look at those words and laugh. Imagine a household where your thoughts and opinions and feelings matter. Imagine having someone by your side that supports your decision and encourages you as you pursue your career and dreams. Imagine a relationship where you get to support your man’s dream to become a writer. Imagine a chance to have a solid family unit, mommy and daddy going to PTA meetings, softball games, doctor appointments, school plays, high school graduation, and college graduation. Imagine a world where our kids gets exposed to different cultures, places, and people; a world where they grow up honestly knowing that they can become anything they want in life. Imagine a situation where you never have to struggle again to make ends meet, where your major decisions will be made based on time instead of money. Imagine having someone you trust so completely that you can be your true self around him, someone who is willing to love you in spite of your imperfections and insecurities. Imagine being able to talk about anything with him without ever being judged or condemned, all by a man who wants to take the time to learn who you really are. Imagine a relationship so strong your man will never cheat on you or hurt you intentionally. Imagine a love so powerful that his happiness is based on yours, his pleasure intensified only when you have found pleasure. Imagine never feeling satisfied or complete until the arms of your man is around you. Imagine always feeling safe and secure, knowing that your king will defend his kingdom to the death.
Marlon loves you.
I’ve asked you to imagine these things because they are a portion of the endless possibilities that we have in front of us, they are a few of the things that our relationship has to offer. How much are those possibilities worth to us? How much are we prepared to sacrifice for the relationship to become a reality and reach its full potential? How much are we prepared to give each other, how much are we prepared to take away from each other? How much are we willing to deal with and take in the name of our love?
Imagine. Just imagine,….then let me know if this is possible for us.
Love
Marlon
Please Shut Up!!
"If you haven't snatched up a few rifles and aimed them at the war criminals in Darfur; if you haven't yanked out your billfolds and purses and tossed something into Sudan; if you haven't attempted to explain to the ignorant masses how genocide affects us all; if you haven't found a way to volunteer your time to help the thousands of missing black children displaced by hurricane Katrina; if you haven't done anything of substance to help uplift black folks you don't know (and, by the way, donating money to your church so your pastor can own three Mercedes and live in a half million dollar home doesn't count as a contribution to the struggle); if you haven't given my generation of hoodlums anything other than lip service; then please, pretty please, shut the hell up when your mouth dares to limp open and criticize the youth or black males or black role models or sagging pants or scantily dressed women or gangster music or spinning rims or anything else that seems to irritate you about the hip-hop generation. Please, just shut up. Our people are being exterminated right in front of our eyes and you are down here frowning, with your nose in the air, over a pair of jeans that happens to hang too low? Most of you struggled-out has-beens are just too lost for words."
--Marlon leTerrance (Nightshade)
--Marlon leTerrance (Nightshade)
Tough Love from a Black Dr. Phil
(Imagine A Black Dr. Phil Speaking to a room filled with strong, intelligent, and single Black women)
This may sound cruel, sis, but chances are good you are not ready for love. I know you sometimes close your eyes at night and imagine one day sleeping in the arms of happiness and comfort, but it's probably just a dream. You have various men vying endlessly for your attention virtually everyday, yet you hold out for that mythical Romeo who will somehow sneak up behind you and snatch your heart away without you even knowing it's been taken. I can understand that thoughts like these make it easier to wobble through your day, but Romeo doesn't exist. The only hearts that get snatched up are the ones in hospitals and cheap romance novels. It's time for you to grow up, sis, and step into the real world.
I know you say you are a strong woman. You sit back and remember all the things you have had to deal with in your life. You have had to experience a long list of horrible things--some of them things so haunting only your closest counterparts know about them. It wasn't easy for you being a woman fending for yourself in this world. You learned not to get too close to people, for they will hurt you. You swore never to trust a man completely, for he is prone to betraying you. You refuse to give your body or heart to anyone who is unable to guarantee your well-being and emotional security. You claim to be too strong of a woman to let love and happiness fool you into heartache again. But that's not strength--that's fear, that's cowardice. I'm sorry to sound mean, sis, but you are lying to yourself.
You have to wake up, sis. This isn't the playground anymore. When lil Jon Jon pushed you off the monkey bars in grade school and you fell, twisting your leg, it was ok to ball up in a corner and cry your heart out back then. You are a woman now. Life is not fair. Happiness is not easy. Love usually involves risk. If you can't play by the rules of the adult world, step off to the sidelines. There is no room for backseat drivers here. I know how scary it sometimes is when you attempt to trust someone new. But you are a queen now, sis; you can't use the same high school excuses you used in the past. You need to be preparing a powerful empire for yourself and your children. And this cannot be done sitting in the passenger seat of life whining and complaining about the trials and tribulations of your past. Congratulate yourself for having the good fortune to overcome the adversity you experienced in the past--because a lot of women never made it--and move on. Seriously, move on. You can never step completely into the future when you have one foot stuck in the past.
A guy broke your heart before? A guy cheated on you? A guy lied to you and played mind games with you for no real reason at all? Get over it, sis. Guys have been breaking women hearts since the beginning of time. That's just life. If you are going to proclaim to be a strong woman then act like one. A "strong" woman doesn't allow a few bad experiences to ruin who she is as a person. If you have discovered over the course of time that you have become colder, more bitter, and less willing to embrace life and love as a result of a few scandalous men, then you need to certainly re-evaluate yourself. That's not strength--that's destruction. Don't allow any man nor any experience to destroy who you are. If you shy away from intimacy because you are afraid of getting hurt, that's not strength--that's fear. Strong women smile--even when life and love tries to tell her there's no reason to smile. Pain is a consequence of being human. Everyone will eventually experience it. It's the person you allow yourself to become after you experience pain that is the true test of your strength. Don't let a broken heart break you.
I'm sorry this is taking so long, sis, but you need to get your head together. What's up with all the sexual hang-ups? You can't have sex with the lights on? You feel like a slut or pervert when a male attempts to explore the outer limits of your sexual desires? Who sent out the memo that intelligent black women can't have natural sexual urges? Human beings are sexual creatures, sis, it is a part of our design. I know some of you think you are not attractive. You're either too fat, too short, too skinny or too tall. Listen to me, sis, before any man can ever appreciate your beautiful, you have to appreciate it yourself. I know that some of you may have been abused sexually. I've heard accounts of sick uncles or other close males taking advantage of you when you were young and defenseless. I feel your pain, sis. If I could, I'd cut off their dicks and mail an inch back to them every other year. But no amount of vengeance displayed on my part can heal the mental and emotional wounds you now torture yourself with. You have to move on. If you allow those sick bastards to ruin your sexual development, they win. At some point you have to find a way to resolve your issues and blossom into the flower God intended you to be. I think that point is now. Tackle the problem now and move on. Every male is not the enemy.
Why are you making the same mistakes over and over again when it comes to picking out a male partner? You can't blame men anymore, sis, the problem is now internal. If every guy you date cheats on you, you need to take a time out and see what it is about yourself that makes you yearn for selfish and inconsiderate individuals who have no regards for your feelings. Could it be that you are shallow and narrow minded in your selection process? Maybe you only date tall, handsome guys. Maybe you are more concerned about the size of his bank account than the size of his moral values. Maybe you spent so much time talking about his big house and fancy cars, that you didn't take the time to talk about his character. Maybe you got so distracted by the material things he was spoiling you with that you missed out on the warning signs that he has an abusive personality. It could be a number of things. Maybe you are so lonely that you are willing to settle for any man rather than be stuck with no man at all. No matter what the exact situation is, you have to get your focus back, sis. You want security, and i understand that. But don't sacrifice self security for finacial security or even emotional security. Remain a class act. If you go out of your way to attract males by revealing your ass and body, don't be surprised when males come at you wanting your ass and body. You reap what you sow in this world, so be careful the seeds you toss out there amongst men. I know you are a smart woman. But when you use your body and sex as a tool to pull guys in, that's not intelligence--that's manipulation.
Stop playing with God, sis, that's not cool at all. Every time you meet a guy and start quoting scripture and proclaiming the importance of religion in your life, you end up looking like a hypocrite weeks later when he discovers it's not the real you. This isn't the Essence or Vibe awards where 50 Cent can threaten to shoot twelve dudes and brag about fucking a whole cheerleading squad and then, in the next breath, give thanks to God and proclaim Jesus comes first in his life. Don't make a fool out of yourself like that. We are not perfect. All of us will eventually fall short when it comes to the purpose laid down for us by God. But I don't agree with the idea of "faking it until you make it." Your actions speak much louder than your words. If you are not going to at least give a wholehearted attempt to follow the path of righteousness, please stop preaching your sainthood to every brother who gets close to you. It makes you look stupid. Besides, when you are truly on the path of righteousness, you don't have to say a single word. Men will know because they will see it in your actions. Don't talk about it, sis, be about it. Other wise, shut up.
I know it seems like I've come down on you hard, sis. But I see something in you that you possibly don't even see in yourself. You are beautiful. I don't want that beauty to fade away. I have hurt a lot of women in my short lifetime. I've traveled down the bad guy road most of my life. Now I want to give back to you the lessons I have learned. This is why I am letting you know now, possibly for the first time in my life, that I love you, sis. You are the woman every black man needs by his side. Don't let a few horrible romantic experiences compromise your womanhood. You are the queen our ancestors fought for and struggled for and sacrificed their lives for. Don't let your past experiences and pain dethrone you. Life is hard. Live it anyway. Happiness is elusive. Find it anyway. Love is risky and painful and difficult. But that's exactly why you should love even harder next time.
---Marlon leTerrance (Inmate20173)
This may sound cruel, sis, but chances are good you are not ready for love. I know you sometimes close your eyes at night and imagine one day sleeping in the arms of happiness and comfort, but it's probably just a dream. You have various men vying endlessly for your attention virtually everyday, yet you hold out for that mythical Romeo who will somehow sneak up behind you and snatch your heart away without you even knowing it's been taken. I can understand that thoughts like these make it easier to wobble through your day, but Romeo doesn't exist. The only hearts that get snatched up are the ones in hospitals and cheap romance novels. It's time for you to grow up, sis, and step into the real world.
I know you say you are a strong woman. You sit back and remember all the things you have had to deal with in your life. You have had to experience a long list of horrible things--some of them things so haunting only your closest counterparts know about them. It wasn't easy for you being a woman fending for yourself in this world. You learned not to get too close to people, for they will hurt you. You swore never to trust a man completely, for he is prone to betraying you. You refuse to give your body or heart to anyone who is unable to guarantee your well-being and emotional security. You claim to be too strong of a woman to let love and happiness fool you into heartache again. But that's not strength--that's fear, that's cowardice. I'm sorry to sound mean, sis, but you are lying to yourself.
You have to wake up, sis. This isn't the playground anymore. When lil Jon Jon pushed you off the monkey bars in grade school and you fell, twisting your leg, it was ok to ball up in a corner and cry your heart out back then. You are a woman now. Life is not fair. Happiness is not easy. Love usually involves risk. If you can't play by the rules of the adult world, step off to the sidelines. There is no room for backseat drivers here. I know how scary it sometimes is when you attempt to trust someone new. But you are a queen now, sis; you can't use the same high school excuses you used in the past. You need to be preparing a powerful empire for yourself and your children. And this cannot be done sitting in the passenger seat of life whining and complaining about the trials and tribulations of your past. Congratulate yourself for having the good fortune to overcome the adversity you experienced in the past--because a lot of women never made it--and move on. Seriously, move on. You can never step completely into the future when you have one foot stuck in the past.
A guy broke your heart before? A guy cheated on you? A guy lied to you and played mind games with you for no real reason at all? Get over it, sis. Guys have been breaking women hearts since the beginning of time. That's just life. If you are going to proclaim to be a strong woman then act like one. A "strong" woman doesn't allow a few bad experiences to ruin who she is as a person. If you have discovered over the course of time that you have become colder, more bitter, and less willing to embrace life and love as a result of a few scandalous men, then you need to certainly re-evaluate yourself. That's not strength--that's destruction. Don't allow any man nor any experience to destroy who you are. If you shy away from intimacy because you are afraid of getting hurt, that's not strength--that's fear. Strong women smile--even when life and love tries to tell her there's no reason to smile. Pain is a consequence of being human. Everyone will eventually experience it. It's the person you allow yourself to become after you experience pain that is the true test of your strength. Don't let a broken heart break you.
I'm sorry this is taking so long, sis, but you need to get your head together. What's up with all the sexual hang-ups? You can't have sex with the lights on? You feel like a slut or pervert when a male attempts to explore the outer limits of your sexual desires? Who sent out the memo that intelligent black women can't have natural sexual urges? Human beings are sexual creatures, sis, it is a part of our design. I know some of you think you are not attractive. You're either too fat, too short, too skinny or too tall. Listen to me, sis, before any man can ever appreciate your beautiful, you have to appreciate it yourself. I know that some of you may have been abused sexually. I've heard accounts of sick uncles or other close males taking advantage of you when you were young and defenseless. I feel your pain, sis. If I could, I'd cut off their dicks and mail an inch back to them every other year. But no amount of vengeance displayed on my part can heal the mental and emotional wounds you now torture yourself with. You have to move on. If you allow those sick bastards to ruin your sexual development, they win. At some point you have to find a way to resolve your issues and blossom into the flower God intended you to be. I think that point is now. Tackle the problem now and move on. Every male is not the enemy.
Why are you making the same mistakes over and over again when it comes to picking out a male partner? You can't blame men anymore, sis, the problem is now internal. If every guy you date cheats on you, you need to take a time out and see what it is about yourself that makes you yearn for selfish and inconsiderate individuals who have no regards for your feelings. Could it be that you are shallow and narrow minded in your selection process? Maybe you only date tall, handsome guys. Maybe you are more concerned about the size of his bank account than the size of his moral values. Maybe you spent so much time talking about his big house and fancy cars, that you didn't take the time to talk about his character. Maybe you got so distracted by the material things he was spoiling you with that you missed out on the warning signs that he has an abusive personality. It could be a number of things. Maybe you are so lonely that you are willing to settle for any man rather than be stuck with no man at all. No matter what the exact situation is, you have to get your focus back, sis. You want security, and i understand that. But don't sacrifice self security for finacial security or even emotional security. Remain a class act. If you go out of your way to attract males by revealing your ass and body, don't be surprised when males come at you wanting your ass and body. You reap what you sow in this world, so be careful the seeds you toss out there amongst men. I know you are a smart woman. But when you use your body and sex as a tool to pull guys in, that's not intelligence--that's manipulation.
Stop playing with God, sis, that's not cool at all. Every time you meet a guy and start quoting scripture and proclaiming the importance of religion in your life, you end up looking like a hypocrite weeks later when he discovers it's not the real you. This isn't the Essence or Vibe awards where 50 Cent can threaten to shoot twelve dudes and brag about fucking a whole cheerleading squad and then, in the next breath, give thanks to God and proclaim Jesus comes first in his life. Don't make a fool out of yourself like that. We are not perfect. All of us will eventually fall short when it comes to the purpose laid down for us by God. But I don't agree with the idea of "faking it until you make it." Your actions speak much louder than your words. If you are not going to at least give a wholehearted attempt to follow the path of righteousness, please stop preaching your sainthood to every brother who gets close to you. It makes you look stupid. Besides, when you are truly on the path of righteousness, you don't have to say a single word. Men will know because they will see it in your actions. Don't talk about it, sis, be about it. Other wise, shut up.
I know it seems like I've come down on you hard, sis. But I see something in you that you possibly don't even see in yourself. You are beautiful. I don't want that beauty to fade away. I have hurt a lot of women in my short lifetime. I've traveled down the bad guy road most of my life. Now I want to give back to you the lessons I have learned. This is why I am letting you know now, possibly for the first time in my life, that I love you, sis. You are the woman every black man needs by his side. Don't let a few horrible romantic experiences compromise your womanhood. You are the queen our ancestors fought for and struggled for and sacrificed their lives for. Don't let your past experiences and pain dethrone you. Life is hard. Live it anyway. Happiness is elusive. Find it anyway. Love is risky and painful and difficult. But that's exactly why you should love even harder next time.
---Marlon leTerrance (Inmate20173)
The Truth About Marlon, portion IV
"I've changed a lot over the years--almost to the point of becoming a square--but I still have crook tendencies. I never sit with my back to people. I won't give strangers my real name or age. Only folks I trust with my life know where I live. And I don't believe anything a person says until they prove it with their actions."
--Marlon leTerrance
--Marlon leTerrance
The Truth About Marlon, portion III
"Don't get it twisted--I am not a good guy at all. I cut the slang out of my vocabulary, but I couldn't quite rip the slang from my mentality. I'm not a saint. I wear designer suits now instead of sagging pants and long white T-shirts, but the shoulder holster still fits. I'm not a role model. I've added Frank Sinatra to my iPod collection, but 2Pac never left. Don't let my looks fool you; don't let my success blind you; don't let my written words trick you--I haven't always been this mellow. Look into my eyes. My heart pumps secrets and mysteries in greater quantities than blood. I'm still a shadow, still unpredictable, still dangerous. Look DEEP into my eyes. Now tell me what you see."
---Marlon leTerrance (NightShade)
---Marlon leTerrance (NightShade)
The Truth About Marlon, portion II
"I've come a long way. I walked inside my first crack house at seven, visited the White House a dozen years later, and toured the House of Commons a few years ago. I've seen too much in my short lifetime. My dinner table has hosted notorious gangsters on one night and conservative mayors on the next. I'm a chameleon--I blend too easily into both worlds. I want to escape. I want to walk away from it all and just dedicate the rest of my life to discovering a religious truth and helping humanity. But I'm trapped. I'm incarcerated by my dreams and my ambitions."
--Marlon leTerrance (Inmate20173)
--Marlon leTerrance (Inmate20173)
The Truth About Marlon, portion I
"I hustle words and pimp sentences. On those rare days when the block is dry and my people are fiending for a fix, I deal out essays. Someone has to defend my generation of hoodlums. Since I was one of them for so long, I figure it might as well be me."
--Marlon leTerrance
--Marlon leTerrance
Cupid
I caught up with Cupid a few months ago at Starbucks and cornered him against the wall. He seemed exhausted, possibly even a bit frightened. His arrows were old and worn out, and his bow seemed lopsided and splintered. I didn't have time to tell him the Christmas list of qualities I wanted in a woman, so I settled for the cliff note version:
"She has to be smart, but not so smart she knows everything. I want her to be beautiful, but that beauty should shine through with her smile and personality and eyes, and not just with her looks. She should have class, possibly even sophistication, but there must be at least a pinch of street in her--enough jazziness in her demeanor to hold her own when I'm not there to smash whatever problem confronts her. She has to be feminine--I grew up in a world where everyone had to be hard and calloused; I'm looking for softness now, even kindness and joy. Strong, spontaneous and have a deep passion for life. Sensual and fun and adventurous. She must like to read--I am a writer, so my words have to be able to touch her deeply on the inside. Spiritual and independent. I will always stand by her side and have her back no matter what--she has to do the same. A ride-or-die chick who is prepared to be Bonnie--because I have spent most of my life being Clyde. And when she loves, when she finally opens the floodgates to her heart, she must be a female who loves hard. She will get the same in return."
Cupid glanced over my shoulder when I was finished, but none of the people passing by dared to help. His voice sounded hesitant and shaky when he finally opened his lips to speak. "And if such a woman doesn't exist"
"Then I will be single for the rest of my life." I replied, my eyes as cold and certain about this fact as they had ever been about anything in my life.
---Marlon leTerrance
"She has to be smart, but not so smart she knows everything. I want her to be beautiful, but that beauty should shine through with her smile and personality and eyes, and not just with her looks. She should have class, possibly even sophistication, but there must be at least a pinch of street in her--enough jazziness in her demeanor to hold her own when I'm not there to smash whatever problem confronts her. She has to be feminine--I grew up in a world where everyone had to be hard and calloused; I'm looking for softness now, even kindness and joy. Strong, spontaneous and have a deep passion for life. Sensual and fun and adventurous. She must like to read--I am a writer, so my words have to be able to touch her deeply on the inside. Spiritual and independent. I will always stand by her side and have her back no matter what--she has to do the same. A ride-or-die chick who is prepared to be Bonnie--because I have spent most of my life being Clyde. And when she loves, when she finally opens the floodgates to her heart, she must be a female who loves hard. She will get the same in return."
Cupid glanced over my shoulder when I was finished, but none of the people passing by dared to help. His voice sounded hesitant and shaky when he finally opened his lips to speak. "And if such a woman doesn't exist"
"Then I will be single for the rest of my life." I replied, my eyes as cold and certain about this fact as they had ever been about anything in my life.
---Marlon leTerrance
Emotional Maturity
By Marlon leTerrance
Donna loved Tony the moment she met him. He was tall, handsome, and extremely wealthy. Donna couldn't believe her luck. Tony was the sort of man she had always wanted. He was articulate and always knew what he wanted in life. He was the man of her dreams. Not even a hour into their first date, Donna could already image how envious her girlfriends would be. Tony was showoff material, and Donna couldn't wait to show him off.
The couple managed to date for almost six months before the relationship toured sour. Tony remained the wealthy, articulate, and confident young man he had always been. But Donna soon realized that Tony was also an egotistical, selfish, and irritatingly moody man. It wasn’t long before the man Donna couldn’t wait to show off to her friends became the very same man she couldn’t stand being around.
There are a lot of females like Donna. Many of these women are not anxious to hear that they are fake and hypocritical when it comes to love and relationships, but the truth is fairly clean cut. You can only get out of a potential relationship the things you put into it. When you fill your idea of love and romance with superficial expectations you can only expect superficial results.
Love is not how much money a guy makes. True relationships are not beauty contests. It may feel good to have your friend's and family members tossing you kudos for having such a wonderful man in your life, but that's not a real relationship. That's just a childish, emotional show-and-tell session that never lasts longer than the initial flourish of interests.
In college, Donna wasn’t attracted to men who didn’t fit her physical requirements. If a guy wasn’t at least six feet tall, he was automatically disqualified. Looking back, she now seems to regret her decisions. “I was so shallow back then. I thought I wanted love, but as I think about it now, I realize how emotionally lacking I was. I wanted a status symbol. In the same way that I bought expensive cars, not for their safety records or performance, but for their social status, I somehow expected to select my men in that way as well. I had to learn the hard way—via heartache and tears—that love is more than appearances. It wasn’t easy for me, but eventually I learned to look deeper into a man’s character for qualities that compliment my own.”
Some females are not ready for love. They are still emotionally immature. And much like Donna, they sometimes have to learn, by way of bitter experience, that a true romance doesn’t conform to the shallow expectations of an underdeveloped heart.
When you allow yourself to be attracted to men for all the wrong reasons, your potential relationships will suffer. If the size of a man’s bank account is more important than the depth of his character, then your future relationship is already bankrupt. When you get involved with a man because you hate being alone and not because he has the morals and values that you desire in a soul mate, then you may very well have found an interesting companion for the night, but you will never have love. The success of a romance depends greatly on your emotional maturity. You will forever be incarcerated in a prison of pain and disappointment and heartache when you surround yourself with superficial emotional attachments.
Your heart has the potential to experience true love. You deserve to know what it feels like to be respected and adored by a man you are attracted to. But you have to be willing to shed the blinders that prevent you from appreciating the things that are truly valuable in a relationship. You have to be at a point in your personal development that enables you to appreciate a man for who he is as a person and what he contributes to your emotional well being. This is not an easy process. You have to be comfortable enough with yourself to recognize the reasons why you are sometimes attracted to men who are unhealthy for your emotional and personal growth. It will be difficult to determine why temperamental and possibly even selfish men seems to always be the focus of your attraction, but you have to be willing to search for the answers.
There are several penetrating questions that you have to be willing to ask yourself in order to get a better understanding of your natural choice of men. Did you grow up in an environment where men expressed their love in quiet, distant ways, or were you emotionally spoiled by the men in your family? Have you been taught to equate a man’s insecurities and jealousies as love and affection? Are you under the impression that you are not complete as a woman unless you have a man by your side? Were you led to believe that you have to have a man to take care of you financially in order to be satisfied? Do you have to surround yourself with needy men who expect you to mother them in order for you to feel loved and appreciated?
The answers to these questions are the highways that eventually lead to a better understanding of where you want to go in a relationship. They allow you to glimpse at the blueprint that your mind uses to measure a man’s qualifications. Sometimes it’s easier to correct unhealthy emotional behavior when you are able to pinpoint where they stem from.
Donna loved Tony the moment she met him. He was tall, handsome, and extremely wealthy. Donna couldn't believe her luck. Tony was the sort of man she had always wanted. He was articulate and always knew what he wanted in life. He was the man of her dreams. Not even a hour into their first date, Donna could already image how envious her girlfriends would be. Tony was showoff material, and Donna couldn't wait to show him off.
The couple managed to date for almost six months before the relationship toured sour. Tony remained the wealthy, articulate, and confident young man he had always been. But Donna soon realized that Tony was also an egotistical, selfish, and irritatingly moody man. It wasn’t long before the man Donna couldn’t wait to show off to her friends became the very same man she couldn’t stand being around.
There are a lot of females like Donna. Many of these women are not anxious to hear that they are fake and hypocritical when it comes to love and relationships, but the truth is fairly clean cut. You can only get out of a potential relationship the things you put into it. When you fill your idea of love and romance with superficial expectations you can only expect superficial results.
Love is not how much money a guy makes. True relationships are not beauty contests. It may feel good to have your friend's and family members tossing you kudos for having such a wonderful man in your life, but that's not a real relationship. That's just a childish, emotional show-and-tell session that never lasts longer than the initial flourish of interests.
In college, Donna wasn’t attracted to men who didn’t fit her physical requirements. If a guy wasn’t at least six feet tall, he was automatically disqualified. Looking back, she now seems to regret her decisions. “I was so shallow back then. I thought I wanted love, but as I think about it now, I realize how emotionally lacking I was. I wanted a status symbol. In the same way that I bought expensive cars, not for their safety records or performance, but for their social status, I somehow expected to select my men in that way as well. I had to learn the hard way—via heartache and tears—that love is more than appearances. It wasn’t easy for me, but eventually I learned to look deeper into a man’s character for qualities that compliment my own.”
Some females are not ready for love. They are still emotionally immature. And much like Donna, they sometimes have to learn, by way of bitter experience, that a true romance doesn’t conform to the shallow expectations of an underdeveloped heart.
When you allow yourself to be attracted to men for all the wrong reasons, your potential relationships will suffer. If the size of a man’s bank account is more important than the depth of his character, then your future relationship is already bankrupt. When you get involved with a man because you hate being alone and not because he has the morals and values that you desire in a soul mate, then you may very well have found an interesting companion for the night, but you will never have love. The success of a romance depends greatly on your emotional maturity. You will forever be incarcerated in a prison of pain and disappointment and heartache when you surround yourself with superficial emotional attachments.
Your heart has the potential to experience true love. You deserve to know what it feels like to be respected and adored by a man you are attracted to. But you have to be willing to shed the blinders that prevent you from appreciating the things that are truly valuable in a relationship. You have to be at a point in your personal development that enables you to appreciate a man for who he is as a person and what he contributes to your emotional well being. This is not an easy process. You have to be comfortable enough with yourself to recognize the reasons why you are sometimes attracted to men who are unhealthy for your emotional and personal growth. It will be difficult to determine why temperamental and possibly even selfish men seems to always be the focus of your attraction, but you have to be willing to search for the answers.
There are several penetrating questions that you have to be willing to ask yourself in order to get a better understanding of your natural choice of men. Did you grow up in an environment where men expressed their love in quiet, distant ways, or were you emotionally spoiled by the men in your family? Have you been taught to equate a man’s insecurities and jealousies as love and affection? Are you under the impression that you are not complete as a woman unless you have a man by your side? Were you led to believe that you have to have a man to take care of you financially in order to be satisfied? Do you have to surround yourself with needy men who expect you to mother them in order for you to feel loved and appreciated?
The answers to these questions are the highways that eventually lead to a better understanding of where you want to go in a relationship. They allow you to glimpse at the blueprint that your mind uses to measure a man’s qualifications. Sometimes it’s easier to correct unhealthy emotional behavior when you are able to pinpoint where they stem from.
THE MISTAKE:
THE MISTAKE: When No Means No
By Marlon leTerrance (inmate20173)
It’s an issue that burrows itself into the darkest corner of our community’s closet. People just do not want to talk about it. They swerve around the issue, attempting to avoid the problem the way observant motorists avoid potholes. Some folks would rather pretend like it’s not even an issue at all. Ask them to point out their opinion and they cook up distasteful one-liners that emphasize their discomfort with the question. Other folks prefer to wish the problem away--somehow convincing themselves that if they just ignore it long enough, it will disappear.
The issue is rape.
And it hasn’t disappeared.
I was eight years old when I first witnessed an incident of sexual assault. My buddies and I were the neighborhood’s Peeping Toms; we saw almost everything that we weren’t supposed to see. And rape--along with drug dealing and violence--was one of the things we witnessed the most often.
At the time, we thought it was normal. Two teenagers wrestling in the back seat of a Monte Carlo; the female groaning “Stop” and “Hold Up,” while the male cajoled her with a soothing “I’ll Be Easy” and “Just Let Me Go Half Way.” The ending culminated with whispery whimpers of the female crying, and the raspy sounds of the guy apologizing to her and prophesizing that everything will be all right.
Two days later we saw the two teenagers holding hands and kissing in the park, beside the basketball court. The lesson this taught my buddies and me was crystal clear--she had said no, but didn’t mean it. Our understanding of sex and sexual assault was still immature and underdeveloped. For us, sex education lied between the tattered pages of an out-dated Hustler’s magazine. Every now and again, a hip teenager would boast about his countless conquests, and we would all stare up at him in awe--hardly able to wait for the day when we could wrestle in the back of a Monte Carlo too.
For about three years, I carried this ignorance along with me like a picture tucked inside a worn-out wallet. Sex, not love, was the ultimate field goal attempt. On the third year, the realities of rape came banging on my front door at three o’clock in the morning.
I remember my mother scrambling out of bed, cursing. Sounds of things falling to the floor when the door opened sent panic messages to my brain. At first, I thought it was an intruder. I bolted out of bed and stormed into the living room, prepared to defend my mother and our home. Instead, I was greeted with the frightening sight of my aunt Tam--on her knees, crying, and squeezing my mother around the waist. I stood there, paralyzed for a moment, not quite comprehending the situation.
The images of that night would haunt a tender part of my youth. I will never forget the torn brown blouse, the bloodied lip, nor the desperate, almost mad way in which my aunt clung onto my mother. I remember hearing my aunt ramble on and on about a bastard who wouldn’t stop when she told him to. Confusion overwhelmed me. Had someone hurt her? I was able to overhear a few other perplexing remarks before my mother yelled out at me and demanded that I go back to bed.
The next day, at school, I asked a few of my buddies to help me find a guy named Bastard. Armed with baseball bats and misplaced courage, I was certain that we could exact revenge. My great aunt Roz laughed at me when she found out about our quest. She sat me down one morning and gave me my second lesson on sex. “Ain’t no sense in you getting all mad bout it. It’s her fault. I told her over and over again bout walking around dressed like some heifer. She always hanging around in them clubs at all times of the night, flirting with them hoodlums. She brought it all on herself. What was she doing at the fool’s house that late at night, anyway? I ain’t stupid, boy. And you shouldn’t be either.”
Aunt Roz’s words represented the sentiments of many folks in the neighborhood. At church, the whispers of several old ladies gossiping highlighted aunt Tam’s guilt. She had been put on trial by the community and had been sentenced to a life of shame. Instead of trying to discover the identity of the man who had raped her, the old ladies in church wanted to know what she was wearing. Consequently, my buddies and I stopped looking for Bastard. Obviously, he had done nothing wrong. Still, the image of my aunt Tam on the floor, clinging onto my mother by the waist, never quite faded.
Today, my family refers to aunt Tam’s rape as “The Mistake.” Over a dozen years later, the pillars of my family and my community are still unable to tackle the issue of rape head on. They hide behind the illusion of religion and self-worth in order to point guilty fingers at the flaws of others. They are fake, wannabe-important lapdogs who hide from any issue that threatens to disrupt the harmony inside their fancy little doghouses.
According to Dr. David G. Curtis, a clinical Psychologist, only about five percent of acquaintance rapes (date rapes) are reported. It is not hard for me to imagine why many females opt out of seeking legal action. In a community that lets criminals off the hook by persecuting the victim, most women would rather attempt to heal themselves than have their pain and suffering turned into a public spectacle. Yet, the self-healing solution never really works. Dr. Claire Siliotti, director of a volunteer Rape Response Team in New York, argues that rape “isn’t something a female can just ‘get over’ like a sprained ankle or broken arm. When a woman is raped, she is violated completely--physically, mentally, and spiritually.” And, in my eyes, the violation continues when the response of the community is to blame the victim.
In an article on sisterspace.com, Charollette Pierce-Baker, author of Surviving The Silence: Black Women’s Stories of Rape, explained her dilemma. “The one thing I didn’t want was pity. I bought into the whole mythology of rape. I felt this had sullied me or dirtied me in some way. I thought it made me less touchable.”
I charge the community with “accessory to the crime of rape after the fact” when it sits on a high horse and attempts to degrade women for seeking justice. Those nice old ladies in my church who were so quick to shower my aunt with shameful accusations and demeaning glances, only served to make a horrible situation even worse. It may have given those bored hypocrites something to gossip about during Monday Night Bingo, but their response shattered a life that was already broken.
About five years ago, before she died of breast cancer, I asked my aunt Tam to tell me what happened that night. I listened as she recounted, for the first time, the night that would change her life.
“The guy was a Deacon in the church. That’s why I kept quiet about it. I knew no one would believe me. So I just told people it was a stranger I’d met at a club.” Her voice was solemn and coarse. The irony of her words angered me. No one believed her even when she claimed the guy was a stranger.
Over the past twelve years, I’ve had the opportunity to talk with several convicted rapists. All too often, they argued that the female wanted it to happen. “She was a whore…” “Everybody else had had her…” “How can she expect me to just stop in the middle of the act?” These guys seemed to believe they were innocent. To them, a rapist was a lunatic who attacked female joggers in a park with switchblades. The idea of date rape and sexual assault being a serious crime was dismissed as an inner-city reality. Even amidst my disgust, a part of me couldn’t help but to wonder if they too had learned about the laws of intimacy through the steamed up windows of a Monte Carlo.
By Marlon leTerrance (inmate20173)
It’s an issue that burrows itself into the darkest corner of our community’s closet. People just do not want to talk about it. They swerve around the issue, attempting to avoid the problem the way observant motorists avoid potholes. Some folks would rather pretend like it’s not even an issue at all. Ask them to point out their opinion and they cook up distasteful one-liners that emphasize their discomfort with the question. Other folks prefer to wish the problem away--somehow convincing themselves that if they just ignore it long enough, it will disappear.
The issue is rape.
And it hasn’t disappeared.
I was eight years old when I first witnessed an incident of sexual assault. My buddies and I were the neighborhood’s Peeping Toms; we saw almost everything that we weren’t supposed to see. And rape--along with drug dealing and violence--was one of the things we witnessed the most often.
At the time, we thought it was normal. Two teenagers wrestling in the back seat of a Monte Carlo; the female groaning “Stop” and “Hold Up,” while the male cajoled her with a soothing “I’ll Be Easy” and “Just Let Me Go Half Way.” The ending culminated with whispery whimpers of the female crying, and the raspy sounds of the guy apologizing to her and prophesizing that everything will be all right.
Two days later we saw the two teenagers holding hands and kissing in the park, beside the basketball court. The lesson this taught my buddies and me was crystal clear--she had said no, but didn’t mean it. Our understanding of sex and sexual assault was still immature and underdeveloped. For us, sex education lied between the tattered pages of an out-dated Hustler’s magazine. Every now and again, a hip teenager would boast about his countless conquests, and we would all stare up at him in awe--hardly able to wait for the day when we could wrestle in the back of a Monte Carlo too.
For about three years, I carried this ignorance along with me like a picture tucked inside a worn-out wallet. Sex, not love, was the ultimate field goal attempt. On the third year, the realities of rape came banging on my front door at three o’clock in the morning.
I remember my mother scrambling out of bed, cursing. Sounds of things falling to the floor when the door opened sent panic messages to my brain. At first, I thought it was an intruder. I bolted out of bed and stormed into the living room, prepared to defend my mother and our home. Instead, I was greeted with the frightening sight of my aunt Tam--on her knees, crying, and squeezing my mother around the waist. I stood there, paralyzed for a moment, not quite comprehending the situation.
The images of that night would haunt a tender part of my youth. I will never forget the torn brown blouse, the bloodied lip, nor the desperate, almost mad way in which my aunt clung onto my mother. I remember hearing my aunt ramble on and on about a bastard who wouldn’t stop when she told him to. Confusion overwhelmed me. Had someone hurt her? I was able to overhear a few other perplexing remarks before my mother yelled out at me and demanded that I go back to bed.
The next day, at school, I asked a few of my buddies to help me find a guy named Bastard. Armed with baseball bats and misplaced courage, I was certain that we could exact revenge. My great aunt Roz laughed at me when she found out about our quest. She sat me down one morning and gave me my second lesson on sex. “Ain’t no sense in you getting all mad bout it. It’s her fault. I told her over and over again bout walking around dressed like some heifer. She always hanging around in them clubs at all times of the night, flirting with them hoodlums. She brought it all on herself. What was she doing at the fool’s house that late at night, anyway? I ain’t stupid, boy. And you shouldn’t be either.”
Aunt Roz’s words represented the sentiments of many folks in the neighborhood. At church, the whispers of several old ladies gossiping highlighted aunt Tam’s guilt. She had been put on trial by the community and had been sentenced to a life of shame. Instead of trying to discover the identity of the man who had raped her, the old ladies in church wanted to know what she was wearing. Consequently, my buddies and I stopped looking for Bastard. Obviously, he had done nothing wrong. Still, the image of my aunt Tam on the floor, clinging onto my mother by the waist, never quite faded.
Today, my family refers to aunt Tam’s rape as “The Mistake.” Over a dozen years later, the pillars of my family and my community are still unable to tackle the issue of rape head on. They hide behind the illusion of religion and self-worth in order to point guilty fingers at the flaws of others. They are fake, wannabe-important lapdogs who hide from any issue that threatens to disrupt the harmony inside their fancy little doghouses.
According to Dr. David G. Curtis, a clinical Psychologist, only about five percent of acquaintance rapes (date rapes) are reported. It is not hard for me to imagine why many females opt out of seeking legal action. In a community that lets criminals off the hook by persecuting the victim, most women would rather attempt to heal themselves than have their pain and suffering turned into a public spectacle. Yet, the self-healing solution never really works. Dr. Claire Siliotti, director of a volunteer Rape Response Team in New York, argues that rape “isn’t something a female can just ‘get over’ like a sprained ankle or broken arm. When a woman is raped, she is violated completely--physically, mentally, and spiritually.” And, in my eyes, the violation continues when the response of the community is to blame the victim.
In an article on sisterspace.com, Charollette Pierce-Baker, author of Surviving The Silence: Black Women’s Stories of Rape, explained her dilemma. “The one thing I didn’t want was pity. I bought into the whole mythology of rape. I felt this had sullied me or dirtied me in some way. I thought it made me less touchable.”
I charge the community with “accessory to the crime of rape after the fact” when it sits on a high horse and attempts to degrade women for seeking justice. Those nice old ladies in my church who were so quick to shower my aunt with shameful accusations and demeaning glances, only served to make a horrible situation even worse. It may have given those bored hypocrites something to gossip about during Monday Night Bingo, but their response shattered a life that was already broken.
About five years ago, before she died of breast cancer, I asked my aunt Tam to tell me what happened that night. I listened as she recounted, for the first time, the night that would change her life.
“The guy was a Deacon in the church. That’s why I kept quiet about it. I knew no one would believe me. So I just told people it was a stranger I’d met at a club.” Her voice was solemn and coarse. The irony of her words angered me. No one believed her even when she claimed the guy was a stranger.
Over the past twelve years, I’ve had the opportunity to talk with several convicted rapists. All too often, they argued that the female wanted it to happen. “She was a whore…” “Everybody else had had her…” “How can she expect me to just stop in the middle of the act?” These guys seemed to believe they were innocent. To them, a rapist was a lunatic who attacked female joggers in a park with switchblades. The idea of date rape and sexual assault being a serious crime was dismissed as an inner-city reality. Even amidst my disgust, a part of me couldn’t help but to wonder if they too had learned about the laws of intimacy through the steamed up windows of a Monte Carlo.
The Murder of Black Women:
The Murder of Black Women: The Apology From A Black Man
By Marlon leTerrance (Inmate20173)
Have a seat sister; this may take a while. Don’t be afraid. The two pistols you see smoking in my hands are harmless now. Both clips are empty, much like a Larry Elders speech. And even though I was aiming at the System when I first unloaded shots into the air, I see now that I missed the target. The System remains intact while you sit wounded and battle-weary from decades of bullets being lodged deep into your heart and soul.
I murdered you many times. Still, you didn’t die--not even once.
I apologize for abandoning you and leaving you to fend for yourself in a world as cruel as it is cold. I should have supported you when you offered to be apart of the struggle. But the struggle was an internal one as well as an external one, and I was losing on both fronts. I got mad at you for straightening your hair, for slow dancing in the arms of white men, for challenging my manhood and comparing it to other races. I hated the way the System divided us by promoting you and demoting me, but instead of uniting with you and having your back, I attacked you and left you alone in your grief.
I apologize for flaunting white women in your face as soon as I got money or fame. I was suffering from a mental illness that had me believing that my self-worth had to be approved by blue eyes. I know it hurt you to see me betray you so quickly, so easily, and so often. I had you feeling as though you were not worthy to be in my arms when the opposite was true. I was not worthy of yours.
I apologize for calling you a “bitch” and a “hoe” and treating you like a sexual object in my music, and in the streets, and amongst my homeboys. I felt powerless and frustrated, lost in maze of self-hatred. I raped you, and pimped you, and beat you, and cursed you, and tried to destroy you in the same way I felt destroyed. The pressures of society triggered the implosion that almost destroyed everything inside of me. And you got caught up in the blast because you were always so determined to stand firmly by my side.
I murdered you many times. Still, you didn’t die--not even once.
I apologize for cheating on you, abusing you, and leaving you as soon as you got pregnant. I pretended like the child wasn’t mine. I even asked you to kill the baby because I knew I wasn’t responsible enough to rear him/her properly. When you refused, I reluctantly tossed you a few dollars each month and felt like that’s all I had to do to be a father. I apologize for turning you into a single mother instead of a happy wife.
I apologize for selling drugs and going to prison and using the streets as an excuse for my failure. I didn’t want to be like the honest folks in my hood who worked hard and had nothing to show for it. I wanted more out of life but didn’t have the courage or the insight to follow the path of the brothers who worked hard in school to build stable futures and lives for themselves. I grew up angry at the world and my environment. But instead of using this anger in a constructive manner, I beat down and shot up the first brother who stepped on my shoes in the club.
I apologize for dying so young in the streets. I just wanted respect. I just wanted power. And the only people in my hood who possessed these qualities were the gangsters and thugs and dealers. You warned me to be careful. You begged me to slow down. But I didn’t listen. The respect of the street was all I had. It was something I was willing to kill for, to even die for. I was fighting a war against myself, and dying for a cause that didn’t exist.
I apologize for breaking your heart and betraying your trust and hurting you so badly that you became almost as racist as the System. You started calling all black men dogs and writing cruel little Waiting to Exhale type books that spent too much time degrading me instead of explaining that good black men are the majority. Your anger and books flew high, like African Jehaka birds, towards the tree branches of my soul. But instead of forgiving me and attempting to rebuild your nest, your anger and books mutated into woodpeckers and you pecked away at what was left of me.
You screamed out that good black men were hard to find and blamed me for your actions when you held white men in your arms. I tried to tell you that I was the minority, and that good black men were everywhere, but it was easier for you to point fingers me than it was to give these brothers a chance. I should have treated you like the queen that you are so that other black men wouldn’t be falsely accused of my emotional crimes.
I murdered you many times. Still, you didn’t die--not even once.
I apologize for encouraging you to be materialistic. I dumped my money into the same System that was destroying me and tried to impress you with expensive cars, platinum jewelry, and Polo gear. I fooled you into thinking that the measure of a man was in his bank account or in the size of the knot in his front pocket. You jumped into the front seat of my Lexus, happy because your friends were now envious of you, as we both sped down a dead end road at one hundred miles per hour. As a result, many black men who didn’t own a Lexus were ignored and even dismissed by you. I had you believing that your love came with a price tag.
I apologize for the late night booty calls. You wanted to talk, to cuddle, and to explore the depth of my character. I only wanted sex. I called you when I was horny and only reached out to you when I saw that you were slipping away. I should have talked to you and opened up to you. Instead, I trusted only my homeboys and factored you out of the equation.
And I apologize for turning you against your friends and family members. I was jealous of their influence over you. I was afraid that you would listen to them when they told you that I was not good for you. I didn’t have a job, and when I did, I used it as a weapon against you. When wise sisters told you to raise your standards, I persuaded you to lower them. I had you thinking that you had to have a man, any man, to be complete. And I apologize for that.
I murdered you many times, sister.
Yet, incredibly, amazingly, you didn’t die.
Not even once.
And this serves as the ultimate testimony to your true greatness.
By Marlon leTerrance (Inmate20173)
Have a seat sister; this may take a while. Don’t be afraid. The two pistols you see smoking in my hands are harmless now. Both clips are empty, much like a Larry Elders speech. And even though I was aiming at the System when I first unloaded shots into the air, I see now that I missed the target. The System remains intact while you sit wounded and battle-weary from decades of bullets being lodged deep into your heart and soul.
I murdered you many times. Still, you didn’t die--not even once.
I apologize for abandoning you and leaving you to fend for yourself in a world as cruel as it is cold. I should have supported you when you offered to be apart of the struggle. But the struggle was an internal one as well as an external one, and I was losing on both fronts. I got mad at you for straightening your hair, for slow dancing in the arms of white men, for challenging my manhood and comparing it to other races. I hated the way the System divided us by promoting you and demoting me, but instead of uniting with you and having your back, I attacked you and left you alone in your grief.
I apologize for flaunting white women in your face as soon as I got money or fame. I was suffering from a mental illness that had me believing that my self-worth had to be approved by blue eyes. I know it hurt you to see me betray you so quickly, so easily, and so often. I had you feeling as though you were not worthy to be in my arms when the opposite was true. I was not worthy of yours.
I apologize for calling you a “bitch” and a “hoe” and treating you like a sexual object in my music, and in the streets, and amongst my homeboys. I felt powerless and frustrated, lost in maze of self-hatred. I raped you, and pimped you, and beat you, and cursed you, and tried to destroy you in the same way I felt destroyed. The pressures of society triggered the implosion that almost destroyed everything inside of me. And you got caught up in the blast because you were always so determined to stand firmly by my side.
I murdered you many times. Still, you didn’t die--not even once.
I apologize for cheating on you, abusing you, and leaving you as soon as you got pregnant. I pretended like the child wasn’t mine. I even asked you to kill the baby because I knew I wasn’t responsible enough to rear him/her properly. When you refused, I reluctantly tossed you a few dollars each month and felt like that’s all I had to do to be a father. I apologize for turning you into a single mother instead of a happy wife.
I apologize for selling drugs and going to prison and using the streets as an excuse for my failure. I didn’t want to be like the honest folks in my hood who worked hard and had nothing to show for it. I wanted more out of life but didn’t have the courage or the insight to follow the path of the brothers who worked hard in school to build stable futures and lives for themselves. I grew up angry at the world and my environment. But instead of using this anger in a constructive manner, I beat down and shot up the first brother who stepped on my shoes in the club.
I apologize for dying so young in the streets. I just wanted respect. I just wanted power. And the only people in my hood who possessed these qualities were the gangsters and thugs and dealers. You warned me to be careful. You begged me to slow down. But I didn’t listen. The respect of the street was all I had. It was something I was willing to kill for, to even die for. I was fighting a war against myself, and dying for a cause that didn’t exist.
I apologize for breaking your heart and betraying your trust and hurting you so badly that you became almost as racist as the System. You started calling all black men dogs and writing cruel little Waiting to Exhale type books that spent too much time degrading me instead of explaining that good black men are the majority. Your anger and books flew high, like African Jehaka birds, towards the tree branches of my soul. But instead of forgiving me and attempting to rebuild your nest, your anger and books mutated into woodpeckers and you pecked away at what was left of me.
You screamed out that good black men were hard to find and blamed me for your actions when you held white men in your arms. I tried to tell you that I was the minority, and that good black men were everywhere, but it was easier for you to point fingers me than it was to give these brothers a chance. I should have treated you like the queen that you are so that other black men wouldn’t be falsely accused of my emotional crimes.
I murdered you many times. Still, you didn’t die--not even once.
I apologize for encouraging you to be materialistic. I dumped my money into the same System that was destroying me and tried to impress you with expensive cars, platinum jewelry, and Polo gear. I fooled you into thinking that the measure of a man was in his bank account or in the size of the knot in his front pocket. You jumped into the front seat of my Lexus, happy because your friends were now envious of you, as we both sped down a dead end road at one hundred miles per hour. As a result, many black men who didn’t own a Lexus were ignored and even dismissed by you. I had you believing that your love came with a price tag.
I apologize for the late night booty calls. You wanted to talk, to cuddle, and to explore the depth of my character. I only wanted sex. I called you when I was horny and only reached out to you when I saw that you were slipping away. I should have talked to you and opened up to you. Instead, I trusted only my homeboys and factored you out of the equation.
And I apologize for turning you against your friends and family members. I was jealous of their influence over you. I was afraid that you would listen to them when they told you that I was not good for you. I didn’t have a job, and when I did, I used it as a weapon against you. When wise sisters told you to raise your standards, I persuaded you to lower them. I had you thinking that you had to have a man, any man, to be complete. And I apologize for that.
I murdered you many times, sister.
Yet, incredibly, amazingly, you didn’t die.
Not even once.
And this serves as the ultimate testimony to your true greatness.
Two Types of Lovers
By Marlon leTerrance
There are two types of lovers in this world, the ones I call "soft" lovers and, the others, "hard" lovers. The "soft" lovers are people who sail through life and relationships without ever experiencing anything that shatter or complicate their faith in love and their ability to truly trust other individuals. Their hearts have never really been challenged. They may have emotional problems, disappointments with their mates, but they never go through a time when they say, "Love hurts and I’m tired of being hurt. If the cost of caring for someone is pain and confusion, then I’d much rather be alone and protect my heart from everyone." Their understanding of love and experience with love remains unstrained, their hearts unbroken.
Yet "hard" lovers are people who lose their faith in love and then regain it; people who have to develop a new perspective on love that’s very different from the one of the past. Instead of seeing romance as a world flooded with sunshine, the way "soft" lovers do, they see relationships as a world where the sun struggles to come out after the storm but always manages to somehow reappear. Their idea of love is a less cheerful, less confident, more realistic outlook. Love is no longer the mythical emotion that sneaks up one night and steals away their heart. They understand now that love is merely the power that enables them to keep going in a stormy and difficult relationship. And like the bone that breaks and heals stronger at the broken place, like the string that is stronger where it broke and was knotted, their hearts have become tougher, more focused, and more patient with emotions, because it has learned it can survive the emotional loss and pain of someone close. They no longer look to love to answer their prayers and remove their nagging sense of loneliness the way "soft" lovers do. Instead, they now understand--usually through bitter experience--that real love can’t be sought out, bought, or stolen. It comes with the birth of knowledge, growing slowly but surly as we learn more about each other, liking one another’s presence and personality, understanding each other’s needs and character, and feeling the essence and deserving quality of each others care, attention and appreciation.
"Soft" lovers see love as an experience--sometimes a temporary one.
"Hard" lovers see love as a way of life.
And there’s a difference.
There are two types of lovers in this world, the ones I call "soft" lovers and, the others, "hard" lovers. The "soft" lovers are people who sail through life and relationships without ever experiencing anything that shatter or complicate their faith in love and their ability to truly trust other individuals. Their hearts have never really been challenged. They may have emotional problems, disappointments with their mates, but they never go through a time when they say, "Love hurts and I’m tired of being hurt. If the cost of caring for someone is pain and confusion, then I’d much rather be alone and protect my heart from everyone." Their understanding of love and experience with love remains unstrained, their hearts unbroken.
Yet "hard" lovers are people who lose their faith in love and then regain it; people who have to develop a new perspective on love that’s very different from the one of the past. Instead of seeing romance as a world flooded with sunshine, the way "soft" lovers do, they see relationships as a world where the sun struggles to come out after the storm but always manages to somehow reappear. Their idea of love is a less cheerful, less confident, more realistic outlook. Love is no longer the mythical emotion that sneaks up one night and steals away their heart. They understand now that love is merely the power that enables them to keep going in a stormy and difficult relationship. And like the bone that breaks and heals stronger at the broken place, like the string that is stronger where it broke and was knotted, their hearts have become tougher, more focused, and more patient with emotions, because it has learned it can survive the emotional loss and pain of someone close. They no longer look to love to answer their prayers and remove their nagging sense of loneliness the way "soft" lovers do. Instead, they now understand--usually through bitter experience--that real love can’t be sought out, bought, or stolen. It comes with the birth of knowledge, growing slowly but surly as we learn more about each other, liking one another’s presence and personality, understanding each other’s needs and character, and feeling the essence and deserving quality of each others care, attention and appreciation.
"Soft" lovers see love as an experience--sometimes a temporary one.
"Hard" lovers see love as a way of life.
And there’s a difference.
Trusting Again
By Marlon leTerrance
"I will not let another man hurt me. No matter what happens in my life, I won’t allow another man to get this close to me again." These sentiments can sometimes sneak up behind you with the subtlety of a Mack truck. Everything you have worked to create in your relationship has been snatched away from you. You feel confused and overwhelmed. An assortment of emotions swims inside of you like a school of malicious fish, each emotion vying for your attention.
Usually, anger is the first to steal the limelight. A voice screams out for you to break something, to smash something, or, even more satisfying, to finally tell that worthless tramp who calls herself your friend that she doesn’t have to hide her flirtatious stares at your man anymore because you've dumped him and you won’t be taking him back. The voice mischievously suggests outrageous ideas that might make you feel better. Scratch his car with your keys. Make sure he feels the hurt that you feel. The laptop computer he accidentally left at your apartment? Lose it.
Your anger may fluctuate back and forth, but it is not long before pain claims center stage. An agonizing sense of emptiness buries itself deep inside the pit of your stomach and refuses to leave. You trusted someone, you loved someone, and now he’s gone. But the memories of him remain suspended in the air like the blade of a guillotine. Everything you do seem to remind you of him. You know you made the right choice, but it hurts too much to care about that. You are alone. And it hurts.
Many women talk about the embarrassing disappointment they often feel after a love is lost. They speak of the shame and the humiliation that sometimes comes along with a romantic break-up.
“Everyone knew that Robert was my boyfriend,” declared Tammy over a phone conversation. “We’d been together almost three years. We went everywhere together; we did everything side-by-side. After Robert and I split up, people would see me alone and inquire about him. In the beginning, I couldn’t control the hurt that would flash across my face. I thought it would be easy to move on, but no one would let me. I would hear well-wishers declare, “That’s such a shame. You two were so good together. Why did you let such a good man go?” It made me doubt my decision. It made me shy away from telling people that Robert and I were no longer together. I was ashamed of being single again.”
It doesn’t take long after a romantic break-up for you to be accosted by a host of emotions you hadn’t experienced in ages—frustration, loneliness, and depression. These emotions crowd around you in a solemn silence, as if to pay their respect to the death of your relationship.
The problem with ending emotional relationships is the trust factor. The man you are about to sever ties with is the very same man who has shared many intimate years of your life. You know each other intimately; you’ve shared personal secrets with one another that only the two of you know. You’ve exposed him to the inner you, both the good and the bad—you’ve given him the key to a part of you that no one else is allowed to share. And now that person is gone.
Far too many people can remember, with amazing clarity, the moment their love was either lost or betrayed. They can remember the disbelief, the anger. They can remember the self-doubt and confusion. But more than anything else, they seem to always remember the moment they vowed to never love again.
Tammy didn’t want to lose Robert. She loved him completely. She had trusted him, and over the course of their relationship, she had watched that trust get tangled in a barbed-wire fence of dishonesty. Tammy was determined to never make the same mistake again. She promised to safeguard her heart next time, to never allow herself to trust a man so easily. “I was never a jealous woman before Robert. I mean, if he said he was going out with friends somewhere, I never questioned him. I never doubted his faithfulness. The first couple times a female called our home, I never doubted him when he claimed they were business calls. But now, things are different. Now, I find myself doubting everything a man says. Robert destroyed the innocence in me, and I somehow knew I‘d never get it back. And I hated him for that.”
The situation becomes even worse when you have to ignore the snobby glances of female associates who once envied your happiness. They offer you the usual condolences, but beneath the surface of their eyes, you can almost see them gloating. You had managed to be happy in a world that seemed miserable to them, and now they were elated to have you join them in despair.
After you have been hurt by love and relationships, it’s not easy to muster the courage to start dating again. You often find yourself going out of your way to avoid men, for you have learned how emotionally painful relationships can be. You don’t go on dates. You ignore the advances of seemingly genuine suitors. Men are dogs, and you refuse to operate an emotional doghouse anymore.
What happens when it hurts too much to love again? What do you do when your trust and faith in men have been crushed so often you don’t know how to trust anymore? And even more depressing is the question no one seems willing to answer for you: How do you find Mr. Right when you honestly don’t believe in him anymore?
The fifth step to finding Mr. Right is certainly one of the most difficult steps. I will ask you to learn to trust again. I will search out the most convincing way to explain to you the benefit of allowing yourself to love again. I will argue, hopefully successfully, that even though you shut out pain and disappointment and hurt when you lock away your heart and become an emotional zombie, you also shut out happiness, joy, and the experience of love.
It’s human nature to protect ourselves from pain. It’s human nature to draw up an elaborate emotional defense system to protect ourselves from the carelessness of others. But sometimes, experiencing pain and disappointment is the price we pay for being human, for being vulnerable. Unlike machines, we are not able to tinker through this world, performing important tasks and doing what is needed without exposing ourselves to hurt and possible rejection. Machines are able to deal with human beings without suffering emotionally precisely because they are not human, precisely because they lack the ability to feel. When you trade in your car for a newer, more expensive brand automobile, your old car doesn’t turn on its headlights and wail out accusations of betrayal. It’s unable to remind you of all the times it took you to places you couldn’t have otherwise went. Only humans have this ability. Only humans can experience the pain of a broken heart.
I think it’s important that you understand that you are not alone. The mythical Cupid isn’t sitting on some cloud-like recliner and purposely torturing your heart. There is nothing wrong with you as a woman. Truth is, human beings have been struggling with the idea of love since the beginning of time. And to be honest, we are still no closer now than we were when we crawled around in caves and expressed our desire with animal grunts and wrestling matches.
When you protect yourself against the danger of heartache by refusing to open up again, I am afraid that you do yourself and your heart a disservice. When you try to shield yourself from pain by avoiding almost every man who expresses an interest in you, I am concerned that you lose something valuable in the process. According to Harold Kushner, the author of the best-selling book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People, the loss of a loved one “is supposed to hurt. In the same way that dead cells, our hair and fingernails, feel no pain when they are cut but living cells bleed and hurt, so I believe that spiritually dead souls can be cut into, separated from other souls, and not feel pain. But living, sensitive souls are easily hurt.”
I don’t like being hurt. I don’t like experiencing pain. But I believe that we pay a horrible price when we shut ourselves away from the world of love and relationships. We have all experienced the bitterness of people who seems to hate the life they have been blessed with, people who are always complaining about something unimportant. These people are often lonely, miserable folks who drive people away from them with their ways. Often, this happens in a relationship. You can become so bitter, so cold, and so miserable from the experience of a relationship that turned sour that you sabotage your romantic possibilities before they begin.
You are not a machine. You can’t go through life without experiencing heartache. Love is not a guarantee. Relationships are risky. The process of trusting another human being with your feelings is a gamble. Sometimes you will win; sometimes you will lose. But I believe it hurts so much when we lose a loved one precisely because the process of love is so special. If love didn’t have such immense value, it wouldn’t matter to us when our relationship failed. And we feel the pain of this failure because we are human, because our hearts are vulnerable. Take away that vulnerability and you have a safe, machine like world that shuts out love and happiness as effectively as it does pain and disappointment.
It will take courage on your part to unlock the gates that imprisons your heart. Even in your despair, you know you can’t convict love and relationships for the emotional crimes your ex-boyfriend committed. Love is not some monstrous beast just waiting to rip you apart the moment you develop feeling for someone. You have been hurt, possibly even betrayed, but it wasn’t love’s fault. Love and trust are not the bad guys.
It will take time for you to forgive the men in your past who have destroyed your faith in relationships. But your soul mate can only enter into your life when you let him. It will be risky. It will be filled with uncertainties. Still, it’s worth it.
"I will not let another man hurt me. No matter what happens in my life, I won’t allow another man to get this close to me again." These sentiments can sometimes sneak up behind you with the subtlety of a Mack truck. Everything you have worked to create in your relationship has been snatched away from you. You feel confused and overwhelmed. An assortment of emotions swims inside of you like a school of malicious fish, each emotion vying for your attention.
Usually, anger is the first to steal the limelight. A voice screams out for you to break something, to smash something, or, even more satisfying, to finally tell that worthless tramp who calls herself your friend that she doesn’t have to hide her flirtatious stares at your man anymore because you've dumped him and you won’t be taking him back. The voice mischievously suggests outrageous ideas that might make you feel better. Scratch his car with your keys. Make sure he feels the hurt that you feel. The laptop computer he accidentally left at your apartment? Lose it.
Your anger may fluctuate back and forth, but it is not long before pain claims center stage. An agonizing sense of emptiness buries itself deep inside the pit of your stomach and refuses to leave. You trusted someone, you loved someone, and now he’s gone. But the memories of him remain suspended in the air like the blade of a guillotine. Everything you do seem to remind you of him. You know you made the right choice, but it hurts too much to care about that. You are alone. And it hurts.
Many women talk about the embarrassing disappointment they often feel after a love is lost. They speak of the shame and the humiliation that sometimes comes along with a romantic break-up.
“Everyone knew that Robert was my boyfriend,” declared Tammy over a phone conversation. “We’d been together almost three years. We went everywhere together; we did everything side-by-side. After Robert and I split up, people would see me alone and inquire about him. In the beginning, I couldn’t control the hurt that would flash across my face. I thought it would be easy to move on, but no one would let me. I would hear well-wishers declare, “That’s such a shame. You two were so good together. Why did you let such a good man go?” It made me doubt my decision. It made me shy away from telling people that Robert and I were no longer together. I was ashamed of being single again.”
It doesn’t take long after a romantic break-up for you to be accosted by a host of emotions you hadn’t experienced in ages—frustration, loneliness, and depression. These emotions crowd around you in a solemn silence, as if to pay their respect to the death of your relationship.
The problem with ending emotional relationships is the trust factor. The man you are about to sever ties with is the very same man who has shared many intimate years of your life. You know each other intimately; you’ve shared personal secrets with one another that only the two of you know. You’ve exposed him to the inner you, both the good and the bad—you’ve given him the key to a part of you that no one else is allowed to share. And now that person is gone.
Far too many people can remember, with amazing clarity, the moment their love was either lost or betrayed. They can remember the disbelief, the anger. They can remember the self-doubt and confusion. But more than anything else, they seem to always remember the moment they vowed to never love again.
Tammy didn’t want to lose Robert. She loved him completely. She had trusted him, and over the course of their relationship, she had watched that trust get tangled in a barbed-wire fence of dishonesty. Tammy was determined to never make the same mistake again. She promised to safeguard her heart next time, to never allow herself to trust a man so easily. “I was never a jealous woman before Robert. I mean, if he said he was going out with friends somewhere, I never questioned him. I never doubted his faithfulness. The first couple times a female called our home, I never doubted him when he claimed they were business calls. But now, things are different. Now, I find myself doubting everything a man says. Robert destroyed the innocence in me, and I somehow knew I‘d never get it back. And I hated him for that.”
The situation becomes even worse when you have to ignore the snobby glances of female associates who once envied your happiness. They offer you the usual condolences, but beneath the surface of their eyes, you can almost see them gloating. You had managed to be happy in a world that seemed miserable to them, and now they were elated to have you join them in despair.
After you have been hurt by love and relationships, it’s not easy to muster the courage to start dating again. You often find yourself going out of your way to avoid men, for you have learned how emotionally painful relationships can be. You don’t go on dates. You ignore the advances of seemingly genuine suitors. Men are dogs, and you refuse to operate an emotional doghouse anymore.
What happens when it hurts too much to love again? What do you do when your trust and faith in men have been crushed so often you don’t know how to trust anymore? And even more depressing is the question no one seems willing to answer for you: How do you find Mr. Right when you honestly don’t believe in him anymore?
The fifth step to finding Mr. Right is certainly one of the most difficult steps. I will ask you to learn to trust again. I will search out the most convincing way to explain to you the benefit of allowing yourself to love again. I will argue, hopefully successfully, that even though you shut out pain and disappointment and hurt when you lock away your heart and become an emotional zombie, you also shut out happiness, joy, and the experience of love.
It’s human nature to protect ourselves from pain. It’s human nature to draw up an elaborate emotional defense system to protect ourselves from the carelessness of others. But sometimes, experiencing pain and disappointment is the price we pay for being human, for being vulnerable. Unlike machines, we are not able to tinker through this world, performing important tasks and doing what is needed without exposing ourselves to hurt and possible rejection. Machines are able to deal with human beings without suffering emotionally precisely because they are not human, precisely because they lack the ability to feel. When you trade in your car for a newer, more expensive brand automobile, your old car doesn’t turn on its headlights and wail out accusations of betrayal. It’s unable to remind you of all the times it took you to places you couldn’t have otherwise went. Only humans have this ability. Only humans can experience the pain of a broken heart.
I think it’s important that you understand that you are not alone. The mythical Cupid isn’t sitting on some cloud-like recliner and purposely torturing your heart. There is nothing wrong with you as a woman. Truth is, human beings have been struggling with the idea of love since the beginning of time. And to be honest, we are still no closer now than we were when we crawled around in caves and expressed our desire with animal grunts and wrestling matches.
When you protect yourself against the danger of heartache by refusing to open up again, I am afraid that you do yourself and your heart a disservice. When you try to shield yourself from pain by avoiding almost every man who expresses an interest in you, I am concerned that you lose something valuable in the process. According to Harold Kushner, the author of the best-selling book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People, the loss of a loved one “is supposed to hurt. In the same way that dead cells, our hair and fingernails, feel no pain when they are cut but living cells bleed and hurt, so I believe that spiritually dead souls can be cut into, separated from other souls, and not feel pain. But living, sensitive souls are easily hurt.”
I don’t like being hurt. I don’t like experiencing pain. But I believe that we pay a horrible price when we shut ourselves away from the world of love and relationships. We have all experienced the bitterness of people who seems to hate the life they have been blessed with, people who are always complaining about something unimportant. These people are often lonely, miserable folks who drive people away from them with their ways. Often, this happens in a relationship. You can become so bitter, so cold, and so miserable from the experience of a relationship that turned sour that you sabotage your romantic possibilities before they begin.
You are not a machine. You can’t go through life without experiencing heartache. Love is not a guarantee. Relationships are risky. The process of trusting another human being with your feelings is a gamble. Sometimes you will win; sometimes you will lose. But I believe it hurts so much when we lose a loved one precisely because the process of love is so special. If love didn’t have such immense value, it wouldn’t matter to us when our relationship failed. And we feel the pain of this failure because we are human, because our hearts are vulnerable. Take away that vulnerability and you have a safe, machine like world that shuts out love and happiness as effectively as it does pain and disappointment.
It will take courage on your part to unlock the gates that imprisons your heart. Even in your despair, you know you can’t convict love and relationships for the emotional crimes your ex-boyfriend committed. Love is not some monstrous beast just waiting to rip you apart the moment you develop feeling for someone. You have been hurt, possibly even betrayed, but it wasn’t love’s fault. Love and trust are not the bad guys.
It will take time for you to forgive the men in your past who have destroyed your faith in relationships. But your soul mate can only enter into your life when you let him. It will be risky. It will be filled with uncertainties. Still, it’s worth it.
The Hip-Hop Hypocrisy
By Marlon leTerrance (Inmate20173)
The smell of cigarette smoke and sweat spilled over into our cellblock. From a distance, the sounds of young men shouting at each other and tussling and laughing filled the atmosphere with a certain sense of restlessness. Donald Williams wiped his forehead with the back of his hand then stared down at the tattered pages of an old Bible.
“I remember asking my Mom what she did to make pops hate us so much. I couldn’t have been much older than eleven at the time, but I can still remember the anger I felt. Mom broke down into tears and tried to explain it to me, but I couldn’t understand why other kids had their fathers taking them to ball games and stuff, but mine didn’t even take the time to wish me well on my birthday.” Donald paused a moment to reflect. His expression was a mask of bewilderment and pain. “I used to think that if I could become a good enough kid, it would make my pops want to spend time with me. But the only time my pops really talked to me was when I got into trouble at school. Mom would threaten to send me away to a training school and pops would come over and beat me and lecture me on why I should stop cutting up in class. Many times I would get in trouble just so I could see him and ask him, after he beat me up, if he would come to my basketball game and watch me play. I just wanted him to be proud of me, to love me, but I ended up hating him and everyone around me because he couldn’t.”
When I first heard Donald Williams’ story, I made a vow to one day tell it to the world. It was a painful tale of a young man attempting to somehow deal with the absence of a responsible father. Donald’s words were filled with rage and interlaced with a venomous sense of hatred. Yet, underneath the anger, there seemed to be a hint of tears. He was in pain, he was hurting, and the man responsible for this devastation didn’t seem to care.
“When I got sentenced to prison, he came here to visit me a few times. He tried to preach to me and counsel me and tell me how wrong I was for selling drugs and living the criminal lifestyle. Man, he even sent me a bible and tried to tell me to give my life to Jesus. But it was too late. After all these years without him, what made this fool feel like he had the right to step into my life now and give out fatherly advice. I would’ve worshiped Satan before I listened to a thing he had to offer. Whenever I looked at him I wanted to just grab his neck and squeeze it and squeeze it and squeeze it until every ounce of his miserable life oozed out of him. I hated that man more than I have ever hated anyone in my life.”
Donald took his father off the visitation list and swore that he never wanted to see the man again. In my presence, Donald never allowed a tear to trail down his chocolate face. But I can imagine those tears came, often, in the middle of the night while contemplating the hate that a father’s neglect created.
Horrific stories of men who refuse to play an important role in the lives of their children are well known. It is an issue that must be dealt with firmly; with serious consequences handed down to offenders. But I am writing this article because I know of another story of blatant child abuse that may hit closer to home than you realize.
It is the story of a child named Hip-Hop. It was born out of raw sense of expression that led many black kids to turn basements and dormitories and bedrooms into impromptu studios. Inner-city geniuses began experimenting with an art form that had the promise of becoming a powerful force in the community. It was fun and competitive. Street corners became the breeding ground for aspiring emcee’s to get their first taste at moving a crowd. With pioneers like Afrika Bambaataa and Kool Herc and Grandmaster Flash, along with many others leading the way, rap music exploded into the hearts of young black kids across America.
Along with the birth of Hip-Hop came the emergence of annoyed critics within the older black generation. They wrote Hip-Hop off as a fad that would die out in two or three years. They were far more concerned with stepping across the railroad tracks into the American Dream than paying much attention to the silly Hip-Hop kids with high-top hair cuts who used their mouths to beat-box. (The current Hip-Hop critics who claim to only be against “gangsta rap” are no more than intellectual hypocrites. Vocal members of the older generation disowned rap music even in its infancy--well before it became a vehicle for some artists to disrespect females and illustrate the horrors of street life.)
As a result of the older generation’s neglect, many of Hip-Hop’s leading pioneers ended up signing horrible contracts that gave opportunistic new labels total control over their lives and careers. Instead of influential black leaders using their experience and wisdom to reach back and help Hip-Hop grow into a positive, more focused force in the black community, far too many of these leaders (and rap critics) made the decision to disassociate themselves from the music. Hip-Hop didn’t seem to fit into the cultured, intelligent, and civilized image that they were trying to project to White America.
Still, Hip-Hop grew. Talented poets from all over the country were eager to contribute their vision to the music. Run DMC, LL Cool J, Kool Moe Dee, KRS One, Ice-T, Rakim, and a host of others continued to build upon the foundation of Hip-Hop. Mistakes were made, egos clashed, but rap music followed the beat of it’s own drummer and continued to make huge strides forward. Soon, rap music began reaching the ears of white suburban kids. As a result, Hip-Hop entered the radar screens of white corporate entities as a marketable (and exploitable) commodity. Money was offered, deals were made, and contracts were signed. Nowhere in this equation did black intellectuals step in to offer guidance and “fatherly” advice. White lawyers in fancy suits shuffled tons of paperwork in front of new artists, enticing them to sign over all their publishing rights for a few pennies. Had more brothers with insight and experience stepped up to the plate to defend the rights of these early artists instead of criticizing them, maybe less rappers would have been raped financially. Tales of bankruptcy and poverty amongst the early innovators of rap music will forever be a footnote in the history of Hip-Hop.
Still, Hip-Hop grew; new artists contributed new things. Biz Markie and Slick Rick made kids laugh, and Ice-T explained the gangster’s plight with tracks like “Colors.” Hip-Hop expanded into new territory, and even newer, fresher voices filled the airwaves. Two heartbeats later, a group named N.W.A stole away the imagination of fans by introducing a raw, no-holds-barred form of expression that graphically detailed the lives of gangsters. White kids in Alabama started screaming “Fuck Tha Police,” and politicians all over America began targeting Hip-Hop as a scapegoat for social woes. Most black leaders remained quiet during this onslaught, leaving their Hip-Hop children to be sacrificed by an angry white political lynch mob.
Still, Hip-Hop survived. Though battle-weary and bruised, the music produced prophets who attempted to fill the void left by the older generation. Groups like X-Clan, Public Enemy, and KRS One tried to teach the masses about black power and unity. “Self-Destruction” became an anthem for change as artists from across the spectrum joined together to promote positive interaction. This would have been the perfect time for the intellectual critics of Hip-Hop to reach back and steer rap music onto the Yellow Brick Road to redemption. Instead, these critics turned their backs on Hip-Hop and settled down into their little house on the prairie, beside the Waltons.
Now, in the wake of Tupac and Biggie’s death, as Hip-Hop struggles to redefine it’s identity and purpose, there seems to be a resurgence of black critics banging down the door to CNN’s studios hoping to spit out a few intellectual sound bites that will impress their colleagues. Sideline opinions from people who have never even listened to rap music is becoming the norm. More and more black leaders are claiming to be upset that the white corporate structure is exploiting the talents of young black males, and that most artists are too blind to recognize this. My understanding of history is based more on facts. The truth is, it took white media outlets to embrace Hip-Hop before black-owned media outlets realized that it was “okay” to feature rap groups (the only exception being Soul Train). It was only after Nike and Reebok and Mountain Dew and Sprite used Hip-Hop artists in high profile commercials that black-owned companies accepted the idea. Quick research will show anyone interested that Forbes and Time Magazine had cover stories detailing the economical power of Hip-Hop moguls years before Black Enterprise had the courage to tackle the issue.
Donald Williams wasn’t perfect. Neither is Hip-Hop. They both traveled down a lonely road filled with foolish mistakes and very bad choices. But I understand their anger when, after years of neglect and disappointment, irresponsible father figures tap-dance their way back into the spotlight with two-cent opinions on what the young should and shouldn’t do. The words that Donald said to me, seven years ago, seem to be the same words that many Hip-Hop fans are screaming out today. “After all these years without him, what [makes] this fool feel like he [has] the right to step into my life now and give out fatherly advice.”
The smell of cigarette smoke and sweat spilled over into our cellblock. From a distance, the sounds of young men shouting at each other and tussling and laughing filled the atmosphere with a certain sense of restlessness. Donald Williams wiped his forehead with the back of his hand then stared down at the tattered pages of an old Bible.
“I remember asking my Mom what she did to make pops hate us so much. I couldn’t have been much older than eleven at the time, but I can still remember the anger I felt. Mom broke down into tears and tried to explain it to me, but I couldn’t understand why other kids had their fathers taking them to ball games and stuff, but mine didn’t even take the time to wish me well on my birthday.” Donald paused a moment to reflect. His expression was a mask of bewilderment and pain. “I used to think that if I could become a good enough kid, it would make my pops want to spend time with me. But the only time my pops really talked to me was when I got into trouble at school. Mom would threaten to send me away to a training school and pops would come over and beat me and lecture me on why I should stop cutting up in class. Many times I would get in trouble just so I could see him and ask him, after he beat me up, if he would come to my basketball game and watch me play. I just wanted him to be proud of me, to love me, but I ended up hating him and everyone around me because he couldn’t.”
When I first heard Donald Williams’ story, I made a vow to one day tell it to the world. It was a painful tale of a young man attempting to somehow deal with the absence of a responsible father. Donald’s words were filled with rage and interlaced with a venomous sense of hatred. Yet, underneath the anger, there seemed to be a hint of tears. He was in pain, he was hurting, and the man responsible for this devastation didn’t seem to care.
“When I got sentenced to prison, he came here to visit me a few times. He tried to preach to me and counsel me and tell me how wrong I was for selling drugs and living the criminal lifestyle. Man, he even sent me a bible and tried to tell me to give my life to Jesus. But it was too late. After all these years without him, what made this fool feel like he had the right to step into my life now and give out fatherly advice. I would’ve worshiped Satan before I listened to a thing he had to offer. Whenever I looked at him I wanted to just grab his neck and squeeze it and squeeze it and squeeze it until every ounce of his miserable life oozed out of him. I hated that man more than I have ever hated anyone in my life.”
Donald took his father off the visitation list and swore that he never wanted to see the man again. In my presence, Donald never allowed a tear to trail down his chocolate face. But I can imagine those tears came, often, in the middle of the night while contemplating the hate that a father’s neglect created.
Horrific stories of men who refuse to play an important role in the lives of their children are well known. It is an issue that must be dealt with firmly; with serious consequences handed down to offenders. But I am writing this article because I know of another story of blatant child abuse that may hit closer to home than you realize.
It is the story of a child named Hip-Hop. It was born out of raw sense of expression that led many black kids to turn basements and dormitories and bedrooms into impromptu studios. Inner-city geniuses began experimenting with an art form that had the promise of becoming a powerful force in the community. It was fun and competitive. Street corners became the breeding ground for aspiring emcee’s to get their first taste at moving a crowd. With pioneers like Afrika Bambaataa and Kool Herc and Grandmaster Flash, along with many others leading the way, rap music exploded into the hearts of young black kids across America.
Along with the birth of Hip-Hop came the emergence of annoyed critics within the older black generation. They wrote Hip-Hop off as a fad that would die out in two or three years. They were far more concerned with stepping across the railroad tracks into the American Dream than paying much attention to the silly Hip-Hop kids with high-top hair cuts who used their mouths to beat-box. (The current Hip-Hop critics who claim to only be against “gangsta rap” are no more than intellectual hypocrites. Vocal members of the older generation disowned rap music even in its infancy--well before it became a vehicle for some artists to disrespect females and illustrate the horrors of street life.)
As a result of the older generation’s neglect, many of Hip-Hop’s leading pioneers ended up signing horrible contracts that gave opportunistic new labels total control over their lives and careers. Instead of influential black leaders using their experience and wisdom to reach back and help Hip-Hop grow into a positive, more focused force in the black community, far too many of these leaders (and rap critics) made the decision to disassociate themselves from the music. Hip-Hop didn’t seem to fit into the cultured, intelligent, and civilized image that they were trying to project to White America.
Still, Hip-Hop grew. Talented poets from all over the country were eager to contribute their vision to the music. Run DMC, LL Cool J, Kool Moe Dee, KRS One, Ice-T, Rakim, and a host of others continued to build upon the foundation of Hip-Hop. Mistakes were made, egos clashed, but rap music followed the beat of it’s own drummer and continued to make huge strides forward. Soon, rap music began reaching the ears of white suburban kids. As a result, Hip-Hop entered the radar screens of white corporate entities as a marketable (and exploitable) commodity. Money was offered, deals were made, and contracts were signed. Nowhere in this equation did black intellectuals step in to offer guidance and “fatherly” advice. White lawyers in fancy suits shuffled tons of paperwork in front of new artists, enticing them to sign over all their publishing rights for a few pennies. Had more brothers with insight and experience stepped up to the plate to defend the rights of these early artists instead of criticizing them, maybe less rappers would have been raped financially. Tales of bankruptcy and poverty amongst the early innovators of rap music will forever be a footnote in the history of Hip-Hop.
Still, Hip-Hop grew; new artists contributed new things. Biz Markie and Slick Rick made kids laugh, and Ice-T explained the gangster’s plight with tracks like “Colors.” Hip-Hop expanded into new territory, and even newer, fresher voices filled the airwaves. Two heartbeats later, a group named N.W.A stole away the imagination of fans by introducing a raw, no-holds-barred form of expression that graphically detailed the lives of gangsters. White kids in Alabama started screaming “Fuck Tha Police,” and politicians all over America began targeting Hip-Hop as a scapegoat for social woes. Most black leaders remained quiet during this onslaught, leaving their Hip-Hop children to be sacrificed by an angry white political lynch mob.
Still, Hip-Hop survived. Though battle-weary and bruised, the music produced prophets who attempted to fill the void left by the older generation. Groups like X-Clan, Public Enemy, and KRS One tried to teach the masses about black power and unity. “Self-Destruction” became an anthem for change as artists from across the spectrum joined together to promote positive interaction. This would have been the perfect time for the intellectual critics of Hip-Hop to reach back and steer rap music onto the Yellow Brick Road to redemption. Instead, these critics turned their backs on Hip-Hop and settled down into their little house on the prairie, beside the Waltons.
Now, in the wake of Tupac and Biggie’s death, as Hip-Hop struggles to redefine it’s identity and purpose, there seems to be a resurgence of black critics banging down the door to CNN’s studios hoping to spit out a few intellectual sound bites that will impress their colleagues. Sideline opinions from people who have never even listened to rap music is becoming the norm. More and more black leaders are claiming to be upset that the white corporate structure is exploiting the talents of young black males, and that most artists are too blind to recognize this. My understanding of history is based more on facts. The truth is, it took white media outlets to embrace Hip-Hop before black-owned media outlets realized that it was “okay” to feature rap groups (the only exception being Soul Train). It was only after Nike and Reebok and Mountain Dew and Sprite used Hip-Hop artists in high profile commercials that black-owned companies accepted the idea. Quick research will show anyone interested that Forbes and Time Magazine had cover stories detailing the economical power of Hip-Hop moguls years before Black Enterprise had the courage to tackle the issue.
Donald Williams wasn’t perfect. Neither is Hip-Hop. They both traveled down a lonely road filled with foolish mistakes and very bad choices. But I understand their anger when, after years of neglect and disappointment, irresponsible father figures tap-dance their way back into the spotlight with two-cent opinions on what the young should and shouldn’t do. The words that Donald said to me, seven years ago, seem to be the same words that many Hip-Hop fans are screaming out today. “After all these years without him, what [makes] this fool feel like he [has] the right to step into my life now and give out fatherly advice.”
Separate Yourself
By Marlon leTerrance
Ask the average female what she wants in a man, ask her what attracts her emotionally, and she will probably answer with a well-rehearsed list of values, characteristics, and personality traits. Chances are she will go out of her way to describe a very successful and confident man who is willing to love and respect her to the fullest. But watch the class of men she ends up choosing to date. Take a moment to note the sort of men she surrounds herself with emotionally, and she will give away the fact that she has no clue what she truly wants in a man.
Many times, women handicap themselves when they enter into a relationship emotionally blindfolded. They flirt around with vague ideas of what they want in a male companion, but when faced with the reality of dating, these qualities are conveniently tossed out the window. These women know that they want a healthy relationship with a loving man; they just are not sure how to dissect these general wants into more specific qualities. Yet, this is a very critical step to the development of a promising relationship. You have to know exactly what you want and need in your romantic partner before you can expect to find much success in the dating arena.
It becomes especially difficult to pinpoint exactly what you want in a potential mate when you have spent most of your life catering to other people's ideas of what’s "good" and "bad" in a relationship. This is why it is important for you to remove yourself from the constellation of external voices--those of friends and family members and, even, ex-lovers--that attempt to drown out your own voice and needs. You have to be willing to separate your personal wants from the wants of others that have been projected onto you.
Kim Taylor had to learn this lesson several times over. For almost fifteen years she only dated professional men with promising futures in the medical or legal fields. She had been convinced by her parents and friends into thinking that a sense of structure and security and professionalism were the qualities that she found the most attractive in men. After awhile, Kim became frustrated and couldn’t understand why her relationships never seemed to work out. That is, until she met Paul, a freelance artist from New York.
"I would have never guessed that I could be attracted to an artist--not in a million years," Kim now gushes, five years into her marriage with Paul. "He was so utterly unlike any guy I had ever dated before. So much so, I didn't really consider him as a candidate at first. But as I got to know him, I began to discover more and more about myself. I began to discover preferences I never knew existed before. I didn't want security from a man; at least not in the way my aunts and college girlfriends seemed to demand it. I wanted passion. I wanted someone who was able to truly enjoy each moment of life with me. Most of the men in my past had been socially successful and very kindhearted, but they almost always seemed to lack a zest for life. Before I met my husband, I had no idea why I always felt like something was missing in these otherwise "perfect" men. I realize now just how much I missed by not having the courage to explore my inner wants and desires sooner."
Sometimes we assume the wants of others instead of our own. We listen to romantic tales of friends and family members and then we say to ourselves, "I want my lover to be like that." But a disappointing dynamic of relationships is this: what works with one couple doesn't necessarily work for the next couple. You have to be willing to explore your inner desires and learn what it is that you truly want--not what your friends want, not what your family wants, and not even what your lover wants. When it comes to romantic love, you will always feel unsatisfied and empty when you dedicate your emotional existence to the happiness of others.
I once advised a close friend of mine to write down a list of the top ten qualities she wanted in a man. I then told her to add or delete from this list after each romantic date. An interesting development occurred as a result. She ended up discovering that many of the things she had initially written on her list were nowhere to be found in the men she found attractive. For some reason, she had assumed she loved mature and responsible men, but the dudes who were able to boil her blood were the exact opposite. They were carefree, exciting, and almost childlike in their approach to life and love.
Before you can fully develop the process of love and relationships, you must first work on completing your own personal development. This is why the first few steps to finding Mr. Right revolve around self-improvement. You have to take a sharp and truthful look at who you are as a woman and what it is that you ultimately want in life and love. Too many times, you may be tempted to overlook these steps and jump head first into the idea of romance—if only because the sense of loneliness has become too depressing. But the success of any real relationship depends exclusively on the strength of its foundation. And you are one half of that foundation.
You are one of the most important elements on the journey towards your romantic happiness. You have to be willing to treat yourself with the same degree of love and compassion that you eventually expect from your future soul mate. Yet this cannot be done when you are not familiar with the true ingredients that make you complete.
In a recent article from eFem magazine, freelance author Terry Carterette writes about the need to know what it is that you truly want in a relationship. "A guy friend of mine once told me that the worse thing a person can do at a used car dealership is to go unprepared. A dealer can tell when a person does not know what it is she's looking for. An already stressful and exhausting experience becomes even more daunting. She very soon finds herself being shuffled from one car to another, with the salesman promoting all sorts of vehicles she doesn’t need. The same is true with love and happiness."
A guy can sell you almost anything when you step into an emotional car lot with no clue what it is that you want. Take the time to learn what you really want. You may be surprised by what you discover.
Ask the average female what she wants in a man, ask her what attracts her emotionally, and she will probably answer with a well-rehearsed list of values, characteristics, and personality traits. Chances are she will go out of her way to describe a very successful and confident man who is willing to love and respect her to the fullest. But watch the class of men she ends up choosing to date. Take a moment to note the sort of men she surrounds herself with emotionally, and she will give away the fact that she has no clue what she truly wants in a man.
Many times, women handicap themselves when they enter into a relationship emotionally blindfolded. They flirt around with vague ideas of what they want in a male companion, but when faced with the reality of dating, these qualities are conveniently tossed out the window. These women know that they want a healthy relationship with a loving man; they just are not sure how to dissect these general wants into more specific qualities. Yet, this is a very critical step to the development of a promising relationship. You have to know exactly what you want and need in your romantic partner before you can expect to find much success in the dating arena.
It becomes especially difficult to pinpoint exactly what you want in a potential mate when you have spent most of your life catering to other people's ideas of what’s "good" and "bad" in a relationship. This is why it is important for you to remove yourself from the constellation of external voices--those of friends and family members and, even, ex-lovers--that attempt to drown out your own voice and needs. You have to be willing to separate your personal wants from the wants of others that have been projected onto you.
Kim Taylor had to learn this lesson several times over. For almost fifteen years she only dated professional men with promising futures in the medical or legal fields. She had been convinced by her parents and friends into thinking that a sense of structure and security and professionalism were the qualities that she found the most attractive in men. After awhile, Kim became frustrated and couldn’t understand why her relationships never seemed to work out. That is, until she met Paul, a freelance artist from New York.
"I would have never guessed that I could be attracted to an artist--not in a million years," Kim now gushes, five years into her marriage with Paul. "He was so utterly unlike any guy I had ever dated before. So much so, I didn't really consider him as a candidate at first. But as I got to know him, I began to discover more and more about myself. I began to discover preferences I never knew existed before. I didn't want security from a man; at least not in the way my aunts and college girlfriends seemed to demand it. I wanted passion. I wanted someone who was able to truly enjoy each moment of life with me. Most of the men in my past had been socially successful and very kindhearted, but they almost always seemed to lack a zest for life. Before I met my husband, I had no idea why I always felt like something was missing in these otherwise "perfect" men. I realize now just how much I missed by not having the courage to explore my inner wants and desires sooner."
Sometimes we assume the wants of others instead of our own. We listen to romantic tales of friends and family members and then we say to ourselves, "I want my lover to be like that." But a disappointing dynamic of relationships is this: what works with one couple doesn't necessarily work for the next couple. You have to be willing to explore your inner desires and learn what it is that you truly want--not what your friends want, not what your family wants, and not even what your lover wants. When it comes to romantic love, you will always feel unsatisfied and empty when you dedicate your emotional existence to the happiness of others.
I once advised a close friend of mine to write down a list of the top ten qualities she wanted in a man. I then told her to add or delete from this list after each romantic date. An interesting development occurred as a result. She ended up discovering that many of the things she had initially written on her list were nowhere to be found in the men she found attractive. For some reason, she had assumed she loved mature and responsible men, but the dudes who were able to boil her blood were the exact opposite. They were carefree, exciting, and almost childlike in their approach to life and love.
Before you can fully develop the process of love and relationships, you must first work on completing your own personal development. This is why the first few steps to finding Mr. Right revolve around self-improvement. You have to take a sharp and truthful look at who you are as a woman and what it is that you ultimately want in life and love. Too many times, you may be tempted to overlook these steps and jump head first into the idea of romance—if only because the sense of loneliness has become too depressing. But the success of any real relationship depends exclusively on the strength of its foundation. And you are one half of that foundation.
You are one of the most important elements on the journey towards your romantic happiness. You have to be willing to treat yourself with the same degree of love and compassion that you eventually expect from your future soul mate. Yet this cannot be done when you are not familiar with the true ingredients that make you complete.
In a recent article from eFem magazine, freelance author Terry Carterette writes about the need to know what it is that you truly want in a relationship. "A guy friend of mine once told me that the worse thing a person can do at a used car dealership is to go unprepared. A dealer can tell when a person does not know what it is she's looking for. An already stressful and exhausting experience becomes even more daunting. She very soon finds herself being shuffled from one car to another, with the salesman promoting all sorts of vehicles she doesn’t need. The same is true with love and happiness."
A guy can sell you almost anything when you step into an emotional car lot with no clue what it is that you want. Take the time to learn what you really want. You may be surprised by what you discover.
Karma is a Motherfucker
"Karma is a motherfucker. I had heard all the folk-tale warnings about things coming back to haunt someone. A man robs a bank on Friday. On Saturday some random criminal burglarizes his home and discovers the stolen loot. Life has a brutal sense of humor sometimes. Poetic justice can sneak up behind even the most cautious hoodlum. I always understood this. I always respected the idea of karma and never attempted to run game on someone who didn’t deserve it. That's why I couldn't understand why my girl would try to fuck me over so badly."
This is the first paragraph to a short story I wrote several years ago. I have always had a special fondness for this opening, as I felt it told a lot about the character without having to say much of anything in particular. I have always loved being able to show my audience that a certain character is, let's say, angry and upset without having to actually write "He's angry and upset."
This is the first paragraph to a short story I wrote several years ago. I have always had a special fondness for this opening, as I felt it told a lot about the character without having to say much of anything in particular. I have always loved being able to show my audience that a certain character is, let's say, angry and upset without having to actually write "He's angry and upset."
Let Go of The Past
By Marlon leTerrance
A large part of truly loving yourself and rebuilding your self-respect is putting the mistakes of your past behind you. The prospects of your future will always appear a little dim and uncertain when you allow yourself to be constantly chained down and haunted by the ghosts of yesterday. You have to be strong enough to once and for all say goodbye to all those sad and bitter experiences that have crippled your sense of self-worth and confidence.
In order for you to make positive changes in your life, you have to get away from focusing so much attention on your past. Instead, you must concentrate on your future. But this can not be done when there’s a scared and untrusting part of you that scurries away like a frightened mouse at the mere thought of getting emotionally involved again. You can’t convince yourself that men are the enemy, and then expect to feel comfortable around them.
A lot of times you defeat the whole purpose of seeking a soul mate when you allow your past to dictate your views of men. You start hiding behind the ridiculous opinion that all men are dogs. You start telling yourself that there is no such thing as a truly gentle and loving man. Yet, deep inside, you know that such blunt generalizations are both cruel and unfair.
When you point emotional fingers at men, blaming every male for the heartache of your past, you become rather skilled at finger pointing but that’s all. You become a romantic detective searching for deception instead of honesty. Each time you meet a man, you start digging through his character and personality, almost hoping that you find a quality in him that proves to be unsavory. But the price you pay is too great. You end up becoming so good at singling out the negative and unsuitable things about a potential date that you lose your ability to recognize and appreciate a guy for who he is as a human being. You fall asleep at night not knowing what to look for in a good man because you are too busy trying to single out and identify the bad guys.
I have known a lot of females who were so caught up in the pain of their past lovers that they tended to scare away future lovers. These women could not hold a conversation without bringing up all the horrible things that some other guy had done to them. And it doesn’t take long for the depressing stories about other men to tear away at a new romance. I’ve spoken with countless men who find themselves lost in a sea storm almost when it comes to dealing with women who use their ex-boyfriends as the topic of virtually every conversation. As a close friend of mine puts it: "A woman who talks about her ex-husband more than she does anyone else strains a relationship from the very beginning. I hate it. I end up feeling as though I’m not only dating her, but her ex-boyfriend as well. It’s like I’m being forced to prove to her that I’m not like her ex, and this is stressful at best. A relationship that starts out with us both trying to prove things to each other, instead of us merely being ourselves, is shaky and pretentious.”
The worst thing that can happen to a female who has been hurt by a man is that she tends to compound the damage by blaming herself for the situation. Not only is she the victim of rejection, but also, she often feels the need to see herself as a bad person who had this coming to her. She makes her own pain worse by telling herself that it was her fault that things went wrong in a relationship. As a result, a broken heart ends up being shattered because she assumes all the responsibility for the mistakes. She stabs herself with guilt, and then carries that guilt around with her--even to other relationships. The wounds never really heal this way.
And, too often, in her pain and confusion, she instinctively does the wrong thing. She doesn’t feel she deserves to be loved or helped, so she lets guilt, anger, jealousy and self-imposed loneliness make a bad situation even worse.
My final advice to my sister, Tenisha, when she was forced to divorce her husband because of his unfaithfulness, was: "You faced a situation that could easily have broken your spirit, a situation that could have left you a bitter, withdrawn woman, jealous of the female friends around you, incapable of responding fully to the promise of being alive. Somehow that did not happen. Somehow, you found the resiliency to go on loving and caring for other people. Like a lot of women, you faced a scary situation, dug deep inside yourself, and found out that you were a lot stronger, and a lot better able to handle it than you ever would have thought you were. I believe that this, more than anything I can say or do, proves that you are a special young lady who deserves to be loved by a real man who will treasure you and fill your life with joy and happiness."
In many ways, this is your most crucial step. You are now standing at the crossroads of romance; you can either let go of your past and look forward to a more fulfilling future, or you can continue drowning yourself in the heartaches and disappointments caused by former lovers. Don’t wait on Prince Charming to ride in on his white horse to convince you that love and happiness is possible again. You have to be willing to convince yourself. And this is done by letting go of the past and refusing to let it dictate your future.
A large part of truly loving yourself and rebuilding your self-respect is putting the mistakes of your past behind you. The prospects of your future will always appear a little dim and uncertain when you allow yourself to be constantly chained down and haunted by the ghosts of yesterday. You have to be strong enough to once and for all say goodbye to all those sad and bitter experiences that have crippled your sense of self-worth and confidence.
In order for you to make positive changes in your life, you have to get away from focusing so much attention on your past. Instead, you must concentrate on your future. But this can not be done when there’s a scared and untrusting part of you that scurries away like a frightened mouse at the mere thought of getting emotionally involved again. You can’t convince yourself that men are the enemy, and then expect to feel comfortable around them.
A lot of times you defeat the whole purpose of seeking a soul mate when you allow your past to dictate your views of men. You start hiding behind the ridiculous opinion that all men are dogs. You start telling yourself that there is no such thing as a truly gentle and loving man. Yet, deep inside, you know that such blunt generalizations are both cruel and unfair.
When you point emotional fingers at men, blaming every male for the heartache of your past, you become rather skilled at finger pointing but that’s all. You become a romantic detective searching for deception instead of honesty. Each time you meet a man, you start digging through his character and personality, almost hoping that you find a quality in him that proves to be unsavory. But the price you pay is too great. You end up becoming so good at singling out the negative and unsuitable things about a potential date that you lose your ability to recognize and appreciate a guy for who he is as a human being. You fall asleep at night not knowing what to look for in a good man because you are too busy trying to single out and identify the bad guys.
I have known a lot of females who were so caught up in the pain of their past lovers that they tended to scare away future lovers. These women could not hold a conversation without bringing up all the horrible things that some other guy had done to them. And it doesn’t take long for the depressing stories about other men to tear away at a new romance. I’ve spoken with countless men who find themselves lost in a sea storm almost when it comes to dealing with women who use their ex-boyfriends as the topic of virtually every conversation. As a close friend of mine puts it: "A woman who talks about her ex-husband more than she does anyone else strains a relationship from the very beginning. I hate it. I end up feeling as though I’m not only dating her, but her ex-boyfriend as well. It’s like I’m being forced to prove to her that I’m not like her ex, and this is stressful at best. A relationship that starts out with us both trying to prove things to each other, instead of us merely being ourselves, is shaky and pretentious.”
The worst thing that can happen to a female who has been hurt by a man is that she tends to compound the damage by blaming herself for the situation. Not only is she the victim of rejection, but also, she often feels the need to see herself as a bad person who had this coming to her. She makes her own pain worse by telling herself that it was her fault that things went wrong in a relationship. As a result, a broken heart ends up being shattered because she assumes all the responsibility for the mistakes. She stabs herself with guilt, and then carries that guilt around with her--even to other relationships. The wounds never really heal this way.
And, too often, in her pain and confusion, she instinctively does the wrong thing. She doesn’t feel she deserves to be loved or helped, so she lets guilt, anger, jealousy and self-imposed loneliness make a bad situation even worse.
My final advice to my sister, Tenisha, when she was forced to divorce her husband because of his unfaithfulness, was: "You faced a situation that could easily have broken your spirit, a situation that could have left you a bitter, withdrawn woman, jealous of the female friends around you, incapable of responding fully to the promise of being alive. Somehow that did not happen. Somehow, you found the resiliency to go on loving and caring for other people. Like a lot of women, you faced a scary situation, dug deep inside yourself, and found out that you were a lot stronger, and a lot better able to handle it than you ever would have thought you were. I believe that this, more than anything I can say or do, proves that you are a special young lady who deserves to be loved by a real man who will treasure you and fill your life with joy and happiness."
In many ways, this is your most crucial step. You are now standing at the crossroads of romance; you can either let go of your past and look forward to a more fulfilling future, or you can continue drowning yourself in the heartaches and disappointments caused by former lovers. Don’t wait on Prince Charming to ride in on his white horse to convince you that love and happiness is possible again. You have to be willing to convince yourself. And this is done by letting go of the past and refusing to let it dictate your future.
Build Yourself First
By Marlon leTerrance
Let me be straight with you from the get-go. True love is not inevitable. It would be cruel and misleading for me to ever suggest that you are somehow destined to find the man of your dreams. But having said this, I do believe that love is inevitably possible. If you are capable of truly loving yourself, then others will be more inclined to love you as well. Because of this, it is almost imperative for you to understand that self-love and self-care precede romantic and faithful love. Your emotional and physical health must always come first. You can never expect men to find in you all the things that you refuse to find in yourself.
You must understand that the first step toward finding a good man is realizing that you actually deserve to be loved. You have to be willing to totally accept the fact that you are a warm and caring person who deserves to be cherished and respected by a man with character, by a man who is willing to commit to you wholeheartedly. And, a lot of times, this is the hardest thing to do.
It is not easy maintaining a high self-esteem when so many of your nights are spent frustrated and alone. It’s hard to keep up your self-confidence when the only men you seem to attract are of the low, cruddy variety. When the only men who approach you are the selfish and irresponsible dudes, or the guys who are scared to death of commitment, or the fellows who see you only as sex objects, then it’s real hard to maintain a sense of pride in yourself. After a while you begin to wonder whether or not there’s something horribly wrong with you. It isn’t long before you start questioning why love and happiness has become so elusive. Eventually, you end up closing your teary eyes at night, scared to death you will be unhappy and alone for the rest of your life.
Then, before you even realize what has happened, you start asking yourself all sorts of mean, self-depreciating questions. "Am I un attractive?" "Am I too aggressive?" "Do I look like the easy type to sex-crazed men?" "Will I ever find Mr. Right? And will he want me when I find him?"
You start taking a cruel, almost cynical look at your friends and family members, all the while asking yourself how they were able to find good men when you seem unable to. You become envious, even jealous at times. When you see young, romantic looking couples holding hands in the park or sharing short, intimate kisses, you force yourself to become numb and indifferent. But there’s a part of you that remains angry and bitter inside. There’s a part of you that becomes cold and distant, because the one thing that you desire the most is beginning to seem as though it is beyond your grasp.
And in your desperation and loneliness, you lower your standards for love, settling for a man you know is not good for you. In the back of your mind you know you deserve more, but instead, you settle for someone far less. Then you try to justify your actions by telling yourself that any man is better than no man at all. "So what, he’s a liar and cheat?" "So what, he has four kids by three different women?" "So what, he’s an ex-convict?" "So what, he’s a selfish sex partner?" You are not alone anymore, right? You have a man by your side, don’t you?
But even as you invent nice and clever little answers to these slanted questions, you know, deep inside, that you have made a mistake. The world of romance is not a yard sale. You can’t bargain love and happiness down to a cheaper price. And whenever you lower the standards for love, you only rob yourself of the immense pleasures that true love has to offer.
You look in the mirror and curse the image staring back at you. Too fat. Too thin. Too saggy. Too thick. And as you stand there, mentally picking a part every aspect of your appearance, you begin losing sight of the most obvious fact of all--a truly good man will accept you for who you are, not for what you look like.
There is not an easy answer when it comes to the problem of self-esteem and low self-confidence. You can’t just will yourself to sleep one night and then wake up the next morning feeling like you are superwoman. Life doesn’t work this way. And as human beings, we are just too sensitive in nature.
My sister, Tenisha, came to me several years ago feeling cheap and humiliated because her husband had cheated on her. I could sense her pain and confusion. Her words burned verbal holes through my heart when she wondered aloud what it was that she had done wrong. Had she been a bad wife, she wondered. Was he not satisfied with her sexually, she wondered? Each question sliced deep into my soul, pulling out tears and emotions that I hadn’t felt in years. I wanted so badly to protect her from all the suffering, to somehow go back in time and make everything right again. But I couldn’t do this, and in a way, I felt almost powerless.
Later, Tenisha decided to divorce her husband, to begin a new life and to search out a more faithful soul mate. It wasn’t easy for her to start over again. I can only imagine how lonely she felt back then, how uncertain and insecure. But she was able to cope with her loss by volunteering much of her free time as a big sister for troubled youth. She recommitted herself to God, struggling each day to become a better person. As a result, she was able to turn a stumbling block into a stepping stone.
A lot of times when you find yourself weighed down by the loneliness of life, you can find a sense of meaning and self-worth by reaching out to others. I can only tell you that some wonderful and liberating things (and also some difficult and demanding things) happen when you dedicate some of your time and energy to other people in need. You come to understand just how sacred and special life is when you are able to hold an elderly person’s hand and talk with her about the past and her interpretation on the present. Sitting down and sharing time and prayers with a sick child somehow brings out the best in us. And the more we help other people in need, the more sensitive and humane we become as a result. Life has a way of hardening our hearts, turning us into cold and cynical people. We look at the world and ourselves with eyes of bitterness and anger. But, by taking out the time to help our fellow man, we rekindle the flame of our humanity; we thaw out our hearts and make us more equipped for real love. By being special to someone else, we learn to see ourselves as special. And in this way, love and happiness start out as an experience instead of a quest.
Your confidence rises when you know that you are a good person doing good deeds for other people. When a troubled teenager tells you that he is willing to take your advice and go back to school, it has an effect on your self-esteem. You feel both needed and loved. And, many times, these are the feelings we desire the most.
True love and Mr. Right are not found in these small acts of charity, but self-love is. And, in the beginning, this is the greatest love of all. Before you can ever really accept the love of someone else, it is most important that you be able to trust, like, and love yourself.
Let me be straight with you from the get-go. True love is not inevitable. It would be cruel and misleading for me to ever suggest that you are somehow destined to find the man of your dreams. But having said this, I do believe that love is inevitably possible. If you are capable of truly loving yourself, then others will be more inclined to love you as well. Because of this, it is almost imperative for you to understand that self-love and self-care precede romantic and faithful love. Your emotional and physical health must always come first. You can never expect men to find in you all the things that you refuse to find in yourself.
You must understand that the first step toward finding a good man is realizing that you actually deserve to be loved. You have to be willing to totally accept the fact that you are a warm and caring person who deserves to be cherished and respected by a man with character, by a man who is willing to commit to you wholeheartedly. And, a lot of times, this is the hardest thing to do.
It is not easy maintaining a high self-esteem when so many of your nights are spent frustrated and alone. It’s hard to keep up your self-confidence when the only men you seem to attract are of the low, cruddy variety. When the only men who approach you are the selfish and irresponsible dudes, or the guys who are scared to death of commitment, or the fellows who see you only as sex objects, then it’s real hard to maintain a sense of pride in yourself. After a while you begin to wonder whether or not there’s something horribly wrong with you. It isn’t long before you start questioning why love and happiness has become so elusive. Eventually, you end up closing your teary eyes at night, scared to death you will be unhappy and alone for the rest of your life.
Then, before you even realize what has happened, you start asking yourself all sorts of mean, self-depreciating questions. "Am I un attractive?" "Am I too aggressive?" "Do I look like the easy type to sex-crazed men?" "Will I ever find Mr. Right? And will he want me when I find him?"
You start taking a cruel, almost cynical look at your friends and family members, all the while asking yourself how they were able to find good men when you seem unable to. You become envious, even jealous at times. When you see young, romantic looking couples holding hands in the park or sharing short, intimate kisses, you force yourself to become numb and indifferent. But there’s a part of you that remains angry and bitter inside. There’s a part of you that becomes cold and distant, because the one thing that you desire the most is beginning to seem as though it is beyond your grasp.
And in your desperation and loneliness, you lower your standards for love, settling for a man you know is not good for you. In the back of your mind you know you deserve more, but instead, you settle for someone far less. Then you try to justify your actions by telling yourself that any man is better than no man at all. "So what, he’s a liar and cheat?" "So what, he has four kids by three different women?" "So what, he’s an ex-convict?" "So what, he’s a selfish sex partner?" You are not alone anymore, right? You have a man by your side, don’t you?
But even as you invent nice and clever little answers to these slanted questions, you know, deep inside, that you have made a mistake. The world of romance is not a yard sale. You can’t bargain love and happiness down to a cheaper price. And whenever you lower the standards for love, you only rob yourself of the immense pleasures that true love has to offer.
You look in the mirror and curse the image staring back at you. Too fat. Too thin. Too saggy. Too thick. And as you stand there, mentally picking a part every aspect of your appearance, you begin losing sight of the most obvious fact of all--a truly good man will accept you for who you are, not for what you look like.
There is not an easy answer when it comes to the problem of self-esteem and low self-confidence. You can’t just will yourself to sleep one night and then wake up the next morning feeling like you are superwoman. Life doesn’t work this way. And as human beings, we are just too sensitive in nature.
My sister, Tenisha, came to me several years ago feeling cheap and humiliated because her husband had cheated on her. I could sense her pain and confusion. Her words burned verbal holes through my heart when she wondered aloud what it was that she had done wrong. Had she been a bad wife, she wondered. Was he not satisfied with her sexually, she wondered? Each question sliced deep into my soul, pulling out tears and emotions that I hadn’t felt in years. I wanted so badly to protect her from all the suffering, to somehow go back in time and make everything right again. But I couldn’t do this, and in a way, I felt almost powerless.
Later, Tenisha decided to divorce her husband, to begin a new life and to search out a more faithful soul mate. It wasn’t easy for her to start over again. I can only imagine how lonely she felt back then, how uncertain and insecure. But she was able to cope with her loss by volunteering much of her free time as a big sister for troubled youth. She recommitted herself to God, struggling each day to become a better person. As a result, she was able to turn a stumbling block into a stepping stone.
A lot of times when you find yourself weighed down by the loneliness of life, you can find a sense of meaning and self-worth by reaching out to others. I can only tell you that some wonderful and liberating things (and also some difficult and demanding things) happen when you dedicate some of your time and energy to other people in need. You come to understand just how sacred and special life is when you are able to hold an elderly person’s hand and talk with her about the past and her interpretation on the present. Sitting down and sharing time and prayers with a sick child somehow brings out the best in us. And the more we help other people in need, the more sensitive and humane we become as a result. Life has a way of hardening our hearts, turning us into cold and cynical people. We look at the world and ourselves with eyes of bitterness and anger. But, by taking out the time to help our fellow man, we rekindle the flame of our humanity; we thaw out our hearts and make us more equipped for real love. By being special to someone else, we learn to see ourselves as special. And in this way, love and happiness start out as an experience instead of a quest.
Your confidence rises when you know that you are a good person doing good deeds for other people. When a troubled teenager tells you that he is willing to take your advice and go back to school, it has an effect on your self-esteem. You feel both needed and loved. And, many times, these are the feelings we desire the most.
True love and Mr. Right are not found in these small acts of charity, but self-love is. And, in the beginning, this is the greatest love of all. Before you can ever really accept the love of someone else, it is most important that you be able to trust, like, and love yourself.
In Defense of Hip-Hop
By Marlon leTerrance (NightShade)
I had a dream last night that scared me. All the Black rappers in America stopped making realistic music about violence, sex, drugs and crime. The Hip-Hop community, as a whole, no longer endorsed their culturally rich tradition of fashion. Instead of wearing sagging pants and tight miniskirts they threw on Brooks Brothers suits. They exchanged their Timberlands in for Bruno Magli slippers. They stopped reading Donald Goines books (for those who happened to read) and, instead, mentally swam in the world of Ralph Waldo Emerson.
No one sold drugs on the streets in the black community. Drug dealers humbly accepted their fate in white America and found pride in shining shoes. Black males tossed aside hundreds of years of psychological conditioning and became responsible fathers, opting to stay home and become loving dads instead of running scared and leaving women to rear children alone.
Black women, chained down by the so-called negative influence of the Hip-Hop culture, no longer felt a need to align themselves with the horrible history of their race and slavery. Black women decided, quite abruptly, to never look at themselves as sex objects in the way their foremothers were seen as sex objects by slave masters. Instead, Black women walked with pride and substance, always trying to better themselves.
Black men and women no longer had casual sex. The long, complicated traditions of West Africa were tossed aside, and, with relative ease, the western culture of marriage before intercourse was accepted and upheld. Black on black crime no longer existed. The social unbalance and self-hatred that drove previous black men to hurt and kill one another stopped completely.
Everything that even remotely resembled gangsta rap was taken off the shelves of music stores. Rap music, as a genre, could not be sold unless it contained 90% Christian music. Still, young black males endorsed this change and made only White Jesus rap songs. It did not matter to young black rappers that Christianity wasn't their original religion. Nor did it concern them that it was a religion that was literally beat into the skulls of slaves as a means of brainwashing servants and making rebellious subjects more passive.
Black males and females studied hard in school and grabbed the American dream. They gladly went to college, prying open their brains to the wealth of knowledge that each white professor and black professor had to share. No more blunts. No more blasting loud music out of banging systems inside of overly expensive cars. No more disrespecting elders. No more RAP. No more Hip-Hop.
In my dream I looked around and couldn't believe what I was seeing. Everything looked so foreign, so surreal, so...fake. Then, I walked over to a newspaper stand and looked at the headlines. It read: "All the Educated, Religious, Elderly, Whitewashed black folks in America have lynched themselves!”
Shocked, I read further: "It seems that Educated, Religious, Elderly, and Whitewashed Black Folks in America have decided to end their lives today because they NO LONGER have anything or anyone to blame for their FAILURE in the civil rights struggle. Now that Hip-Hop has died, these "uppity" Negroes have nothing else to point their fingers at or accuse for their race's downfall. Understandably, they CAN NOT point their finger at Whitey, for that is no longer politically correct. So, instead of dealing with their own personal failure, instead of admitting that they sold out years ago, these worthy soldiers called it quits this morning and sought out the rope."
I awoke with sweat on my forehead and fear bungee jumping from my chest. I couldn't help but wonder if the death of hip-hop would, in a very scary way, bring forth the death of it's most elaborate critic--the Struggled-out Has-been.
Take away hip-hop and the ghetto still remains. What idiot started the rumor that racism would end if groups like Mobb Deep dropped positive albums. That's ridiculous. Cops won’t stop beating black folks down just because we change our "sagging pants" dress code. Judges won’t stop throwing innocent black men into prison for trumped-up crimes just because Hip-Hop, as a culture, stops glamorizing drug dealers. David Duke won’t change his ideology just because we change our terminology and stop calling each other niggaz. Who are these impostors (Hip-Hop Critics) trying to con, Hip-Hop fans or themselves?
Maybe the people who condemn us Hip-Hop fans are truly disappointed, but not in us. Instead, they are just disappointed in themselves---for they have marched and preached and died and kissed and brown nosed and struggled and we STILL haven’t seen the mountaintop that Martin spoke about. These elderly, Black Intellectuals seem so determined to preach about the mythical torch that was handed down to the younger generation. But the torch was never passed, it was pawned away to white America, and now they are trying to blame Hip-Hop fans for a blunder that’s before our time. Who killed Malcolm?
Are they mad because, after all these years, after all the so-called struggling, that ugly white monster is STILL sitting in our living room uninvited (not to mention that this very same monster still OWNS the whole house as well as the land outside.)? And THAT problem, dear readers, is much bigger than Hip-Hop, for it was bigger than both Malcolm and Martin.
I had a dream last night that scared me. All the Black rappers in America stopped making realistic music about violence, sex, drugs and crime. The Hip-Hop community, as a whole, no longer endorsed their culturally rich tradition of fashion. Instead of wearing sagging pants and tight miniskirts they threw on Brooks Brothers suits. They exchanged their Timberlands in for Bruno Magli slippers. They stopped reading Donald Goines books (for those who happened to read) and, instead, mentally swam in the world of Ralph Waldo Emerson.
No one sold drugs on the streets in the black community. Drug dealers humbly accepted their fate in white America and found pride in shining shoes. Black males tossed aside hundreds of years of psychological conditioning and became responsible fathers, opting to stay home and become loving dads instead of running scared and leaving women to rear children alone.
Black women, chained down by the so-called negative influence of the Hip-Hop culture, no longer felt a need to align themselves with the horrible history of their race and slavery. Black women decided, quite abruptly, to never look at themselves as sex objects in the way their foremothers were seen as sex objects by slave masters. Instead, Black women walked with pride and substance, always trying to better themselves.
Black men and women no longer had casual sex. The long, complicated traditions of West Africa were tossed aside, and, with relative ease, the western culture of marriage before intercourse was accepted and upheld. Black on black crime no longer existed. The social unbalance and self-hatred that drove previous black men to hurt and kill one another stopped completely.
Everything that even remotely resembled gangsta rap was taken off the shelves of music stores. Rap music, as a genre, could not be sold unless it contained 90% Christian music. Still, young black males endorsed this change and made only White Jesus rap songs. It did not matter to young black rappers that Christianity wasn't their original religion. Nor did it concern them that it was a religion that was literally beat into the skulls of slaves as a means of brainwashing servants and making rebellious subjects more passive.
Black males and females studied hard in school and grabbed the American dream. They gladly went to college, prying open their brains to the wealth of knowledge that each white professor and black professor had to share. No more blunts. No more blasting loud music out of banging systems inside of overly expensive cars. No more disrespecting elders. No more RAP. No more Hip-Hop.
In my dream I looked around and couldn't believe what I was seeing. Everything looked so foreign, so surreal, so...fake. Then, I walked over to a newspaper stand and looked at the headlines. It read: "All the Educated, Religious, Elderly, Whitewashed black folks in America have lynched themselves!”
Shocked, I read further: "It seems that Educated, Religious, Elderly, and Whitewashed Black Folks in America have decided to end their lives today because they NO LONGER have anything or anyone to blame for their FAILURE in the civil rights struggle. Now that Hip-Hop has died, these "uppity" Negroes have nothing else to point their fingers at or accuse for their race's downfall. Understandably, they CAN NOT point their finger at Whitey, for that is no longer politically correct. So, instead of dealing with their own personal failure, instead of admitting that they sold out years ago, these worthy soldiers called it quits this morning and sought out the rope."
I awoke with sweat on my forehead and fear bungee jumping from my chest. I couldn't help but wonder if the death of hip-hop would, in a very scary way, bring forth the death of it's most elaborate critic--the Struggled-out Has-been.
Take away hip-hop and the ghetto still remains. What idiot started the rumor that racism would end if groups like Mobb Deep dropped positive albums. That's ridiculous. Cops won’t stop beating black folks down just because we change our "sagging pants" dress code. Judges won’t stop throwing innocent black men into prison for trumped-up crimes just because Hip-Hop, as a culture, stops glamorizing drug dealers. David Duke won’t change his ideology just because we change our terminology and stop calling each other niggaz. Who are these impostors (Hip-Hop Critics) trying to con, Hip-Hop fans or themselves?
Maybe the people who condemn us Hip-Hop fans are truly disappointed, but not in us. Instead, they are just disappointed in themselves---for they have marched and preached and died and kissed and brown nosed and struggled and we STILL haven’t seen the mountaintop that Martin spoke about. These elderly, Black Intellectuals seem so determined to preach about the mythical torch that was handed down to the younger generation. But the torch was never passed, it was pawned away to white America, and now they are trying to blame Hip-Hop fans for a blunder that’s before our time. Who killed Malcolm?
Are they mad because, after all these years, after all the so-called struggling, that ugly white monster is STILL sitting in our living room uninvited (not to mention that this very same monster still OWNS the whole house as well as the land outside.)? And THAT problem, dear readers, is much bigger than Hip-Hop, for it was bigger than both Malcolm and Martin.
Leave Mr. Slave Alone
By Marlon leTerrance
A dear friend of mine named Sherrima stopped by my office one morning. Her eyes were bubbling over with excitement and her smile was as bright as the break of dawn. I was sort of anxious to hear what was on her mind.
"Guess what, babe?!" She asked, the words gushing forth so fast I had to filter through them.
"What? Your hairdresser retired?"
"No, silly! I’m getting married," she practically screamed this into my ears.
I am not quite sure whether it was her words or the tone of her voice that startled me more, but I was certainly caught off guard. I had known Sherrima since grade school. She was a stubbornly independent woman, and I found it difficult to imagine her married.
I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, and considered the possibility. She looked happy. And more than any woman I knew, she deserved a loving, gentle man in her life. I was glad for her. I smiled up at her and winked. "I am very happy for you, sweetheart. But who is the lucky dude?"
"Don’t you remember. He’s the guy I was telling you about. You know. His name’s Paul." She stared me down until my eyes revealed a hint of recognition. "He asked me to marry him last night and I said yes!!"
"That’s great! But, sweetheart, you’ve only known this Paul character three weeks. Are you sure he’s Mr. Right?"
"I can’t wait to introduce him to you. He’s so sweet. He does everything that I ask him to do. He’s nice. He never argues with me. He buys me all kinds of expensive gifts. And, unlike most men, he’s not afraid to say he loves me!"
Sherrima rambled on and on for about ten more minutes, but I was no longer listening. I was too busy trying to figure out the best way to let her know that she was making a huge mistake.
When you feel empty and alone on the inside, it’s very easy to fall in love with a guy for all the wrong reasons. You start allowing yourself to become attracted to a guy just because he appears to be nice and responsible, not because he is the man who makes you happy and satisfies your inner needs. This is a cheap way of trying to grab the "best thing happening." And a relationship based on illusions never works.
If you are attracted to someone because he always tries to please you, because he does only what you want him to do, that is not love. If you get involved with a man just because he buys you expensive gifts and tells you sweet things that make you feel strong and smart, that is not a real relationship. That’s just a roundabout way of loving yourself. Your so-called Mr. Right becomes nothing more than a handy little ego booster...and even though you may learn to genuinely care about him, you will never really respect him as a man.
You can love someone and give him the room and the right to be himself, or you can try to control him, to make him do your will--whether it’s for his own good or not. But you cannot do both at the same time. This was Sherrima’s problem. She had found a man who was willing to sit in the back seat of their relationship, and she was just glad to finally have a respectable, charming guy to cater to her every whim. But love is a double-edged sword, it cuts both ways. Women have to be willing to meet men half way, giving love as much as they take it, receiving demands as often as they make them. Anything else may be fun, it may enhance your ego and sense of feminine power, but it’s not a real relationship. It does not recognize the uniqueness of the other person, only his usefulness.
Loving someone for being like you, for being an extension of your will, is not really love. True love can be generated only between people who see themselves as equals, between people who can be mutually fulfilling to each other. Where one commands and one obeys, there can be loyalty and gratitude but not love.
Sherrima thought about this for a moment, then shook her head. "But he loves me."
"That’s not the problem, sweetheart. I know he loves you." I said, then smiled lightly, hoping to somehow take the sting out of my next words. "The problem is...you don’t love him."
A dear friend of mine named Sherrima stopped by my office one morning. Her eyes were bubbling over with excitement and her smile was as bright as the break of dawn. I was sort of anxious to hear what was on her mind.
"Guess what, babe?!" She asked, the words gushing forth so fast I had to filter through them.
"What? Your hairdresser retired?"
"No, silly! I’m getting married," she practically screamed this into my ears.
I am not quite sure whether it was her words or the tone of her voice that startled me more, but I was certainly caught off guard. I had known Sherrima since grade school. She was a stubbornly independent woman, and I found it difficult to imagine her married.
I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, and considered the possibility. She looked happy. And more than any woman I knew, she deserved a loving, gentle man in her life. I was glad for her. I smiled up at her and winked. "I am very happy for you, sweetheart. But who is the lucky dude?"
"Don’t you remember. He’s the guy I was telling you about. You know. His name’s Paul." She stared me down until my eyes revealed a hint of recognition. "He asked me to marry him last night and I said yes!!"
"That’s great! But, sweetheart, you’ve only known this Paul character three weeks. Are you sure he’s Mr. Right?"
"I can’t wait to introduce him to you. He’s so sweet. He does everything that I ask him to do. He’s nice. He never argues with me. He buys me all kinds of expensive gifts. And, unlike most men, he’s not afraid to say he loves me!"
Sherrima rambled on and on for about ten more minutes, but I was no longer listening. I was too busy trying to figure out the best way to let her know that she was making a huge mistake.
When you feel empty and alone on the inside, it’s very easy to fall in love with a guy for all the wrong reasons. You start allowing yourself to become attracted to a guy just because he appears to be nice and responsible, not because he is the man who makes you happy and satisfies your inner needs. This is a cheap way of trying to grab the "best thing happening." And a relationship based on illusions never works.
If you are attracted to someone because he always tries to please you, because he does only what you want him to do, that is not love. If you get involved with a man just because he buys you expensive gifts and tells you sweet things that make you feel strong and smart, that is not a real relationship. That’s just a roundabout way of loving yourself. Your so-called Mr. Right becomes nothing more than a handy little ego booster...and even though you may learn to genuinely care about him, you will never really respect him as a man.
You can love someone and give him the room and the right to be himself, or you can try to control him, to make him do your will--whether it’s for his own good or not. But you cannot do both at the same time. This was Sherrima’s problem. She had found a man who was willing to sit in the back seat of their relationship, and she was just glad to finally have a respectable, charming guy to cater to her every whim. But love is a double-edged sword, it cuts both ways. Women have to be willing to meet men half way, giving love as much as they take it, receiving demands as often as they make them. Anything else may be fun, it may enhance your ego and sense of feminine power, but it’s not a real relationship. It does not recognize the uniqueness of the other person, only his usefulness.
Loving someone for being like you, for being an extension of your will, is not really love. True love can be generated only between people who see themselves as equals, between people who can be mutually fulfilling to each other. Where one commands and one obeys, there can be loyalty and gratitude but not love.
Sherrima thought about this for a moment, then shook her head. "But he loves me."
"That’s not the problem, sweetheart. I know he loves you." I said, then smiled lightly, hoping to somehow take the sting out of my next words. "The problem is...you don’t love him."
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