According to the enlightened laws of the land, I became a man at 18 years old. I probably started acting like a man at 16. I didn’t realize that I was a man until I was 28. I was functioning as a man and carrying responsibility as a man. I just never identified myself as a man in any formal way.
Like most men in this society, I never had any formal ceremony or recognition that declared me a man according to tradition. I was never informed of what my role was to be in society or what society’s expectations were of me. Like most men and boys, I stumbled around blindly trying to find my way; determining what I should be and how I should handle myself. Sometimes I was overbearing and domineering, sometimes I was too aloof and standoffish. Mostly, I tried to be true to the examples that were set by the men who were around me as I grew up.
It took a woman to make me realize what I had become and what I was becoming. The physical balance and symbolic balance that she represented were important and were what fully caught my attention. I was out at dinner with a good friend and really enjoying her company. We got into a conversation about relationships and how people act In their relationships. It’s really hard to remember the tenor of it. She told me that she really didn’t have to push me toward some type of understanding because I was a man.
It made me feel good that she said that. I didn’t go into a mode where I wanted to beat on my chest or grunt like some caveman. I just felt like after all of my struggles that I had done something right. I can’t express it any better than that. The effect that it had on me was that I began to more readily internalize and act on the things that I thought were important in my life. It also made me more cognizant of the fact that everything that I do is observed and judged, whether I want it to be or not, whether I care or not.
I have a hard time understanding people’s perceptions of me. I don’t always understand the effects of my words or actions. I try not to hurt people, but I find that I occasionally grate people the wrong way because of the way that I express myself. In this case, it was good to get direct and positive feedback about me from someone that I respect. Maybe I was actually making some personal progress.
I am coming to a sense of peace and balance about who I am. I have also come to recognize that manhood is an ongoing process that requires wisdom, restraint, and strength. It also requires a sense of personal responsibility, consistency, and honor that is not talked about enough. (Or, I might just be a little too old school for my own good.) To be honest, I am still figuring it out.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
The Test
Two weeks ago, my father had a stroke. It wasn’t his first. He has had two others. For some reason, I am having a hard time getting my mind right about this one. I haven’t been myself and I know that it shows.
I have friends that are having similar problems. Their parents are experiencing health problems or crises that they weren’t at all prepared to handle. This actually seems like a common theme with the people in my life. It is probably that time in our life cycles.
With the first stroke, he was very fortunate. He didn’t take his blood pressure medicine for about a year and it caught up to him. Once he got out of the hospital, he was fine. He was up and about like nothing happened. He got the message and began to take his medications again.
The second stroke hit him about seven weeks ago. He had been taking his medication but he was not exercising. The stroke made him weak. He initially had to use a walker to get around. He started getting physical therapy and was coming along well. The therapist told him that soon he wouldn’t need the walker at all.
This last one hit him hard. It was a recurrence of the stroke he had seven weeks ago. He has lost control of his right side. He can’t walk or move around well. He has a hard time turning over and has been confined to a bed. We had to send him to a nursing home for rehab.
I never wanted to have to do that for either of my parents. I don’t even like saying nursing home in relation to either of my parents. The thing is, it is the best thing that my siblings and I could do for him. And, thankfully, he has insurance to pay for it. The facility is equipped to help him and give him the speech, physical, and occupational therapy that he needs to get his functionality back. We are also going to seek some alternative therapies like acupuncture.
I know that this is the best thing for him. I don’t have the training or expertise to do for him what he needs done. I just can’t seem to be able to get my head around it on a very basic level. There are so many things that are pulling at me about what is happening to him. It is really messing with my focus and I am having trouble handling it in a constructive way.
I didn’t do this to him. Yet in a really weird way, I feel responsible. I am going to do everything that I can to help him to get his life back. That is not in question. Yet somehow I am taking this personally at a level that is not at all good for me. I can’t figure out why.
Maybe I see a future possibility. I have struggled with my weight all of my life. Fortunately, I haven’t developed weight related problems. I have begun to take more steps toward controlling it and have found some success. I need to do more. At the same time, I know that I need to be patient with the process.
Maybe I feel guilty because I can’t do more. I don’t have a magic wand to wave over everything and make this all go away. I can’t stroke a check and get a private, highly trained staff to pamper him. He has everything that he needs to recover and I know that his recovery is up to him. Still, I feel like I haven’t done anything.
I know that part of what bothers me about this situation is that I don’t like seeing him helpless. I don’t know of any son that wasn’t abused or abandoned that wants to see his father in a situation like this. I know that my dad is not in pain, but he is suffering mentally because he feels confined. That is not something that I can work out for him.
Somewhere in all of this, there are a couple of tests. For my father, his will and resolve to recover are going to be tested over the next few weeks and months. He has to do the work and bring himself back.
For me it is a different test. I know that I have to leave here soon to move forward. I can’t let how I feel about this situation stop me from doing what I have to do. And to be honest, my dad doesn’t want me to stop. We talked a in the emergency room about me moving forward with the plans that I have been developing for myself. I know that if I don’t move forward now, I may not ever move forward. So I have to bring forward my own will and resolve to realize my goals without hurting myself with false guilt over abandoning my dad during his trials.
I have friends that are having similar problems. Their parents are experiencing health problems or crises that they weren’t at all prepared to handle. This actually seems like a common theme with the people in my life. It is probably that time in our life cycles.
With the first stroke, he was very fortunate. He didn’t take his blood pressure medicine for about a year and it caught up to him. Once he got out of the hospital, he was fine. He was up and about like nothing happened. He got the message and began to take his medications again.
The second stroke hit him about seven weeks ago. He had been taking his medication but he was not exercising. The stroke made him weak. He initially had to use a walker to get around. He started getting physical therapy and was coming along well. The therapist told him that soon he wouldn’t need the walker at all.
This last one hit him hard. It was a recurrence of the stroke he had seven weeks ago. He has lost control of his right side. He can’t walk or move around well. He has a hard time turning over and has been confined to a bed. We had to send him to a nursing home for rehab.
I never wanted to have to do that for either of my parents. I don’t even like saying nursing home in relation to either of my parents. The thing is, it is the best thing that my siblings and I could do for him. And, thankfully, he has insurance to pay for it. The facility is equipped to help him and give him the speech, physical, and occupational therapy that he needs to get his functionality back. We are also going to seek some alternative therapies like acupuncture.
I know that this is the best thing for him. I don’t have the training or expertise to do for him what he needs done. I just can’t seem to be able to get my head around it on a very basic level. There are so many things that are pulling at me about what is happening to him. It is really messing with my focus and I am having trouble handling it in a constructive way.
I didn’t do this to him. Yet in a really weird way, I feel responsible. I am going to do everything that I can to help him to get his life back. That is not in question. Yet somehow I am taking this personally at a level that is not at all good for me. I can’t figure out why.
Maybe I see a future possibility. I have struggled with my weight all of my life. Fortunately, I haven’t developed weight related problems. I have begun to take more steps toward controlling it and have found some success. I need to do more. At the same time, I know that I need to be patient with the process.
Maybe I feel guilty because I can’t do more. I don’t have a magic wand to wave over everything and make this all go away. I can’t stroke a check and get a private, highly trained staff to pamper him. He has everything that he needs to recover and I know that his recovery is up to him. Still, I feel like I haven’t done anything.
I know that part of what bothers me about this situation is that I don’t like seeing him helpless. I don’t know of any son that wasn’t abused or abandoned that wants to see his father in a situation like this. I know that my dad is not in pain, but he is suffering mentally because he feels confined. That is not something that I can work out for him.
Somewhere in all of this, there are a couple of tests. For my father, his will and resolve to recover are going to be tested over the next few weeks and months. He has to do the work and bring himself back.
For me it is a different test. I know that I have to leave here soon to move forward. I can’t let how I feel about this situation stop me from doing what I have to do. And to be honest, my dad doesn’t want me to stop. We talked a in the emergency room about me moving forward with the plans that I have been developing for myself. I know that if I don’t move forward now, I may not ever move forward. So I have to bring forward my own will and resolve to realize my goals without hurting myself with false guilt over abandoning my dad during his trials.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Identity Politics
The other day I was walking down the street with a couple of friends. We were discussing our next moves and how me were trying to move forward with our plans. Out of nowhere, gunshots rang out. We quickly figured out where they were coming from, ducked down, and moved away from their source. We started walking again and some more gunshots rang out.
After we determined that there were no more shots coming, we began again to walk down the street. As we were passing a certain house, several little, skinny, young boys came out. All of them had their pants hanging off their asses and they were talking a lot of shit. I could tell by the way they carried themselves that none of them could bust a grape in a fruit fight.
One of them had a gun in his hand, a snub nose revolver. It was the kind of gun that no matter how well it was made, it needed to be used a very close range to be effective. Every one of them looked like the kind of guys that turn their guns to the side to look tough. They don’t understand that the sights are on top for a reason. Fortunately, no one got shot. But, everyone was in danger because bullets don’t have names and addresses on them.
As I look back on the incident, I realize that I had absolutely no fear of getting hurt or of the fools that we saw trying to act tough. I am not claiming that I am some kind of tough guy. They just had absolutely no effect on me. Something about the whole situation, and those boys especially, was cartoonish and surreal. This generation of young men coming up after me doesn’t have a chance if these are its representatives.
The whole incident got me thinking about how I define myself as a Black person and how I am just lumped into a group by a process that is totally beyond my control. From a certain perspective, being Black or anything else is an accident of birth. Black consciousness is manufactured, regardless of its validity, usefulness, or necessity. Not fully understanding this, I have allowed myself, at times, to be reactionary over situations not of my choosing. I have aligned myself with people and ideologies in which I might not otherwise indulge or with which I might not agree.
I realized recently that I have very few non-Black friends, when earlier in life I had friends of all persuasions. The more I consider this, the more that I know that I don’t want to play this game by these rules any more. I can’t, in good conscious, align myself with this “thing” any more. I am choosing to be myself and choosing with whom I align myself. I can’t continue to deal with life strictly or even partly from the perspective of skin color.
A wise man once talked about being judged on the content of one’s character instead of by the color of one’s skin. That idea was really subversive and ultimately was one of the things that got him murdered. Still, the idea is beautiful and worth integrating into my life in a very real way.
I have also been looking back at my own interactions and have considered my own shortcomings. I have participated in support of and celebrations of people in my racial/ethnic group who should not have been supported or celebrated. I have defended people in arguments that should have been left alone or to their own devices. And I have allowed people to slide that I should have hemmed up or gotten away from.
I can’t waste any more time or energy on this old model. I can’t afford to support people who really wouldn’t care about me if they didn’t need me. I can’t be concerned with these con artists and users who seek a paycheck, a free ride, and reverence for the pseudo-official yet unelected positions. I just can’t be part of that any more.
Also, on a more personal level, I can’t continue to indulge in a level of inclusiveness that borders on self destructive. I can’t unconsciously be swept up in identifications with people that I would not want in my neighborhood. I also can’t let others define what I identify as my causes based on group-think, assumptions, and faulty reasoning. Supporting without question anything just because it has Black on it isn’t worth doing anymore.
When I look around at other so-called races or ethnic groups, they never hesitate to distance themselves from members of their groups that display inappropriate behavior. I have seen White people that are quick to call other White people "redneck" or "white trash" in public without fear of a fire storm. They are totally unafraid of disavowing or ostracizing someone from their groups when they deem it appropriate.
When I compare the outward behavior of different racial groups, I have seen no other group besides Black people that cringes at the thought of someone that they don’t know and may never meet reflects badly on the group. Somewhere in all of that is a misplaced sense of responsibility. Black folks get lumped together without their consent and profiled in all of their interactions. That doesn’t mean that I have to like it or bow to participating in it. I would prefer to analyze the situation and act or react accordingly.
At the core of all of this, I think that I am in transition. I feel that I am moving to a state that many people in the next generation have attained naturally and without personal drama. I am changing from someone who has functioned on a race-centric or race-conscious mode to someone who is focused on developing his own identity and focused on being true to himself. I feel the need to more carefully choose my friends based on their value as people. I want to be involved in situations and people who are really worth something. Just being Black is not reason enough for anything anymore.
After we determined that there were no more shots coming, we began again to walk down the street. As we were passing a certain house, several little, skinny, young boys came out. All of them had their pants hanging off their asses and they were talking a lot of shit. I could tell by the way they carried themselves that none of them could bust a grape in a fruit fight.
One of them had a gun in his hand, a snub nose revolver. It was the kind of gun that no matter how well it was made, it needed to be used a very close range to be effective. Every one of them looked like the kind of guys that turn their guns to the side to look tough. They don’t understand that the sights are on top for a reason. Fortunately, no one got shot. But, everyone was in danger because bullets don’t have names and addresses on them.
As I look back on the incident, I realize that I had absolutely no fear of getting hurt or of the fools that we saw trying to act tough. I am not claiming that I am some kind of tough guy. They just had absolutely no effect on me. Something about the whole situation, and those boys especially, was cartoonish and surreal. This generation of young men coming up after me doesn’t have a chance if these are its representatives.
The whole incident got me thinking about how I define myself as a Black person and how I am just lumped into a group by a process that is totally beyond my control. From a certain perspective, being Black or anything else is an accident of birth. Black consciousness is manufactured, regardless of its validity, usefulness, or necessity. Not fully understanding this, I have allowed myself, at times, to be reactionary over situations not of my choosing. I have aligned myself with people and ideologies in which I might not otherwise indulge or with which I might not agree.
I realized recently that I have very few non-Black friends, when earlier in life I had friends of all persuasions. The more I consider this, the more that I know that I don’t want to play this game by these rules any more. I can’t, in good conscious, align myself with this “thing” any more. I am choosing to be myself and choosing with whom I align myself. I can’t continue to deal with life strictly or even partly from the perspective of skin color.
A wise man once talked about being judged on the content of one’s character instead of by the color of one’s skin. That idea was really subversive and ultimately was one of the things that got him murdered. Still, the idea is beautiful and worth integrating into my life in a very real way.
I have also been looking back at my own interactions and have considered my own shortcomings. I have participated in support of and celebrations of people in my racial/ethnic group who should not have been supported or celebrated. I have defended people in arguments that should have been left alone or to their own devices. And I have allowed people to slide that I should have hemmed up or gotten away from.
I can’t waste any more time or energy on this old model. I can’t afford to support people who really wouldn’t care about me if they didn’t need me. I can’t be concerned with these con artists and users who seek a paycheck, a free ride, and reverence for the pseudo-official yet unelected positions. I just can’t be part of that any more.
Also, on a more personal level, I can’t continue to indulge in a level of inclusiveness that borders on self destructive. I can’t unconsciously be swept up in identifications with people that I would not want in my neighborhood. I also can’t let others define what I identify as my causes based on group-think, assumptions, and faulty reasoning. Supporting without question anything just because it has Black on it isn’t worth doing anymore.
When I look around at other so-called races or ethnic groups, they never hesitate to distance themselves from members of their groups that display inappropriate behavior. I have seen White people that are quick to call other White people "redneck" or "white trash" in public without fear of a fire storm. They are totally unafraid of disavowing or ostracizing someone from their groups when they deem it appropriate.
When I compare the outward behavior of different racial groups, I have seen no other group besides Black people that cringes at the thought of someone that they don’t know and may never meet reflects badly on the group. Somewhere in all of that is a misplaced sense of responsibility. Black folks get lumped together without their consent and profiled in all of their interactions. That doesn’t mean that I have to like it or bow to participating in it. I would prefer to analyze the situation and act or react accordingly.
At the core of all of this, I think that I am in transition. I feel that I am moving to a state that many people in the next generation have attained naturally and without personal drama. I am changing from someone who has functioned on a race-centric or race-conscious mode to someone who is focused on developing his own identity and focused on being true to himself. I feel the need to more carefully choose my friends based on their value as people. I want to be involved in situations and people who are really worth something. Just being Black is not reason enough for anything anymore.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Leaving the Nest
I have got to get the hell out of here. Really. I have to change my surroundings and circumstances and the immediate circle of friends that I hang out with. That is not saying that my friends here are bad. I just need to change everything that I am doing right now. I have to start exploring my vision of the world and the life that I want to lead. And that starts with leaving here.
I have left here a few times. I left to go to school in California. After I graduated, I came back here for about nine months and moved back to California. I came back about a year and a half later. I left to go to grad school in New Orleans. I even went overseas – halfway around the world - as part of that level of education. And I came back.
Since I have been back, everything has been stagnant. The only good thing that I have gotten in the last few years is my daughter. Otherwise, I have not found an outlet for myself or achieved any type of success or made what I consider to be progress. So I figure that I need to take my act on the road. I need to try it all someplace else.
Everything that I was concentrating on doing here was focused on domestication or on someone else’s version of what I should become. None of it was about me or my happiness. It was all just about fitting in to everyone else’s expectations. None of it spoke to me about joy or accomplishment or adventure. None of it allowed me to truly be who I am. I should be the wolf, not the sheep. I should be a lion, not a housecat.
The real key to me finding what I need is to commit to not coming back, at least for a long time. I have to be like Cortez and burn my ships on the beach. I will visit occasionally. I have to see my little girl. Other than that, I need to stay away. Phone calls and e-mails will have to be enough for right now. I have to leave the nest as soon as I can and fly away as fast as I can.
To that end I spent a part of the morning looking at airfares to where I need to at least start my journey. The prices are really reasonable. I will find the money somewhere soon. I have someplace to stay when I get there. I have an agenda to achieve when I arrive. I won’t be floundering or just becoming stuck in another place.
It’s funny. My brain and my instincts seem to work much better when I go somewhere else. I learn the lay of the land quickly and find good people to be around and good things to do. I can trace most of the truly important growth and maturity that I have experienced to living somewhere other than here. I also realize now that I have had no true personal vision for my life; I could find no great mission or quest upon which to embark. That may be the thing that I need more than anything.
This time around, I don’t have any regrets or reservations about leaving. I don’t think that there is anything here for me anymore. Not that this is a bad place, it’s just doesn’t fit me. And it’s worn out; or I am worn out. I’m not sure which or if it really matters which. I finally feel like I can go forward for me without guilt or false responsibility for others. I feel like I can become the man that I need to be for me.
I have left here a few times. I left to go to school in California. After I graduated, I came back here for about nine months and moved back to California. I came back about a year and a half later. I left to go to grad school in New Orleans. I even went overseas – halfway around the world - as part of that level of education. And I came back.
Since I have been back, everything has been stagnant. The only good thing that I have gotten in the last few years is my daughter. Otherwise, I have not found an outlet for myself or achieved any type of success or made what I consider to be progress. So I figure that I need to take my act on the road. I need to try it all someplace else.
Everything that I was concentrating on doing here was focused on domestication or on someone else’s version of what I should become. None of it was about me or my happiness. It was all just about fitting in to everyone else’s expectations. None of it spoke to me about joy or accomplishment or adventure. None of it allowed me to truly be who I am. I should be the wolf, not the sheep. I should be a lion, not a housecat.
The real key to me finding what I need is to commit to not coming back, at least for a long time. I have to be like Cortez and burn my ships on the beach. I will visit occasionally. I have to see my little girl. Other than that, I need to stay away. Phone calls and e-mails will have to be enough for right now. I have to leave the nest as soon as I can and fly away as fast as I can.
To that end I spent a part of the morning looking at airfares to where I need to at least start my journey. The prices are really reasonable. I will find the money somewhere soon. I have someplace to stay when I get there. I have an agenda to achieve when I arrive. I won’t be floundering or just becoming stuck in another place.
It’s funny. My brain and my instincts seem to work much better when I go somewhere else. I learn the lay of the land quickly and find good people to be around and good things to do. I can trace most of the truly important growth and maturity that I have experienced to living somewhere other than here. I also realize now that I have had no true personal vision for my life; I could find no great mission or quest upon which to embark. That may be the thing that I need more than anything.
This time around, I don’t have any regrets or reservations about leaving. I don’t think that there is anything here for me anymore. Not that this is a bad place, it’s just doesn’t fit me. And it’s worn out; or I am worn out. I’m not sure which or if it really matters which. I finally feel like I can go forward for me without guilt or false responsibility for others. I feel like I can become the man that I need to be for me.
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