"You will always have a lot of friends!" . . .

When I changed schools, in 7th grade, on the cusp of becoming a teenager, later on that year, I entered, the most self-conscious years, of my life. I started taking stock of my impact on the environment that I found myself in, at this junior high school. Realizing, I had to make a conscious choice to project myself to others in some favorable light, to have any chance of attaining the popularity, with people, that is so coveted, at that age, I disciplined myself to display a few very carefully chosen personality traits, and let everything else fall by the wayside as far as my self-expressiveness. This was the threshold of the awkward, teenage time of life, when others' perceptions, about us, were everything, to my age group; including me. I was, too cerebral, too much of a bookworm (even, wearing glasses, which, seemed to emphasize the point), to come anywhere near the orbit of the popular clique of kids. That was fine with me; but I knew I could do better than I was, as far as finding my place in the planetary placement of popularity with my peers. I was stuck somewhere in the middle of the peer-reviewed rankings, that are such  a crucial measuring stick, for our self-esteem, at that tender, and overly anxious, age. While I wasn't invisible to my age group, by any means, socially speaking, I just wasn't showing my best self, or shining my light in the situation, as they say.

Alot, of that, had to do with the uncertainty, I felt, from my upbringing. Standing out or speaking up, as I was growing up in my family, seemed to simply earn me  unwanted responses, that taught me, it was safer to hide myself in the shadows, as much as possible, than try to shine, and be censored, or even struck, for that. Instead of, being allowed, to grapple with my own identity, and in doing so, build better social skills, and gain more confidence in my ability to interact with others, my struggles to grow into my self often got me criticism, chastisement, and even corporal punishment. I was taught that, I was to be seen and not heard; that my opinions or ideas had no place and no value, and expressing them was not worth risking the swift, and harsh, response, from my dad, in particular. I lived much of my home life as a child trying to shrink into the shadows, in order to avoid, even, accidentally, encountering, my father's critical, disapproving, scowl; and his ire. I was definitely not raised to show up and shine. In all those 18 formative years of  my childhood I was very rarely praised for any positive attributes, or skills, that I possessed. I wasn't really interacted with much at all, by my father, unless it was to scold or spank me for something. I was not a bad child so it seeded a seething anger in me that the only attention my father took time, and trouble, to give me, was to drive home his point that I was somehow a disappointment, to him, which deserved only his discipline and never his affirmation. I learned that, as long as I simply suffered silently, so that, I did not interrupt, his, constant, TV watching, or intrude, on his naps, that he took on the couch, while his TV shows droned on, in the background, that I was, allowed, to exist; but that was about all. He spanked me once for daring to change the channel, on the TV, to watch something else, as  he lay there asleep. As soon as I had switched it over he woke and expressed not just annoyance, but extreme anger, and hostility, at me, for my doing that, 'in his house'. Apparently, I was only an intruder, in that place; an obviously unwelcome guest, he was, resentfully, hosting. I spent my entire childhood, walking on eggs, around this terrifying tyrant. There was no way to flourish, while shrinking myself down, desperately trying to survive what was my everyday existence in his house.

Mothers have the larger load to carry, in the vast majority of homes, it seems. My mother was a wife, a schoolteacher (for most of my childhood) and the mother of 4 kids. To make communication, with her, even more difficult, for me, aside from, her busyness, my mother, who had once been, 'my hero', in our home life, whom  I adored, and had even emulated, as a very little girl, became, what I would only understand decades later as being, increasingly, narcissistic, as the years passed; to the point that she eventually became so treacherous, and toxic, toward me, as her scapegoat, that I finally had to go No Contact with her and maintain that very painful decision, instead of backtracking, any more than the, several, times that I had already risked that, over the years, in the hopes that we could find some way to have a mutually enjoyable, and healthy, relationship, with one another. >sigh<

As a girl on the brink of my womanhood with all the bewildering things happening to me, at that age, I tried to talk to her, at times, about things I was thinking and feeling, in this particular year of my life, when I stood a head taller than the boys in my class, and was taking alot of teasing for that, from other kids. But, if, in my normal, understandable, teenage angst, I sounded remotely, frustrated, or upset, about what I was struggling to say, to her, to try to get her to understand, and to feel what I was feeling, at that very vulnerable age, my dad would swoop into the scene and spank me. He did that up until this very age, that I am describing now, when he finally stopped hitting me at least, when he so took me by surprise, with that last physical assault on my behind, that I peed on his hand as he hit me, and fled the room, in humiliation, leaving a puddle of my urine, on the floor. It's also a really bad message to receive as a child, about your worth in this world, when the only time your father even acknowledges you, or ever touches you, at all, is when he scolds you or strikes you. My crime, that he felt, warranted that last assault? I had been sharing my frustrations, with my mom, about the fact that I didn't have any outfits that were on trend like the other girls were wearing, and as a result of them reacting to that unfavorably, by 'judging a book by its cover', which this age group is particularly known for doing, toward one another, I was experiencing alot of trouble being accepted and fitting in, because that made me stand out as being too different, from them. In other words, I had been expressing something that is a, very typical, teenage, emotion. I was struggling, to express these things, to my mother, when my father physically attacked me for it. Instead of being empathetic or supportive or helpful, he had chosen to punish me, for expressing these things. It was not something that, I deserved to be struck for feeling, by my father. Being a teenager, it was, difficult, enough, to feel positive about my self-image, to begin with, as my body began changing, so rapidly, blooming, into womanhood, without my emotional compass for navigating all these increasing complexities of life, as a female, on this planet, being further, and erroneously, skewed by my father acting as if I were a terrible human being, for expressing, normal, fear, and frustration. I wasn't doing well, with all the changes, and demands, life, was giving me, to have to deal with, and I didn't have anyone in the family, being a, sympathetic, support system to help me get through it and come out on the other side feeling confident about my identity, as 'me'. The unique individual God created and called me to be.

I was on the cusp of my teenage years, then. Recently, I just turned 66 years old. These experiences, and the memories they leave behind, in our psyche, stay with us, for our lifetime. Below is a post I put on Facebook, this year (just last month), where I am sharing, some of the results of this, that I, still, live with, to this day:

Some of these things are still a real challenge for me. I was raised to not have or speak with a voice of my own. So, it does not come naturally, or comfortably, for me, and my success at speaking up and speaking out varies widely. It doesn't help that most people aren't comfortable hearing the truth, or even anything else, that they don't want to hear, and it can leave me feeling the brunt of their hostility toward me, for saying what I do, when I do, even if it was warranted, proper, and healthy, given the situation or conversation between us. >sigh!< Humans are MY HARDEST THING to DEAL with. I often wonder if it is really alot easier for OTHER people; and if THEY feel SAFE, ACCEPTED, RESPECTED, and LOVED, by other humans. Honestly, I rarely do. It is SCARY for me and HARD for me. I truly TRY MY BEST, but humans are often so stressful for me to try to interact with that I usually avoid doing it, at all costs, about 99% of the time. Social media masks that, for me, in that I can post things that resonate with me, in some way, that still aren't exactly the same as me PUTTING MYSELF OUT THERE. My family of origin wasn't a safe place for me, mentally or emotionally, and sometimes, physically. So, I wasn't taught that people are SAFE for me to interact with and engage in relationships with. It is just so hard, for me. I just know that I want REAL, TRUE, CARING, connections, with people, and can just be myself, and feel like that's alright; that's enough; that's ACCEPTABLE. That's all I can really bring to the table, anyway, is myself. But, we live in a world, now, that can be so superficial. It's like JUNK FOOD for THE SOUL, in alot of ways. I don't come away feeling truly seen, or heard, or cared about. I just accept that, because the way I see it, at least I didn't get DAMAGED MORE BY PEOPLE. (Hopefully, anyway.) We should be such a source of joy and support, for one another. Loving our neighbor as we love ourselves. But, that thing they teach us-- TREAT OTHERS AS YOU WANT TO BE TREATED-- NEVER REALLY WORKS WELL for me. At all! I must be MISSING something. . . . I really don't know. I just know that human relationships OFTEN DON'T FEEL 'SAFE' for me. It is REALLY HARD. - Deborah

Alot of introspection, alone in my room, along with an old library book that I read, on how to be considered charming, was what, did help me, all those years ago, to develop some 'survival' strategies, for how to get through that pivotal year, in my life, in a much more successful way than I was doing by simply staying helplessly adrift as I was, always at the mercy of others, and their, sometimes, cold or cruel comments about one another, of which I was one of the targets. I wanted to stop whatever waves of others' opinions had been buffeting me about, in these murky waters of peer popularity. I wouldn't have known how to express this, then, but I wanted to develop some proactive personal power, to secure a higher standing in the pecking order, of peer popularity.  Since, I was spending the large majority of my childhood hidden away behind the closed door to my bedroom, which brought me more peace and protection, for my soul, all alone, in my room, away from the rest of my family, who weren't, accepting, affirming, or affectionate, toward me, I didn't try out any of my new traits, on them, that I was, consciously developing. I remained the same person I had been, at home, in order to continue hiding in the shadows as much as I possibly could. I had learned, along the way, that my dad's attention would only be harsh, critical, or punitive, if I was the recipient, of it, so I did all I could to avoid him, at all costs, My mother's hostile narcissism caused me to avoid interactions with her, all I could, also. I didn't know that her behavior had a name, and that it was that, at the time. I didn't know anything about narcissists selecting a scapegoat, to target, either-- someone that they resented, because, in a sick way, they, actually, admired, that person, for some of their qualities-- which the narcissist doesn't have; and feeling insecure in comparison to them, they seek to bring that, targeted, person down to their own level, if not, totally destroy, that person (which, was me, in my mom's case). I only knew that, I was being singled out, and victimized, by her, and it left me feeling, sad, and scared. I needed to be affirmed, by my mother, not undermined. Especially, during those most vulnerable years I was growing up, when being deprived of healthy relationships and positive interactions can scar someone, for life, damaging, them, irrevocably; as it did me.

 

I began to be laser-focused, on my new personality, I was consciously cultivating, when I was away from home, such as at school, or on church youth retreats, and so forth. My mother dropped me off, at the junior high school, on her way to the, elementary, school, that she taught at, and in between getting out of the car and reaching the entrance door of the school I quickly shed my 'home self', switching to my 'school self'. No longer, being, the introverted, stay-under-the-radar, self, I emerged, in a split second, on the other side of that door, as an outgoing, upbeat and confident girl. It was a case of 'fake it 'til you make it' as I began, trying out, the advice, and strategies, that I had learned, from the library book I read. I was surprised, and gratified, by how well those teachings worked, for me! Virtually all my classmates began to respond to me positively, and affirmatively. I did not get into the 'popular kids' clique (to be honest, I never even wanted to be with those highly superficial, snobby, people) but, even they began to give me their respect, however grudging, it may have been. Teachers consistently called on me in class, and I became known as one of the smartest kids in the class. I excelled, in many areas, and my confidence grew. I was still myself but I had found a way to be my best self and the results of that were rewarding. Guys in my class asked me to go steady with them-- even though I still stood a head taller than almost all of them. I approached everything, and everyone, with a positive outlook, when I was away from my family; where staying alone in my room in as much obscurity as possible seemed like my only hope for survival, in that, very-loveless-feeling, environment.

I was finally getting the acceptance and affirmation from others I was starving for but that I wasn't ever getting from anyone at home. In gym class, the girls would grumble, about having to exercise, or play volleyball, and then be sweaty, for the rest of the day. I stood there, and stood out, as being the one that had a smile on my face though, no matter what was asked of us by our gym teacher, and to do it with, enthusiasm, and supportiveness, of the teacher, and the other students. We had a student teacher that year, as well, who was working on his teaching degree under the training of the school's coach who was, also, our 'Phys Ed' teacher. One day in gym class, as this young man looked out at the lines of girls standing there in formation in the gym, waiting to begin to exercise under his direction, he called out my 'good attitude', in front of, all of those assembled peers, of mine. He could clearly see each of our faces, as he stood before us, and apparently, mine was the only one that appeared anywhere near reflecting positivity about our having to do calisthenics. His, making an example out of me, and me alone, to this entire class caused one of my best friends to get so mad at me, for what she perceived as me making them all look bad, that she actually slapped me in the face, when we went to the locker room, to retrieve our books, for our next class. It shocked me, that I had raised her insecurities that much, when my only intent was simply to alleviate my own, by new behaviors. She was constantly teased, more than most girls, so I sympathized with her, chose to just turn the other cheek (as I hoped she wouldn't slap that one, too), and I let it go, because she had never done anything like that, to me, before, and as I expected, especially when, I was 'the bigger person' about it, in front of our peers, she never did it again. She had developed early, and fully, into a very-grown-woman's body shape, and was not only, tall, but, 'a big girl', as well. She had red hair that drew even more attention to her body, and earned her the nickname, 'Big Red'. It was not the most flattering nickname, to be given to a young girl, that was barely into her teens; by her peers. It had to be hard for her, getting through childhood, when she was still just a very insecure child trapped in a voluptuously developed body that she didn't know how to receive, this early on.

I felt better than I had, toward myself, at least, at school, while she still felt badly about herself, so she suddenly felt very threatened by me. My trying to become a better 'me', wasn't about 'showing her up', by my 'showing off', though, or things like that. I wasn't trying to be egotistical, at all; I was, aiming for, confident. I left the locker room, before she did, without causing any scene, about her hitting me, or, snitching, to the student teacher/coach-in-training. Some other girl apparently told him about it, when she left the gym, though, so, he asked me, about it. I told him, things were okay, that it was no big deal; that she was a friend of mine, who was just having a bad day apparently. He looked at me with such an expression of glowing affirmation, even admiration, due to my always having a positive attitude, and he said something, to me, that day, before I left the gym, which I have never forgotten-- both, because it was the very affirmation that I was starving for, in my life, and because, as life went on, and I grew up, and went out into this world, as, an adult, his words would come back to me, many times, over the years, to haunt me, and to taunt me, even, to this very day. He said, to me, "You will always have alot of friends!" He wasn't, consoling me, about the, literal, slap in the face by 'Big Red'. He was, telling me that, my positive, confident, personality, attributes, that I had worked, so hard, on developing, that year, to make my life, and relationships, happier, would, in themselves, assure me of having alot of favor with other people in my life, who would, also, admire, these attributes. Clearly, as I would learn, the hard way, after becoming an adult female, on this planet, this young man was not aware of the way that this would really play itself out, for me, as a grown woman.

Carolyn's slap in the face in junior high school, was going to prove to be my, first, experience of, the reality, of how resentful, other women would be, of my, bubbly, confident, personality traits. I would later learn that, men, would react differently to it, in ways, that were, almost always, sexual. Including, married men. It was a very frustrating situation, for me, to deal with, at times! To this day, I have never found the way to allow myself the freedom of expression to, just, be my best self, without my doing so, attracting frequently problematic thoughts and behaviors of both women and men. Even though, those are, very different ones, depending on the gender, they make my life, more difficult, and distressing, for me, either way. Just to clarify this, on a deeper level, I do also retain those 'social skills', shall we say, that I developed for my alter ego, persona, 'Stevie' when I became a dancer, but those are a set of extremely extroverted traits, along with, the flirty tone, but it includes lots of sexual innuendo, interspersed in all that; which, was necessary, for me to be able to do my job, well, while working in those nightclubs. Frankly, I was flexing those attributes again, only a couple of days ago, as I interacted with some guys on a social media site on Valentine's Day. I don't personally know any of these guys, that I was 'shamelessly' flirting with. It was just, fun! For all of us, it seemed. The day, specifically celebrating romantic love bonds between couples, can get alot of people down. I LOVE being single, but the mood, online, from alot of other people, led me to believe that, I could lift some spirits, by showing them, the compliment of flirting with them; so I did. It was lighthearted sexually-tinged playtime, for us! I even had one guy, who I only know from this website, but who has become very dear to me, over the years we've interacted on this site, tell me at the end of our typed out torrent of tweets, that, my flirting, had made his day!

Below, are some of these posts, that were flying back and forth, between me and him and other responders to it. It is how I am when I am being much more of my 'Stevie' self, than my 'Deborah' self. Although, I haven't worked in a nightclub, for 25 years or so, now, I still, do some of my 'Stevie' dance moves, dancing around, my home, for an exercise session, after, I've been sitting, for too long, or frankly, to let off some of my pent up sexual steam. I may be older, but I'm not dead yet! These, are examples, of my, adult, adapted, personality traits that I enjoy flexing when I'm given the freedom to do so, in an interaction with another adult. I enjoy it, as harmless fun, but, I have to shut it down, if it causes misunderstandings, of my intentions, in the relationship. Some people say, there is no such thing as just a little harmless flirting. I don't agree, but maybe, that is because, I KNOW that I am, extremely, happy, being SINGLE, after too many HUGE disappointments, with men, and I am, also, CELIBATE, for decades, now, in fact, so, I am not looking for any serious or sexual relationship with anyone. [I just ordered myself some, new, sex toys, as well, which, I hope, will help to address the lack of circulation, that is contributing to my vaginal atrophy, which is a medically diagnosed condition, that  I have had, for the, last few years. My gynecologist (a female), was the one, who told me that this condition would get worse if I did not stimulate blood flow in the vaginal walls. During my pelvic exam, she said that, it looked, very pale, in there, showing the lack of, oxygenated blood, circulating in this area of my body. I take, all of my health issues, very seriously. As a celibate, I needed, to order the toys.] My going to great lengths to help meet my body's, normal, needs, is more proof, that I DO NOT WANT and AM NOT LOOKING FOR a MAN, to be in my life! That is, therefore, also proof that my fun-loving side is showing because I am HAPPY, not because I am HORNY, for a man. These, therapy, toys, that I have gotten, have a twofold health benefit for me. They stimulate blood flow, and sometimes give me an orgasm, as well. My vaginal atrophy is often painful so, alot of the time, it just hurts, and I have to, get through it, for the sake of, stimulating, blood circulation.

 

I, currently, have, only, 5 friends, on one social media site that I don't feel free to really fully express myself on, as the, multi-faceted, woman that I, actually, am. I feel, anxious, boxed in, careful, cautious, reigned in, tense, when I'm posting and interacting on this site. These 5 friends are also people that I actually know in my life. They know me as Deborah; as a neighbor, a Christian, and former co-worker, in a mall retail setting. They're, real-life friends, some old, and some new. I know that I can't, really, ever be, ALL THAT I AM, around them. So, I feel frustrated, at times, and constricted, which is not fun, or freeing, for me. I'm not relaxed, like I would like to be in all of my personal relationships. I'm not being fake, with them. They DO KNOW a VERY REAL PART of ME. I just can't show or share ALL of who I am, with them, for various reasons. It would shock the 'Christian' friends and my former, retail sales, co-worker, because they ONLY know me as a woman of Faith, and a decent human being, who is very caring, and has conservative values (like,  I don't smoke, or do drugs, and I haven't been a drinker for decades now). Those female neighbors, might rethink allowing me into their lives, if they started to see me as a threat (although, I don't want, who, and what, they have!), and the male neighbor is someone I just recently met, whom I have gone WAY OUT OF MY WAY WITH, as I do with ALL of the new men, that I meet, to BE SURE that HE KNOWS, without, any, doubt, that I am, VERY HAPPILY SINGLE, and am NOT looking for, or wanting, ANY man, in my life. I even go to extremes, with making SURE that they KNOW that, when we first meet, because I have learned, in my life, that men only hear what they want to hear, and take that as simply being a challenge, that I am giving them, to overcome, rather than JUST ACCEPT IT, because I am, TRULY NOT INTERESTED, in that, with them. The male ego, just can't seem to accept the fact that, a female, has, every right, to NOT, have them, in her life, or, her bed, or, her body. I have found that, I have to pound that into their brains, before they accept it, to the point that, it really turns them off, toward me (THANK YOU! That's WHAT I WANTED TO HAPPEN!). I have also learned that I can't really show my flirty side to, many, men, even, at my age, because EVEN WHEN I EXPLAIN TO THEM, that I DON'T WANT THEM, that it's just a FUN SIDE OF ME, flexing, they take it to heart, too much, and it, undermines, the actual, friendship, which, is what, I truly value, with them. So, in real life, I usually can't have too much fun, for too long, before I have to SHUT IT DOWN, because, it starts to undermine the actual relationship, in problematic ways. >sigh!< Bummer. It prevents me from enjoying my freedom to be myself, fully, with the very people that, I often, feel the most comfortable with.

Here's those tweets, I was talking about, earlier, that I didn't put here sooner due to digressing; although that was still on the subject at hand which is: Why it is so complicated, so much of the time, for me to have fun, and fulfilling, relationships? Interestingly, I currently have 521 followers, on this, social media site, versus the website where I only have 5, right now, and that I can't stand being on, because I feel like, I'm stuffed down into a, very tight, box, of who I am allowed to, actually, be, on that site, even though, my friends, DO CARE ABOUT ME, that are on there. The difference? I don't, personally, know ANY of the people on the site that I have alot more followers, so I am not, intimidated, by any of them, or their opinions, of me, which could cause me to decide to hide, a part of, my, multi-dimensional, self. I am FREE TO BE ME, whatever that is moment to moment. I'm extremely eclectic so even though I am expressing my true self at any given time, it is only one part of me. I cannot possibly display all aspects of me, at all times, because I am such a diversified personality! I live with me, so I understand me, but I can often seem like an enigma to others, especially when they feel a need to pigeonhole me, or to put me in some, simple, straightforward box, that, they feel, can contain all that I am. Quite simply, that would be impossible, in my case. It can be a real challenge for me to accomplish! I am struggling, to explain that, about me, even writing this post! I am so simple, yet completely complicated. I am, often, not what I seem to be, WHATEVER THAT IS, at the time, even though, I am still, being me. I am very spiritual, but I also openly express myself in sexual terms; even though I am both a celibate and a Christian; who loved being an exotic dancer in the nightclubs and who often tells God, that, if I had not, finally, aged out of, that profession, I would love to still be doing it, because, I enjoyed it so much. The freedom of expression! I wear glasses, and love to read books, but, I learned to dance hip-hop moves, by watching YouTube videos-- in, my mid-60s! I'm somewhat shy, and very outgoing.

I'm fairly funny, and deadly serious. Charming, and cold. Always, I am, just, 'me'. 

On that thought: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLurue51jfQ Oh, Hell, yeah! THIS, is, my, theme song, now.-- my rallying cry! This song, really does it for me.

              Some of my Valentine's Day tweets (recipients names removed)

I think of you often. I send you tweets to try to console you and bring you a smile or laugh. I love you! For whatever it's worth I get to go through a 2/13 birthday and 2/14 Valentine's Day double whammy every year that always tells me alot about where I stand with people 

[NOTE: That female friend was sad that people weren't showing their love for her on this poignantly important, special day, that so emphasizes, romantic, love. People, who don't have that, in their lives, or are single because they escaped abusive and narcissistic partners, like this lady, and I, can feel deprived and excluded and unlovable, if we let ourselves go there. She allowed the sadness to overtake her, and I have too, other times. This time, I chose to ENJOY Valentine's Day, by letting my sensuality AND sense of humor out to play, online, just to let off some sexual steam that's been pent up in me, ALOT, lately, and CELEBRATE the truth-- for ME-- that, all things considered, I am GLAD EVERY SINGLE DAY that I do NOT HAVE A MAN IN MY LIFE! I'M MUCH HAPPIER THIS WAY!]  

I liked it. I've learned some hip-hop dance moves from YouTube and used them to dance to the songs in the [2/13/22 Super Bowl] Halftime Show, in my livingroom, plus picked up a few new moves from the performers in the show! Kicked off my warm-but-awkward scuffy slippers, and got down!

LOL! Sounds like LOVE IS IN THE AIR, Vegas style, mingled with some other assorted scents.

Aw, THANK YOU! My kidding around and laughing is my BEST form of STRESS RELIEF through all this CRAP that I can't control in the micro and macro of my life. But, I TRULY DO NEED a HUG-- DESPERATELY-- but am too terrified of the pandemic (tho vaxed) to RISK GETTING ONE HUG.

Maybe it's just me, or my mood, tonight, but I started laughing so hard when I saw this! Who KNEW the Rapture would take place via a pizza delivery vehicle? At LEAST you got FOREWARNED. I always heard that WOULDN'T HAPPEN, with the Rapture!

LOL!!! When I saw this from you, I just started laughing so hard my shoulders were shaking up and down. I hate to say it, but based on everything you have told me . . . THIS IS SO 'YOU'! I am SMILING SO BIG right now! I REALLY needed a GOOD LAUGH like THIS today! THANK YOU!

I'm blue-eyed too, just no longer brunette-- all gray now (after a 'Do blonds have more fun?' phase-- which they don't! LOL) I have been so hungry since your pic: Did you make bruschetta for your sourdough bread? I WANT IT SO MUCH!!! Being single, I can eat ALL the GARLIC I want!

There is nothing better in this world than homemade, fresh-baked bread! I'm sitting here trying to imagine the smell of your artisan bread baking. Ummm! Not just Charcuterie, but CHEF! I'm impressed! (And HUNGRY now-- THANKS ALOT!)

So, on Valentine's Day, you can honestly say, now, that you showed me your stuff, and made my mouth water. You left me feeling hungry, and wanting it so bad! LOL! Way to go!

Perhaps his LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG table-- MUCH LONGER than ANYONE ELSE'S-- is his way of doing PENILE PROJECTION, rather than "poison projection". Just sayin'. The whole, I'm BIGGER and LONGER than YOU, thing, MAN TO MAN.

You KNOW the VERY 1ST THING I ADORED about you when we met here was your sense of humor! We both had SO MUCH FUN with our back and forth banter the first day our Tweets somehow connected us here and we started kidding back and forth. I didn't know u r Aquarius 2 'til my bday tho.

HEY! We MAY BE old by the world's standards but we BOTH know we're STILL VERY MUCH ALIVE! Oh yeah, we are! I NEVER KNEW 'TIL I got to be this age (since it's ALL NEW TO ME), I REALLY AM the SAME woman I was 20-30 YRS AGO in EVERY way except for BAD KNEES and VAGINAL ATROPHY! LOL!

I swear, I have WAY MORE FUN on Twitter than I ever have around here, so far. >sigh!< I MISS JUST HAVING SOME REAL FUN! Kidding, laughing, NO PANDEMIC, so I can FINALLY JUST GET ONE HUMAN HUG after more than 2 YEARS! >sigh!<

The HUG you sent me through cyberspace landed well and REALLY TOUCHED MY HEART! It made me STOP smiling, because it almost made me CRY-- but in a GOOD WAY. THANK YOU again! It means ALOT. I'm going through SO MUCH right now. I feel kind of LOST, and STRESSED, and SAD, alot.

I am sending you a GREAT BIG HUG right back! It'll linger awhile, while I cry on your shoulder. Hope you don't mind that. YOU TOUCHED MY HEART!

Please stay connected to me, because you are such a bright light of love that showed up in my life, and I am so blessed by your presence! Thank you for being you! I appreciate you ALOT!

I am SHARING this BIG, WONDERFUL, HUG that [he] kindly sent ME with ALL OF YOU who SEE this Tweet! [He] was SO KIND to SEND IT to ME, and I KNOW that ALOT of my friends are brokenhearted (AS AM I, in ways) and Valentine's Day RUBS IT IN for alot of people. WE ALL NEED SOME LOVE!

I wish I could give you a great big hug in person! You are dear to me! I just wanted to tell you that, for whatever it's worth. I LOVE BEING SINGLE and I always say that up front. But, that doesn't mean that I don't love some people, and you are a very special one of those!

I have ALOT of THOSE DAYS myself. Life SURE IS MORE FUN with some lightheartedness and laughter, though; when others ALLOW US THE PRIVILEGE to EXPRESS OURSELVES THAT WAY. GEEZ! People often feel threatened when I'm actually acting HAPPY! My blog post for February will be ON THIS!

YOU ARE JUST MEAN! LOL! My mouth started watering the SECOND I SAW THIS picture! You are SO CRUEL! LOL! I just ate some LEFTOVER tomato soup, and a CARROT, and YOU SEND ME THIS gorgeous spread. I swear, you are TRYING TO SEDUCE ME! LOL! LOVE YOU, DEAR! Working on blog.

I'm SMILING SO BIG NOW! THANK YOU, dear [man], for this wonderful Valentine's Day date we've had through our tweets and our shared humor. I would have changed out of my baggy t-shirt and jeans if I'd known! What a nice surprise this was. I gotta go. Blog post to finish writing now

                        and some Tweets replying to me on Valentine's Day

                 (as we all know, most people aren't nearly as wordy as me)

For you

Awwww you're so welcome

Will do Deborah and if you contact me believe me I will always respond as long as I am here

You’re just teasing me now!

Be still my heart ❤️

At my advanced age it brings a smile to my face that I can still do that. 😄 

Now you got me laughing 😂

ya I’m the same guy too …. Except for the thinning grey hair, expanded waist line, arthritic hands, high blood pressure and there’s parts of me that wouldn’t work if they were soaked overnight in WD-40….other than that, my baby blue eyes are still blue.

The persona, that I put forth, on Twitter, which these posts, above, are from, was much more of my 'Stevie' self, from my dancer days. So, I HAD A REAL BLAST as  I flexed that part of me, again, for awhile. I tend to only let that side of me show now with people that, I really feel 'safe' with, or accepted or befriended by. I shut down alot more around people who I know are, gossiping about me, are trying to undermine, or discredit, or backstab, me, or are fake with me. PLAYER HATERS. I still have, the personality traits, that I taught myself, back in junior high, too, but  I have grown alot tireder of other peoples' crap as the years have gone by and so many peoples' bad behaviors have taken such a huge toll, on me, and, on my life. I'm at the point now of feeling like I am on BULLSHIT OVERLOAD, from all of this. There's not alot of people living by The Golden Rule anymore. Not even me, all of the time. The  Bible  says, "because of the increase of evildoing, the love of many will grow cold."(Matthew 24:12 New American Bible) I've really seen this happen, over the course of my lifetime. Around me, and in me. Not, in everyone, all of the time, or, always, in me. There are still moments where I see or experience caring, and compassion, love, and redemption, that lift my spirit and my hopes out of the mire, of dejection, and despair, and inspire me, to embrace life, and others, again.

I want to engage and enjoy life, fully! I want to be free to be 'me'. I don't want to have to 'keep my light under a bushel basket', hidden from the world because my shining self makes other women insecure, and men attracted to me, in ways that, can become extremely problematic, for me to navigate, and still feel relaxed, and safe, staying, in the relationship, with them, as my friend, or my neighbor. I am a freedom loving, outgoing, spontaneous, fun-loving, upbeat, person normally, with a sense of humor, that I enjoy using, at every possible moment. Instead of, being this, truest, me, though, I often feel like I have to be deadly serious and subdued in situations, to try to avoid drawing the resentment, rejection, and retaliation, of other women, who seem to take my allowing myself to shine as my best self as a threat to them personally, or the men acting attracted to me, even when they are married men, causing me to shut down, my self expression, from feeling, it is my responsibility to NOT SHINE, or BE HAPPY, because their seeing me like that turns them on sexually, sometimes. >sigh< IT IS SOOOOOOO FRUSTRATING! I want to SHINE, as who I am, because I am living my ONLY life, and I WANT to ENJOY it! I don't want guys drawing my attention to their adulterous thought, though-- a real downer, for me, that I don't want, or need, in my life. I have been single for OVER THREE DECADES NOW! I have had 5 marriages to 4 men and turned down quite a few other offers to be married. I DON'T LIKE MARRIAGE. There are alot of things I don't like about MEN (although, I am not gay). If I WANTED a man I could HAVE a man-- even at my age, now, but I DON'T WANT ONE! I even, TELL THEM THAT, UP FRONT-- and I am a very direct and honest person! Even so, women literally try to stand between me and their husbands if I am approaching them, as if I want their man, when, there is, NOTHING ABOUT HIM, that I would EVER even WANT. GEEZ!

I am being, my happiest self, when I am, smiling, giggling, being funny, even silly, having fun. But, whenever I DO THAT, men accuse me of "flirting" with them, and women act really dubious of, hostile toward, and resentful of, me. When I am 'me' around other women-- doing, the very same behaviors, as I did around the men-- the women will ask me if I'm drunk, to be acting so relaxed and express myself so freely and happily, which is truly insulting (especially since, I don't drink anymore, and haven't for a long time now). If they aren't asking me, if my behavior is from, some 'substance abuse', then they accuse me of trying to take their man, and get in little gossipy groups and talk about me, in a bad way. Apparently, a woman like me, being fully herself, and being happy, with her life, makes, alot of women, feel extremely threatened, and unhappy, so I end up avoiding them. The men and the women, since I can't JUST BE 'ME', without getting all these CRAPPY reactions, to that, and I get tired of defending, or explaining, myself, to the men (No, I am not trying to BE WITH YOU!) and the women (No, I do not want to take your man!). I end up just shutting down (which is not fun for me, since I ENJOY BEING ME) and staying to myself, away from, the insecurity, and the resentment, the accusations, and the attractions. GEEZ! Why, can't I JUST BE ME? THEY, are being THEMselves!

I have even tried to preemptively discuss this with people, before it ever happens, in order to explain where I am coming from and to reassure them that, I am NOT, trying to take their man, if they are a woman, or have an intimate encounter with them, if they are a man. Plus, there's a pandemic going on, that I'm truly terrified of! I haven't even gotten close enough, to any human being, to even be HUGGED, for OVER TWO YEARS, now! I DON'T TAKE ANY CHANCES! I recently backed away from a friendship with a married man when he started saying I'm flirting with him. The thing is, he doesn't see me around others, when I'm being myself, in the very same way, as I was, with him, whether, they are, men, women, children, or PETS; when I am not shut down, which would 'dull my light', socially speaking. I am THE VERY SAME WAY with others, I interact with, even online on social media sites, as I documented, above, by copy and pasting, some, of my tweets, and some of, the responses, I got from people to those. I shut down, and pulled back from it, when he said that, because if that is his perception and his focus, when we interact that way, with one another, then, I can't, comfortably, continue, to kid, back and forth, with him, anymore, like we both used to enjoy doing. I wouldn't feel right about it knowing that, he, thought of it that way. As, something wrong, or that was meant as something more, than it really was. Whenever I feel unsure and self-conscious, with people, I shut down, and freeze up, around them. All I feel is, uncomfortable! In the midst of, ALL this STRESS, with the pandemic, being more contagious, than ever, and the issues with my house being, largely, still unresolved, after 6 months, here, his friendship, with me, was the bright spot, because, he was able to get me to smile even with tears in my eyes, or in the midst of a full-blown anxiety attack, when I was struggling to even be able to breathe. He was comforting. Reassuring. When so MUCH of what is going on in my life, and situation, is anything BUT that. I felt it was a supportive friendship, from someone with a really good heart. Until, he made me so self-conscious, by using the "f"-word (flirting) to describe my way of expressing my buoyant personality as I forced myself to focus on the happiness I feel, in being here, despite the obstacles that I have to overcome that came with it. Hard things, which I hadn't expected, to have to deal with, when I moved here.

So, the ONE person that I had really felt WAS a REAL FRIEND, to me, I don't have that feeling with, anymore. All I can think of, when I interact with him, now, which I try to limit doing, as much as possible, is how anxious I feel, about not doing, or saying, anything, anymore, that will have too much weight given to it, by him, if I should, smile, or laugh, or do, anything, at all, "joyful", around him, now. The sad thing is, he, actually, really had it right, about me, when he described me as being a joyful person. I REALLY AM, when people aren't causing me to shut down, who I am, so I don't make them feel threatened, by that, in me, in some way, shape, or form; depending on, who they are, and what 'threat', they think, I am, to them. I regularly, raise my arms, up high, standing in my livingroom, and praise God, and love on Him, and sing songs to Him! I regularly kick off my slippers, and dance on my kitchen rug-- line dances, hip-hop, even some of my old, dancer, moves. I AM TRULY a "joyful" person, when I AM ALLOWED TO BE! So many people don't allow me to be, for their own, various, reasons. >sigh!< I FEEL like I am SUFFOCATING, sometimes, just because I feel like I have spent MOST OF MY LIFE, stuffing myself down, to minimize, who I am, negate, who I am, force myself, TO BE, LESS THAN, who I AM, just so, OTHER PEOPLE, won't have, a PROBLEM, with, MY JUST BEING WHO I AM, and BEING HAPPY-- because God GAVE ME LIFE on this Earth, to LIVE! Fully! Joyfully! Being, ALL that, I CAN be! EXPRESSING, all that I AM! Having FUN!

                                           

I HATE that it seems like I HAVE to be MISERABLE to keep OTHER people happy! I have GONE THROUGH SO MUCH, that was, horrible, and heartbreaking, in my life. It has been a VERY DIFFICULT road, for me to walk, in this world. Now is my LAST CHANCE, to really ENJOY my life. I am, a senior citizen, now. It's NOW OR NEVER, for me. Yet, here I am, hiding myself away, from, other people, again, like I have, for MOST OF MY LIFE, so that, MY being HAPPY, won't disturb THEM, in some way. It is SO SAD! It is SO WRONG. I FEEL like, I have NO choice. I feel, an underlying anger, too, though, at NOT BEING ALLOWED to just BE WHO I AM in my life, now! God created me to be ME, and I feel like I have rarely been able, to BE, who I am. Sure, I can choose to be myself, in spite of, others' objections, but so often, I end up being made to pay a price for it. The 'punishment', often doesn't fit the 'crime'. It's also still extremely hard for me to accept the fact that, as a grown adult, I am free now to choose to express myself, genuinely, and authentically, after I was not allowed, to do that, at all, when I was growing up. That became an, indoctrinated, objection, in my soul, that is very difficult to overcome; even after all these years.

I already know, that, if I ever DO, give myself, permission, to be all that I can be, anyway, in spite of all the apparent opposition, to that, I will feel MORE, negative, reactions, from people. I want to wear my, nicer, clothes! I have not worn ANY, of them, since I came here, because when I moved here and brought it up to one of the women that is part of the little clique that gossips about me, she said that NO ONE HERE EVER DRESSES UP, because, it DOESN'T SUIT LIVING HERE. I want to get my hair styled. I haven't done these things yet because of the pandemic, and now, the, financial, strain, because of, the problems, with my new house, holding me back, from it. I want to rent a car, and go to the beach! It's been pushed way down on my To Do List, because I have to get the house repaired before anything else, now, though; which the pandemic is still holding up my making progress on, as well as, my lack of funds, that I will need for this, unanticipated, problem. The ONE person here, that I came to believe was a REAL FRIEND to me, isn't now. All because of, my 'flirtiness', being, problematic, for him, despite, him, doing things toward me that I would say ALSO FIT THAT CATEGORY, only I considered it to be that we were sharing our MUTUAL SENSE OF HUMOR, for the most part, that had brightened each other's day, in the midst of stress. After all, NEITHER of us, ever actually PROPOSITIONED the other. It wasn't like that with us. We JUST KIDDED, with one another. Or so I had THOUGHT, we were doing. The friendship is not the same, now. I emotionally distanced myself from him, after he started harping on the 'flirting' thing, making me self-conscious, about it, and unsure about, all of it.  After that, I deliberately told him off, for things, he does, that have, annoyed me,  to put up a wall, between us, so it won't even be possible, to have that, problem, now. Because he is my friend, in my heart, though, I really care about him. So, I really hurt, when his response, showed me that he was hurt, by my doing that to him. But I made myself let it stand, so it would burn that bridge between us now.  I feel sad, about it. He felt like, my ONLY REAL FRIEND, here, so far! I will, make other friends, eventually, though, and he won't feel conflicted, now, from kidding with me. I have talked to him, once, since then, and I could tell it isn't the same.

                                                       

I don't think the 'flirting' thing would have been such an issue, as he made it out to be, if he had known, that, I am that way, with all kinds of people and animals, when I am JUST BEING HAPPY IN MY LIFE. My Twitter tweets show that. I have a young, male, neighbor, who is only 25 years old, that I like, very much. When he moved in, next door, to me, he wasn't married, yet, and when I would see him, I would talk with him, and laugh, and kid around, and be very lively and animated.  I made him smile, and laugh, every time we visited, and those interactions made me happy, too! I looked forward to seeing him, and talking with him. We enjoyed it, but I don't think he EVER took it as me FLIRTING with him, although, by some peoples', strict, definition of it, I probably would be. I am 66 years old, now! It is SILLY, to EVER think that I would REALLY 'FLIRT', in ANY SERIOUS WAY, that was MORE THAN just being, this harmless, and fun, upbeat, interaction, between us. I could be this young man's GRANDMOTHER! Still, I laughed, and kidded, with him, much more so, than I, ever, did, with the man, who was, my friend, that, made a big deal, out of, my 'flirting', to me; causing me to avoid interacting with him now unless it is necessary, and unavoidable. When I moved here, I was ALSO this way with the WOMEN, until, they acted, SO HOSTILE, TOWARD ME, for doing it, that I stopped. I was in my mood to be fun-loving and silly as I talked to a woman here who lives at the end of my street. After all, I had just moved, into my new house, and despite the problems, that presented me, I was trying my best (while, crying, alot, about it, on the side) to BE HAPPY ABOUT IT. As she and I talked outside, for a bit, I was making jokes and being upbeat. I laughed, as I said to her, "My sense of humor is showing!", while striking a silly pose, as if it were, my slip, showing. I was just, feeling free, to be me. She, looked me up and down, when I struck that, animated, pose, with NO SMILE, on HER FACE, as if she thought I was from Mars!

Not long after, a small clique developed here that made me their main target. She was in that group. She acts otherwise, when the property manager is around, but she definitely has been a main instigator in the gossip about, and criticism of, me. That gossipy group talks crap about me, with things like, "Who does she think she is? Why does she act like that? I don't like her. I don't trust her." I know it goes on and I just let them be. All the while, as these, precious, latter, days, of my life ebb away-- days that I cannot get back, to try to live more happily-- I want to DANCE, through my life, and be SILLY, if I want to, and LAUGH, deeply, and wear, some of my pretty clothes, including skirts, and dresses, without, having to, SHUT MYSELF DOWN because somebody SAW me dancing (out of sheer joy of living my life) and says I am doing that because I am flirting, or I am after their husband, or being a troublemaker, or a problem. WHY is my JUST BEING WHO I AM such a THREAT, to people? Honestly, it seems like, so many, people-- especially, women-- are just so miserable with their own lives, underneath, that they are a 'Misery loves company' group! I have lived through MORE THAN ENOUGH MISERY, in my life, and I WANT TO BE HAPPY, NOW! I want to be, ALLOWED, to be happy now! Apparently, I need peoples' PERMISSION, and ALSO, apparently, they mostly, DO NOT GIVE ME THAT permission. I would FEEL SO MUCH HAPPIER and be SO MUCH MORE RELAXED, in my life, if people would JUST LET ME BE (ME!)! It reminds me of the Bobby Brown song, 'My Prerogative'. Below, is the link, to the video, of the song, and the lyrics.

All those years ago, in junior high, my vivacious and enthusiastic personality, that I had cultivated so that I could finally find affirmation, appreciation, and affection, while, I was at school, at least, gave me a way, to find happiness, apart from, my miserable, dysfunctional, home life. When, it was, commented on, complimented, by the student teacher, during gym class, with him, assuring me, that, because of it, I would always have alot of friends, neither he nor I realized, how mistaken, he was. Clearly we both had alot to learn about that. Carolyn, AKA 'Big Red', was the one that showed me what it was actually going to be like, for me, when she heard him say that, and slapped me, to 'put me in my place', because of it, on that very day. It seems like, my WHOLE LIFE, people have, resented me, punished me, and ostracized me, in various ways, because my being "joyful" has been, problematic, for people, for various reasons. Women think, I'm competing, when I'm NOT. Men think, I want them, when I DON'T. Honestly, I MEANT NO HARM, to anyone! I just want, the chance, to be (ALLOWED, to be) HAPPY! Lighthearted. Silly. Giggly. Fun-Loving. WHY, is THAT such a THREAT, to people? I, REALLY, don't understand that.

What I DO understand, is that, my LIFE is NOW! I have to LIVE it, or WASTE it by 'dimming my light', and trying NOT to SHINE, so that, the brightness of my being, won't cause me to incur peoples' disapproval. I DON'T LIVE FOR THEM! I LIVE MY LIFE FOR ME! They already turned on me, anyway, each in their own way, and for their own reasons. There IS going to come a day, God Willing, when I will, finally, be able, to get my hair done (because, it NEEDS it; not to, IMPRESS, anyone, but ME), and I will wear my cute clothes here, because this is where I live, and this is where I am, and my clothes are all just hanging here, filling 2 racks and a closet, waiting to get some use. I paid for them, and I have every right to ENJOY them. I can't spend the rest of my life in baggy clothes and old sweatsuits, just because a woman, here, that isn't nice to me, anyway, and doesn't seem to like me, already told me that, NO ONE ELSE HERE EVER DRESSES UP, so I shouldn't either. I want to FOR ME! But, God forbid, HER husband looks twice at me when I do, some day, because I WILL BE BLAMED for 'flirting' with him, and trying to steal him from her when NEITHER of those things would be TRUE. My being at my best is for myself!

I have downplayed myself terribly, since moving here, and being the object of the gossip clique, and such, but I can't win, with people, NO MATTER WHAT I DO, so I shouldn't continue to allow them to intimidate me or control what I am allowed to be. Apparently, my, effervescent, personality, WON'T assure me, that I will always have alot of friends. But, the way I see it, I'd rather have a few, real, friends, that ACCEPT ME for WHO I AM, than a whole lot of them, that just want to slap me, for seeming like a threat, to them, anyway. I really miss, the friendship, with the one guy here, that I thought was a real friendship. But, it's probably better that it was ruined, if he even thought for one minute that I meant it to be anything else. Now I find myself, wondering, if the 25-year-old, that lives next to me, ever, thought, I 'wanted' him, because I 'flirted' alot more openly with him than anyone else here; so far. I definitely don't! Sometimes, for me, the easiest ones to be flirty with, are the ones that I would especially not want. What they KEEP calling, "flirting", I see as me just ENJOYING LIFE, and BEING, FUN-LOVING. I resent them, relabeling it, into something problematic, when it is something superficial and harmless; to me. When, I'm THIS VERY SAME WAY, with women, that I interact with (that, I like, as people; not, the bitches, that give me a hard time), I wonder, now, if THEY think I am acting like that because I am 'flirting', with THEM; which would make me gay? I AM NOT, IN ANY WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM, GAY! NONE of my wildest fantasies are EVER about WOMEN. One, of my sexual fantasies-- since, those, don't have to be, anything realistic, since, it will never, actually, be acted on, in real life, involves, a dog, though; and another one of my fantasies is about an alien from outer space; so, if you want to make something out of, 'who', I 'flirt' with, if only in my wildest fantasies, then chew on THOSE TWO THINGS about me. THAT ought to KEEP YOU BUSY, talking about me, for awhile. In the meantime, I will go 'flirt', with MYSELF! I ENJOY, MY SENSE OF HUMOR, and ability to be, light-hearted, in the midst of all this STRESS! (I once, told my husband, about the dog fantasy, so he used to walk around behind me when he was horny, barking at me. I was NOT amused by that. Although, it, really, was, kind of funny!) Anyway, not only, did I NOT, end up with, ALOT, of friends, there aren't ALOT of people, anymore, that I, REALLY want to BE FRIENDS WITH! I always kind of smile, to myself, when there are people rejecting me who seem to assume that it matters to me; as if I haven't, also rejected them.

"I try to live in a little bit of my own joy and not let people steal it or take it." - Hoda Kotb

Here's one last Tweet, that I just saw, on Twitter, as I was checking on, whether a friend (that I 'FLIRT' with, ALOT, on Twitter!) got his birthday Tweet from me, yet:

Jacklena Bentley @JacklenaB 

Delete people from your life that take your joy away from you.

That Tweet seems to go with this blog post, of mine, very nicely! So, I included it.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5cDLZqe735k

THIS COULD, ALSO, BE MY, THEME SONG, FOR MY LIFE-- and, JUST BEING 'ME'!

Here are the lyrics:

Get busy
Everybody's talkin' all this stuff about me (Now now)
Why don't they just let me live (Oh oh oh)
I don't need permission
Make my own decisions (Oh)
That's my prerogative

They say I'm crazy
I really don't care
That's my prerogative
They say I'm nasty
But I don't give a damn
Gettin' girls is how I live
Some ask me questions
Why am I so real
But they don't understand me
I really don't know the deal
About a brother
Trying hard to make it right
Not long ago
Before I win this fight
Sing!

Everybody's talkin' all this stuff about me
Why don't they just let me live (Tell me why)
I don't need permission
Make my own decisions (Oh)
That's my prerogative
It's my prerogative (It's my prerogative)

It's the way that I wanna live (It's my prerogative)
I can do just what I feel (It's my prerogative)
No one can tell me what to do (It's my prerogative)
Cause what I'm doin'
I'm doin' for you now

Don't get me wrong
I'm really not zooped
Ego trips is not my thing
All these strange relationships
Really gets me down
I see nothin' wrong
With spreadin' myself around
Sing!

Everybody's talkin' all this stuff about me (yeah)
Why don't they just let me live (Tell me why)
I don't need permission (I don't need)
Make my own decisions (My own decisions)
That's my prerogative
It's my prerogative (It's my prerogative)

I can do what I wanna do (It's my prerogative)
Truly live my life (It's my prerogative)
I'm doin' it just for you (It's my prerogative)
Tell me, tell me

Why can't I live my life (Live my life)
Without all of the things that people say (Oh Oh)

Yo tell it, kick it like this
Oh no no

I can do what I wanna do
Me and you
Together, together, together, together, together

Everybody's talkin' all this stuff about me (Everybody's talkin')
Why don't they just let me live (Why)
(Why don't they just let me live girl)
I don't need permission (I don't need permission)
Make my own decisions
That's my prerogative

Everybody's talkin' all this stuff about me (Everybody's talkin')
Why don't they just let me live
I don't need permission (I don't need)
Make my own decisions (My own decisions)
That's my prerogative

What is this a bizzit that I can't have money in my pocket
And people not talk about me
This world is a trip, I don't know what's going on these days
Got this person over here talking about me, this person
Hey, listen, lemme tell you something
This is my prerogative, I can do what I want to do

I made this money, you didn't
Right Ted?
We outta here

It's my, it's my, it's my, it's my, it's my
my my my my my my my my my my my my my my my

It's my prerogativeWriter/s: BOBBY BROWN, GENE GRIFFIN, TEDDY RILEY
Publisher: BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind 

My Father: Almost Always In The Home But Almost Always Absent From My Life

In my conversations with men who sadly seem to be absolutely clueless about their intense impact on the lives of their daughters, I have noticed a definite pattern of these men adamantly refusing to accept responsibility for their actions, and inactions, toward these girls that they fathered. Almost anyone can have sex and bring a child into this world, but in the wake of all the damage done by indifferent and uninvolved dads there is a deluge of offspring that can attest to the fact that not being properly parented has had a definite lasting and negative impact on their lives. Because of my own experience with this, as a daughter, and my firsthand knowledge of what the consequences of this have been, for me personally, it disgusts me when these men tell me, very unapologetically, that they are absolutely dismissive about anything that their daughters have ever conveyed to them regarding the various types of harm done because they were not there as fathers in many, or sometimes any, positive ways.

These men simply shrug off their being told these things, often even displaying an obvious annoyance directed toward their child as they describe to me their being confronted by their daughters in such a way, saying that these girls are simply shirking their own responsibility for their own messed up lives, which has nothing whatsoever to do with them as their father. They also devalue both the communication and the daughter doing it, by saying that this type of 'tantrum' solely comes from the emotionalism with which females are often stereotypically branded, to be discredited, thereby conveniently providing these dads with a sort of perceptual permission to simply not take their daughters seriously about this at all. (Somewhere within them, though, I suspect that these men counter these daughterly divulgences in this way only because they feel that they then won't have to change or remedy what they refuse to acknowledge, something which would take real effort on their part, that, already clearly lacking from them, is at the very heart of this matter anyway.)

As it seemed with my father, men often tell themselves that if they stay with the woman they have impregnated, bringing home a paycheck, which contributes to the residence, food, and clothing that their offspring partake of, that they have therefore fulfilled their 'manly' duties within the family. However, any GOOGLE search quickly brings up no shortage of sites describing in detail the pervasive influence that dads have on their daughters, regardless of their level of involvement in their lives, while also documenting the need for these men to be helpfully involved in the lives of their children, and, the many areas of a daughter's life that are damaged if he fails to do so. Men are good at letting themselves off the hook, where this issue is concerned, forcing their daughters to have to live their lives with the consequences of their fathers failing them, while also getting the blame for what comes from that, which in large part should lay at his feet. She pays the price, for this.

I have memories of my father going back to when I was a toddler. The first few years were good memories, about him. He and my mother seemed to be happier together, in those early years of their marriage, than they would ever be in all the years following, up until my father finally divorced my mother late in life. Because they were a happy young couple back then, with my brother and I being the only children in the house at that time, all of our lives were happier. I remember a home life with a lot of shared smiles, in those days. Although I also felt lonely, and ignored, at times, almost invisible, when everyone else would settle in front of the TV in the evenings, while I sometimes chose to play with one of my toys instead, and, my brother was occasionally violent toward me, regarding all that was 'his' before I came along, I would still say that overall I had a happy home life, at the time. This included my having a real feeling of emotional closeness with my dad, which is so important to a little girl who depends on her father to be there for her, both physically and emotionally.

I can recall sitting on his lap, as a toddler, and sitting beside him in his chair (of course, watching TV) in the den, later on. When that suddenly stopped, and was simply gone for good, then, between us, by my dad's decision, I couldn't understand why. It was very confusing to me, as a small child, but also deeply traumatizing because it impacted me as being a rejection by him. My father was the very first person to ever break my heart. Beginning around the time that I was 6 years old, I remember him being a man that began to stop smiling as much, which only intensified, with him, as the years passed. He seemed to become resigned, in a way that left him bitter, resentful, and even cold. He also seemed to become increasingly escapist, within the home, being visible there in physical presence but that was about all. He was shut down, emotionally, most of the time, and when he did speak it was usually to express his displeasure or even anger.

Although 2 more girls were added to the picture, after my brother and I, completing the family, a lot of ongoing stresses and strains, primarily between my parents, but due to other things as well at times, seemed to always be tearing at the marital bond that was tenuously holding my parents together with one another, with us children caught in the middle of that in various ways. Ways which were hard to understand, if not impossible, for a child in the home.

When I was 6, my dad told me that I was too big, now, to sit beside him anymore in his big, cozy chair, where he spent most of his time when he was home. Instead, without further ado, he sat my younger sister there, in my former seat alongside him, and eventually he had both of my younger sisters sitting with him, one on each side. I recall looking down at my waist, pulling the top I was wearing tightly enough around me for me to see my actual girth, and I compared it with my younger sisters. We girls also often bathed together, back then, so I could easily see our size. There was very little difference, and more perplexing to me was the fact that both my younger sister and my baby sister could fit in the chair together, with my dad, and I knew that I wasn't wider than the two of them combined! If he had meant that I was 'too grown up' now, at age 6, to want or need to sit close beside my daddy, he was sadly mistaken, although I was never clear as to exactly what he meant by it since he never explained. I only knew that I had suddenly been replaced, as a skinny 6 year old, by two other bodies.

I felt like I had been literally cast aside, by him, and replaced by my two sisters that I resented as I saw them sitting in my spot while I wistfully looked on from a hard wooden chair across the room, alone. He did nothing to ease the transition, for me. If I had still received some acknowledgement or attention from my dad, despite this change in seating arrangements, I most likely would have felt less alienated from his affections, but he rarely paid me any mind from then on. It almost felt as if I had suddenly been banished to the other side of the world, rather than to the other side of the room, given that I seemed to fall almost completely off his radar from that point on.

However small this incident sounds, it sent an emotionally powerful message to a little girl, who didn't know why her father had no interest in spending time with her, anymore. Around this time, there were other signs that I had somehow gotten on my father's bad side, only I was a good and loving child, so I just couldn't comprehend how this relational nightmare had happened to me! When we were putting up the family Christmas tree one year, my baby sister was there in her bassinet. Wanting to include her in the festivities, as I had acted as a miniature surrogate mother to her ever since her arrival in our household, I placed a few of the silvery strands of tinsel above her, on the handle of the bassinet. My father snapped at me, scowling as he scolded me to "GET THAT OFF OF THERE!" While his concern was likely that the tinsel might fall in to the bassinet, and perhaps become a choking hazard for the baby, I would not have had any awareness of this type of potential danger to her, when I was so small myself. He never explained any of that to me, anyway, or simply directed me to remove it in a more kind or understanding way, which wouldn't come across to me as if I had somehow just committed an inexcusable crime of some sort. My feeling of always walking on eggshells, with him, began.

Once, he was lying on the couch in the living room and playing a made up game with us kids. It was special because my father didn't do a lot of this type of thing with us, and every child wants to interact with their dad, especially in a fun way. He was pretending to be a kind of monster, like a giant octopus, catching us in his clutches and holding us captive briefly by our arms before letting us go. We would then run back to the other side of the room, squealing with delight that we were free, before each of us, in turn, would run toward him another time, and be captured all over again. This went on for several cycles, with my dad as much into the game as we children were, making monster-like noises as he caught us in his grasp once more. After awhile, he apparently got carried away with it, though, because on one of my turns, he held me so tightly by the wrist that it hurt me, and I reacted to that by crying out in pain. Seeing my discomfort from that as being displeasure with him, he let go and flung my arm away from him.

Running back to the other side of the room, as my siblings took their turns, I felt my wrist stinging from the grip he had held me with, that last turn I had with him, and my skin was very red there as well. The next time that I ran up to him, confident that he would simply be more careful about how hard he was holding me, he wouldn't even look at me, and he would no longer play with me at all. He just acted as if I were invisible to him. I tried to continue with the others, in the game with him, but because I had said "Ow!" when I had been genuinely hurt by his roughness with me, he would no longer let me participate. So, I finally quit trying, and left the room, with tears welling up in my eyes, both from the pain I still felt in my wrist and from his shutting me out of the fun with him and my siblings.

I have always remembered that incident, because it sent an extremely strong signal to me, as a little girl. The message that I got, which my father had communicated so clearly to me by how he had treated me, after I spoke out from being hurt by him, was that I had to allow men to hurt me, without speaking up about it, beginning with him, in order for me to receive any attention or affection from them at all. I was also being taught to believe that I was merely treated by a man as I deserved to be, which meant that there was no problem then, unless I made it in to one by using my voice to protest, on my own behalf; something which apparently put me in the wrong.

What my dad taught me that day, when I was 7 years old, would affect my relationships with men for the rest of my life, and be something, deep down inside me, that I would have to consciously and conscientiously counteract. It influenced how men were allowed to treat me, and my remaining in a relationship with them in ways that weren't good for me. It affected whom I would end up marrying, and why, with me always settling for men that in some way or other had not, and were not, treating me very well, from my feeling unworthy of better, based on what I was raised to believe about myself. It left me feeling uncertain about my being entitled to hold men accountable to respect and value me, from my being taught that I had no chance to be loved if I did not go along to get along, as my dad had shown me I had to do, with him, all those years ago.

What I experienced on that day, with my dad, when I was just a little girl, had far-reaching effects on my life, and especially in my relationships with men. What my father had taught me, by his behavior, seemed to come up in every one of my attempts to find and have a loving relationship with a man. Studies have shown that a girl often ends up with a man much like her father, whether for better or worse, because that relationship was the primary one forming her view of what a husband is to be like, and how she is to be treated by a man in that relationship. It is not surprising at all, then, that I was married to 4 different men, and was not treated well by any one of them, in various ways, before I finally gave up trying altogether, realizing that I had been too damaged, especially in my parentally undermined sense of self-esteem, to be able to have that work out for me.

How I had been taught to see myself, due to my upbringing, was not serving me well at all. My parental role models weren't healthy ones, either! I wasn't raised having any idea how to maintain a happy marriage, since my parents were miserable for most of their marriage. A father is a daughter's first relationship, and her learning experience, with a man. That day, during the grabbing game, my dad taught me I must accept it when a man hurts me, and that I was to keep my mouth shut about it, by his demonstrating to me that it was the man, and my maintaining the relationship with the man at any cost, that was important; not me, or how I felt about how I was being treated. Children are always learning from their parents, lessons that are very impactful in their lives. This one certainly was, for me. My father's behavioral threat, that day of the grabbing game, and many, many other times, later on, of withdrawing all his interaction with me, and with that his attention and affection, as well, was scary, and quickly squelched my using my voice on my own behalf, both then and for many years of my life afterward. While this became the main weapon that my father used in his relational arsenal, throughout his life, I did finally find, and use, my voice, to speak my mind, to him and to others, and to stand up for myself, about things affecting me.

When I was a third grader, my parents were frequently fighting with one another that year, and one of those times was even more frightening for me to hear--- and see, some of it--- than usual. It was yet another late night, when I wasn't able to sleep because of it, listening to their voices arguing in their bedroom. Even though their door was closed, I could still hear this going on, with accompanying sounds that seemed to be slams and thuds, and brief silences, in the midst of all that. It was terrifying to me, as an 8 year old!

This particular night had seemed just like all the others, with this, up until the door of their room flew open and dad came rushing out through the den, headed toward the garage, with my mother close behind him, screaming, "Johnny, don't! Stop! Johnny, don't!" They both went out the back door, leaving it ajar. I could still hear their voices, outside now, and the sound of a car engine starting up. I crept out of my bed, getting to the open back door just in time to see dad taking off down the driveway with my mother just barely able to get herself into the passenger seat before he was gone. I could still hear her screaming for him to "Stop! Don't do it! Johnny, don't do it!" (whatever "it" was, which seemed too scary to think about, given the scene I was seeing), as I watched him weaving the car crazily along the driveway, as if he were trying to wreck the vehicle, with them both in it. Standing there in my nightgown, I wondered if I would ever see either of them again, especially alive.

Then, I started wondering what I would do, and how we kids would even survive, if they never came back, and the end had finally come, for them, from all this destructiveness in their relationship with one another. It appeared to me that my father was trying to kill himself, someone else, or both he and my mother now that she had left all her children behind in this house to jump into the car with this out-of-control man. Did they EVER think about US, when they were acting like that? >sigh< I recall still standing there, at the back door of our home, as the taillights from the car zigzagged down that long driveway, and then disappeared onto the road.

They were gone for awhile. I don't think they ever knew I had seen them acting this way; and heard them, that night, and so many others. There seemed to be some strong, unwritten law, within our immediate family, that nothing was to ever be talked about openly. As I stood there for a few minutes more, after they had driven away out of sight, before going back inside and closing the door, I found myself wondering if I would be able to cook anything for my siblings and I, to feed us, if our parents were gone, especially if they were gone for good. I had no idea if I would ever see either one of them again. This is not the kind of thing that any little girl needs in her life, and you better believe that it deeply affected me. Never being allowed to talk about anything, but having to just 'stuff it' all down inside me, continually, added insult to injury, for me, increasing the stress and strain that I felt from these things going on in my life.

My father started working out of town, in Oxford, for awhile, and he lived there during that time, for the most part. It seemed to me, because of that, and other things I saw, that my parents may have been separated from each other at the time. While I saw some things, one stormy night, that caused me to believe my mother was having an affair with someone, in our house, in my parents' bed, my dad's sister, my aunt, once told me that my dad had also developed feelings for some woman where he was living, as well. Mom drove us to Oxford, then, to see dad playing on the summer ball team there, perhaps for his company, parading all 4 of us kids around as if to make some kind of point to whomever. I was never sure whether his move out of town, during that time, was for economic reasons, marital reasons, or both. However, eventually, dad was back home with us again.

Once, mom told me to go out to the garage, where my father had been working on his car, and call him in to lunch, but I found him lying there unconscious, or possibly dead, I thought, on the hard garage floor, near an oil slick, with blood oozing from his head, and mom called an ambulance which took him away on a stretcher. Another time, mom came in the house, after being outside talking to my dad, and she was sobbing in a way that I had never heard her do before then. She began preparing the meal in the kitchen, as she kept crying, and she continually touched her hand to one of her cheeks, causing me to wonder if he had struck her.

I have mentioned, in my Blog post, "More Of My Memories Of My Mother", dated 5/8/19, the escalation of marital tensions between my parents during these years that I am describing here now, and I have spoken about my father in several of my posts as well, all of which is helpful as background information here, as far as filling in some of what exactly was going on. However, much of it always remained a mystery to me as a girl growing up in the midst of all this. Between the parts that I did know and those that I didn't, I was left feeling very uneasy. All of these troubling things had a real effect on me. Just growing up is difficult enough to do, even under far better circumstances than I was caught in.

While we were growing up, we were disciplined by my father in one of several ways. We would be spanked with his belt, or with a rose bush branch, a flyswatter, or his hand. He once broke a flyswatter, from spanking my brother with it so hard as he ran around the room trying to escape the pain of that, due to my brother taking a piece of candy from a store. Sometimes the belt would leave a welt on my leg, or the bush branch a mark, for awhile. I couldn't see my behind to know what the flyswatter did back there. The most interesting punishment, for me, was when my father struck my little leg with his hand as hard as he did, because for several days afterward there would be a big, red, raised welt, exactly in the outline of my father's large hand, that I would often place my small hand into, in the same position as his had been there, until it healed. My mother would rub Vaseline into it, for days, until it finally disappeared. We were not bad kids at all, though. We were very well behaved, most of the time. Apparently the small percentage that we weren't called for this type of 'basic' discipline, by my father, toward us.

Since he often seemed so grouchy, in general, and wasn't a very physically affectionate father, as well as the fact that he stood over 6 feet tall, which was intimidating in itself from where I stood as a little one, it didn't take much on his part to scare me or stress me out. Anything that he said had a huge impact on us, because he appeared silent and sulking, most of the time. This explains why, after him saying nothing directly to me for weeks on end, even though we were in close proximity to one another in the home, I would go from feeling absolutely invisible, to him, to wishing I were, when he would suddenly snap at me, as we all sat around the dinner table together, saying "GET YOUR HAIR OUT OF YOUR FACE!" No one would say a word at the table, usually, with everyone just looking down at their plates, causing this interjection of his into the silence to be even more startling. Being singled out like that, before everyone, in a negative way, felt humiliating to me. 

This type of thing, that he did to me, also eroded my self-esteem, since he didn't ever compliment me for or about anything. He was either silent toward me, or critical of me. There was never any affirmation from him! Needing that so badly from him, though, and only getting this other, negative and hurtful, attention from him, caused me to simply burst into tears when these things would happen. The only sound at the table would then be my uncontrolled sobs and sniffles, coming from my deep heartache, as we all ate our fried chicken and vegetables. It seemed in this family that we were learning to never be there for each other. That, in this type of environment, it was survival mode in the sense of "every man for himself." This atmosphere in that house was primarily due to how my father behaved.

On a family vacation trip, one summer, headed to the beach in the car, we pulled into a gas station to fill up the car, and have a rest stop if we needed to use the bathrooms. Not very long after we got there, I lost sight of any of the other 5 of them, and as I walked out to where our car had been parked, I saw that it was nowhere in sight! I stood there alone, with nothing. No ID, no money, NO FAMILY. Nothing. Several minutes later, they returned, driving up to where I was just standing there, all laughing at how funny they thought it was that I had been left behind by them, there. I just opened my car door, sat down, and stared out the window, showing no reaction to their hilarity except for the annoyance that my firmly set jaw likely gave away. 

I have a great sense of humor! People that interact with me have always said that about me, going back to when I was a child, at summer camp and on church retreats, et cetera. However, I didn't see this stunt or oversight, whichever one it was, as being very funny at all, because I was growing up in this family already truly feeling that I was invisible, to my parents especially, as it was, and feeling disrespected and diminished, by them, due to the ways that I was being treated, some of which I document in my Blog posts about my mother. So, rather than seeming laughable, it simply came across to me as an event which simply accurately depicted, and further underscored, my place, or lack of it, within this family. Sometimes my parents were insensitive, and sometimes they were just ignorant. I didn't even need or want to know which one this was; the result was the same, as far as how it impacted me emotionally.

In this house that we lived in, in Mebane, North Carolina, the most alarming of the sights and sounds, for me, that I, as a child, would ever witness in our home took place. I was ages 5 to 12, there. From my bed, I could see into the den, where dad would sit in his chair, and I could hear my parents talking together, about adult things, once they were alone. One night, they were having a conversation in which my father was describing to my mother that he had gotten into an actual fistfight with a subordinate at work, whom he seemed to be the supervisor over, in some machismo clashing of wills between them. Apparently he lost his job over that incident. For awhile after that, he would be gone most mornings, while my mother was at work, but there became an increasing number of times when he would show up during the afternoon and watch TV with us kids. He seemed out of place there, that time of day. 

I recall he worked very briefly for a headstrong, successful, and well-to-do uncle, who was married to one of my mother's sisters, that seemed to be trying to help him out by giving him this job. But my father didn't look comfortable working as a subordinate himself, especially for someone he spent family reunions socializing with. He appeared to feel awkward and out of place, for many months. We kids were totally shut out of what was actually going on with all this, since things were never talked about openly in our home, and my siblings seemed oblivious to these things, whether they were or not.

Once, relatives dropped by with bags of groceries, which had never happened before. We had vegetable gardens in the summers, and a freezer with the lima beans, corn, and other things we had grown, in it. I don't recall us ever being without the usual meals to eat, during this time, by any means. My dad's job situation strained things, though, apparently. I likely won't be able to get the sequence of events chronologically, here. I can only describe what I did see and know of them. 

During the long weeks that my dad would show up at the house during what used to be work hours for him, sometimes watching cartoons with us kids, there was one day that was very different, and very scary to me. He walked in literally looking and acting like a zombie, staring straight ahead, walking stiffly, and breathing in a very strained, hoarse, gasping way, that was very frightening for me to hear. He walked past us children in the den, into my parents bedroom, and laid on his back across the bed a short while. Then he went back outside, looking and acting the same scary way, walking right past us children, again, without any acknowledgement of whether he saw any of us, or, that my siblings were observing any of this going on with him, at all! I often seemed to be the only one noticing these things, for whatever reason. I was a very aware, and a very concerned, child. My father was gone for awhile after that, days, maybe weeks. It seems to me that one of the relatives told me later that he had a nervous breakdown at that time. It was unnerving, to me.

I came home one day, from high school, after being at choir practice, where those of us in the school Chorus were preparing to present the Christmas Program to our families. I told my mother that one of the boys in the Chorus had a real problem that we could help him with, especially since we lived relatively close to the high school. His family was poor, and lived far away on the other side of our town, where he went home on the school bus each day. I asked my mother if he could come home with me, on the day of our show, so that he could be back at the school in order to participate in our program. He wouldn't be able to get there, that evening, by bus, and, his mother would meet him at school after she got off work, see him in the show, and drive him home with her afterward. Mom agreed, putting some steaks from the freezer into the fridge to thaw for when he came, to honor him as our guest for dinner that upcoming evening. However, as she and I continued to discuss Dale, she soon realized that he was black. Except for housekeepers we had, in years past, all of whom were black, and the little boy of one of them, which she brought with her to work in our home because of no other option, my parents had never had a black in their home; and certainly not as a guest! Telling me that he likely wouldn't be used to steak, and that she didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable, Mom quickly put the steaks back in the freezer and pulled out hamburger, instead. She said that she felt this would be a meal which he would likely be used to having. 

So, Dale came home with me after school, and we ate supper, on the night of our choral presentation, and afterward he and I sat on the living room floor, playing a game of Chess, near the large, brightly lit, Christmas tree, which had presents piled underneath it. Things had gone well, overall, and since he hadn't known, as he ate his burger, that steak had been denied him, he seemed very appreciative of our hospitality to him. The den, where of course my father was sitting watching his TV, was adjacent to the living room, and the door was open between the two rooms. My father called me into the den, to question me for no good reason, since he was already well informed about the situation, and the plan to help Dale be there at school to sing that night. 

It was about a half hour, at that point, until Dale and I would need to leave the house to go over to the school to get ready to perform in our Christmas show. Dad glowered at me, saying loudly, easily within Dale's earshot, "How LONG is THAT BOY going to be in MY house?" Looking back at my father, mortified by his behavior, I replied, staring him right in the eyes, "Dad, you KNOW that we are leaving for the Choral Concert at school in just a few more minutes!" Then, with my dad wearing kind of an arrogant expression of having made his point, by what he did toward Dale, I shot my father a look that said, "Do NOT say ANYTHING else like that while my friend is in this house", and I went back into the living room. Although Dale did the best he could to stay upbeat, it was obvious that he had clearly heard my father. I was so ashamed of my dad for his acting like that, and, for his other bad behaviors over the years. I just did not have a father that I could feel proud of, or good about, although I wished that I had, and that I could!

Not long after, my friend Dan, our high school newspaper editor, stopped me in the hallway one day, saying he needed to speak to me about Dale. He told me that Dale had submitted a very hurt and angry letter, to be published in the school paper, which seemed to directly come from the situation that had happened at my house with my father. We both felt that Dale was entitled to have a forum to have his say, especially since my father had so hurtfully had his. Dan published the letter, and what Dale expressed in it so resonated with our black students, what they were going through and how they were treated, that an actual race riot erupted at our school from that, which was very frightening. Teachers had been scratched, trying to restore order, and the school was closed down briefly due to it. When we went back to classes, ministers from many of the local churches were positioned in the large open area on the main floor of the school, to be accessible and available for any of us to talk to, since everyone at the school was feeling pretty upset at this point, from a variety of perspectives and reasons. All Dale had needed was my family's kindness and a little help, for one short evening, just a few hours, so that he could make it back to school to be able to sing songs about the joy of the Christmas Season, and my dad couldn't even give that to him.

My father could be quite cruel at times, displaying behaviors which absolutely qualify as abusive. This went beyond his trying to control and punish us, the members of his own family, by giving us the silent treatment, as if it were, stupidly, somehow a sign of his honor, to his way of thinking, whenever we were doing or saying anything which wasn't pleasing to him for whatever reason. We always had a cat, or cats, in the home, primarily because my mother was very fond of them. While Dad allowed it, he seemed to have some sort of rivalry with them, and at the very least a real resentment toward these small, sweet creatures, which wouldn't or couldn't harm anyone. Whenever one of the cats would get underfoot at all, or even when they were simply going through the room that my father was sitting in, in order to get to their dishes in the utility room, he would snarl at them, stomp to startle and scare them with that noise, and even take his big foot and literally kick them! It was so hard for me to watch that, and see these animals quickly learn to become, and stay, terrified of him. I lost respect for my father, for several reasons, over the years, and this is on that list. These animals were a comforting and affectionate presence in our home, which God knows we needed there, and which my father certainly wasn't. For him to torment them that way was absolutely inexcusable. I hated it.

In so many ways, and for so many reasons, I am ashamed of my father. His cruelty didn't stop with helpless animals or black boys. He was also callous toward me, his own daughter. When I was in my last marriage, the one that was so pervasively abusive that I felt as if I were literally married to the Son of Satan, it was cycling in a downward spiral, from my husband's abuse toward me, to the point that my counselor was telling me that my life was now in danger. Part of how he controlled and punished me was to make sure he isolated me, and kept me from having access to resources (which could help me escape him) such as the car or any money. I was in a desperate and dangerous situation.

In a phone conversation with my friend, Judi, she naturally asked me if my going home to my family would be an option for me, and she simply couldn't comprehend my saying that it was not, especially given the circumstances that I was in. Shortly afterward, she called me back, and was apologizing to me, for something that I was unclear about, at first. Finally, I understood what she was saying to me. She was the head nurse of my OB/GYN doctor, as well as my friend, having access to my medical record, so she obtained my parents phone number from that. She said to me that she then called my parents, and that she explained the situation I was in to my father, who had answered the phone when she called. She told me that she simply couldn't believe me, or understand that it was true, of a family, when I had told her earlier that they were not an option for me. That they were no help to me. So, she took it upon herself to call them, on my behalf, only, my father said to her, about me, "Well, she can go to a homeless shelter, but SHE IS NOT COMING HERE!" Judi said it took her breath away to hear that. It didn't shock or phase me at all, however. I was used to all the various types of coldness that came from my father at times. I had to console Judi, in her shock and grief, about it, after she heard it firsthand with her own ears, but I wasn't surprised by it at all.

This father, of mine, was the same man that would later tell my relatives not to provide me with a plane ticket they were offering on my behalf, so that I would be able to come home for my brother's funeral, after he had committed suicide, because my dad DIDN'T WANT ME THERE! I told my father, after he did that to me, that I would not be at his funeral, when he died. And, I USED MY VOICE to tell him how he made me feel by treating me the way he has.
       
Sometimes my mother tried to bridge the gap between us kids and my dad's lack of effort to form a real relationship with us for himself. Months would go by without my dad saying a word to me, even though we lived in the same house, and usually on Sundays and Holidays ate at the same table. But Mom made sure that we had a couple of conversations a year, at least, by requiring that he be the parent to sign off on our school Report Cards. So, I would go through the obligatory conversation with him, for that, each time, while knowing full well that it was never going to lead to him suddenly becoming conversational with me on any regular basis, or spark a real relationship between us that nothing else had ever seemed to, at any other time throughout each calendar year that passed. It just felt odd, and incongruous, to me, to have to do that. For 99.99% of the time he didn't want to be bothered, and made no effort at all to interact with me. Now I have to go before this stranger, holding my Report Card in my hand, and a pen, and discuss with him why I got a poor grade in math class, and so forth. It took all I had, many times, to be respectful toward a man who wasn't someone that I had a real high opinion of, as the years and the things that I endured in that household wore on me. I always seemed to be the one that Mom recruited to try to correct the relational lag between dad and his offspring, which he himself created and was to blame for, since I had tried, and been shut out, so many different times.

He always made sure that nothing much was ever required of him, relationally, but then sometimes he, and especially mom, on his behalf, felt bad that he was left with as little emotional closeness as he had between his children and himself. Late one night, after I was already in bed, along with my siblings, Mom woke ME up (not the others) to come downstairs so that Dad could give me a children's bracelet that was too young for me, which he had bought while flying home from somewhere. As she later told me, he had been momentarily inspired to show some affection and appreciation for his own kids, because some man sitting next to him on the flight home had struck up a conversation, and was apparently enthusiastically telling my dad how great his own children were. My having to go through the motions, after being woken up, on this night, while I already knew Dad would never be different (and, he wasn't), felt as hypocritical to me as every Christmas Eve did in that home, when we children were each required to give some kind of a devotional presentation, before presents were opened. Neither of my parents ever led by example with that, themselves, and besides going to church on Sundays nothing religious was ever demonstrated in our home otherwise, except for various ones of us being asked to say grace, when we all sat at the dinner table together.

I developed a real aversion to anything feeling fake in relationships that I involve myself in, as a result of these things. I. Just. Won't. Do. It. Now. 

Dad did make more of an effort to have a relationship with his only son, my older brother who ended up committing suicide at age 40, but even with that, I don't think that my brother truly felt emotionally close with him. It seemed no one really did. Over the years, largely due to these experiences in my family, I lost my taste for my having to go the extra mile to have a relationship with anyone who isn't also expending equal effort. The return on investment, for that, emotionally, just isn't worth it, to me.

There was one afternoon, when we were still living in Mebane, that my mother took all of us children shopping for new clothes, and when we returned home, she sent us to our rooms with our bags, as soon as she saw dad sitting in the living room, with a couple of relatives from his side of the family. It seemed to be a surprise to her to see them there, that day, and it was unusual that dad was in the living room, and not in his chair in the den, watching TV, as he almost always was. The whole situation seemed strained, to me, and strange, including that my mother had brought us into the house through the front door, when she normally drove the car into the garage and entered through a back door of the house. As we came in to the house, that day, dad's voice had a tense tone to it, as he looked directly in my mother's eyes, saying emphatically, "Doris, you are NOT taking MY children out of this house!" It seemed, by the circumstance and conversation, that she must have been on the verge of leaving him, and taking all of us children with her. My parents remained together, following that, and for many more years, but my growing up in the midst of their troubled relationship with one another was not a happy or healthy position for me to be in, as a child.

By the time they were divorcing, dad wrote each of us kids a token letter from him, the only one ever, to me at least, stating how much he cared about our mother, while he and his lawyer argued back and forth with her and her lawyer over the financial arrangements in their final split from one another. Because he was the one divorcing her, I thought that letter to me was rather disingenuous, for that reason and because he also used it to say something negative about me, to me; not surprisingly, given the fact that he had ONLY done that to me for my ENTIRE life! He wrote that he felt I had wasted my life and talents, by not continuing with my artistic abilities, which he also stated in the letter had made him very angry toward me. I was in my late 40s, by the time my parents divorced, and I had long before this grown cynical about my father's behaviors. So, my reaction to what he said was that (1) he was trying to come off like the 'good guy' in their divorce battle, and (2) my "talents" he referred to never took root in my life because I was NEVER ENCOURAGED BY HIM, at ANY time, to EXPRESS MYSELF, through my art, or in any other way! THIS was the ONLY time he had EVER said to ME anything AT ALL about me even HAVING "talents" or "abilities". He had NEVER ONCE said or done ANYTHING to praise me, compliment me, or tell me ANYTHING GOOD ABOUT ME AT ALL! Literally. I felt angry that he was now taking THIS opportunity to say anything, well PAST the YEARS that I had SO NEEDED IT from him, and as the most backhanded compliment, by FINALLY bringing up something that I apparently did that he thought was a GOOD thing, but ONLY for him to state he was also UNHAPPY with my wasting that "talent" that he was only NOW saying he thought I even HAD, making it just ONE MORE THING that he was CRITICIZING ME for! GEEZ!