The Boy is 13. 13!! I can't believe this is happening. I look at him and marvel at how intelligent and wonderful he is. I couldn't have ever began to imagine having such a beautiful and incredible little human being. He's now taller than me (and I'm 5'8) and I'm preparing for him to bloom even more.
Getting ready for work this morning, I couldn't help but to think back on when my baby was that fat little creature I brought home from the hospital. And I grew a little- I don't know. Sad? Angry? Irritated? I don't know the word for sure. But my memories weren't happy. Don't get me wrong, my son and I have tons of positive memories with just the two of us. There were even some positive memories with the 3 of us, including his father. But I'll never forget the bad memories. And there are many of those to pick from.
Being a free spirit comes with a surprising amount of envy and disdain from the outside world, particularly as a Black woman. Black women are supposed to be quiet and pious. We aren't supposed to have opinions or thoughts that cast anyone else in a bad light. But I've always been one to acknowledge the good, the bad, and the ugly. Whether it's about my own actions or the actions of others. And a lot of people don't like being held accountable. They want the freedom to be evil, shitty people, but want you to only acknowledge the best in them, despite how horrible they've been to you. But I'm not going to rewrite history, just to make another person feel good about being abusive to me.
I'm not sure what brought it up, but it put me in the mind of when my son was born. There was a lot of manipulation and all out lies told by his father that allowed me to put my guard down when dating him. He sniffed the weakness and vulnerability that I was experiencing at the moment and used it to make me trust him in a way that I should not have. Moving on from that, the moment I knew I was pregnant, I knew I wanted my child. I didn't know much else, but I knew that.
I was heavily encouraged to abort my child, but I couldn't. I loved it. I didn't know what it looked like, what it's name would be, didn't know the gender. It was just a group of cells, but I knew that this little "thing" inside of me was special. So it was going to stay, no matter what. And I also knew that the cells' father would be paying child support. I don't play about mine. I've seen women struggling like hell, all because they don't want to appear weak. And what's always been saddest to me is that the kids suffer when that happens. Not this one over here.
But he decided to make me suffer for my decision not to abort my baby, or what he deemed a mistake. I still feel some kind of way about the lack of support I got during my pregnancy. I honestly feel like what should have been one of the happiest times of my life was stolen from under me. I never got cute maternity pics. He didn't lovingly rub my belly. He didn't attend my co-ed baby shower. I asked him to draw a pic of me. He never did. I think he really hated me. I was proof of his imperfection. The nail on the coffin on his "good guy" image. I recall acutely how one of his "friends" (more of a lackey, but whatever) stated that if I was "real woman" I would have simply dropped out of school (despite only having like 5 classes left at the time), rather than expecting actual support from the other human being that participated in bringing this child into the world.
In another example of enabling shitty behavior by being a shitty person, I remember one Sunday evening that I'd called my son's father to let him know that I'd be coming to his home to use his internet in order to turn in a school appointment at 9pm. He agreed. I arrived to find his father, mother, and stepmother in the living room of his apartment. I said hello and walked by them into the bedroom to set up my computer.
My ex then came into the bedroom and told me that his parents wished to see me. I told him that they'd have to wait, as I had already announced my intentions to turn my assignment in by 12am, and my need to finish some things on it. I heard outside of the door how I'd been labeled all kinds of cowards for my unwillingness to meet with them. I was prodded a few times to stop what I was doing and meet with them. I refused. No one had asked me if I was available, and I was not. I wasn't going to stop what I needed to do, on someone else's whim.
Eventually midnight arrived, I turned my assignment in, and they entered the room. The first thing I said to them was "the reason that you waited was because you assumed that I would meet with you whenever you wanted. That is rude. I would never pop up at your home at 9pm, especially on a Sunday, and demand that you stop what you're doing and meet with me. And I'm pretty sure that if I did ever pop up on you like that, you wouldn't be welcome on the idea either. Look, the fact is, I don't let my own parents disrespect me, I certainly won't tolerate disrespect from anyone else's parents."
That went over as well as you'd expect. The relationship between the father and stepmother and myself has been rocky, at best. Or I guess non-existent, which is the way that I like it. If you can't be respectful and honest, stay the hell away from me. My ex's father encouraged him to treat me horribly and I even saw that my ex had emailed his father a picture of this other bitch he was fucking, while I was 9 months pregnant. Did I mention that my ex picked me up from the hospital, after giving birth to his child, with hickies on his neck from that bitch? After a 33 hour labor. The same chick he was sending pictures of to his father. My ex's mother and I are better, but we don't talk much.
I'd written before about how my son's father was encouraging me to go to counseling with him, and I declined. He'd said to me "I still remember the good times." And I looked up at him and said "I don't." It was an instinctive response. But later on I realized how deep and true that statement was. I really don't have a lot of happy memories with my ex. I remember constant lies. I remember him flaunting other women front of me. I remember walking on eggshells not to upset him. I remember how he'd call and text me back to back, to make sure that I was upset. It took so much to get back to the woman I was at my core, after damage by him. Sure, there were good times. But not nearly enough to balance out the bad.
If you look at my blog, you will see a patch of years where I'd stopped writing, due mostly because of how my ex would read my blog and report to the world anything he didn't like. I'd even been violated enough by having him log into my blog, change the password, erase things he didn't like, and refuse to give me the new password. I felt like I'd been raped. But as we see, I now write what I want. Good, bad, or ugly. This is my truth. This has been my experience. Anyone that opposes me writing about their shitty antics, should not have given me the story to write.
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