I would often think it was a numbers game: the women simply outnumbered the men. The women in my family are strong, loud, opinionated and independent. Even the married ones. Especially the married ones.
In my family, particularly on my mother's side, it is a mortal sin to be considered a "weak" woman.
For clarity's sake, the definition of a weak woman is a follows:
Any woman that doesn't use her God-given common sense, especially in dealing with a man.
I distinctly remember getting that impression at a young age. I was eavesdropping on a conversation that wasn't meant for my ears. I heard my Nana (pictured here) say, with disgust in her voice - "There's nothing worse than a weak woman." I don't recall all of the details, but the woman she was describing had put a man (a new boyfriend or husband) over her children. A big no-no in Nana's book. Real women don't let a man run all over them, or control them. You certainly don't let a man take the lead, lest he lead you right into a ditch...
It wasn't until I got older that I realized that this type of attitude had has at least some effect on me and how I viewed myself and a man's role in my life. On a very basic level, I'm pretty sure I got the subliminal impression that most men weren't to be trusted...not because they were innately bad, per se, it's just that they should be relied upon about as much as you would rely on a child to help you take care of things Not bad, just not a partner. I pushed myself to be strong and independent - I didn't want to be thought of as a "weak" woman.
In my earlier years, I can see now that I chose men based on this line of thinking - men I couldn't rely on, men I did not really see as an equal partner in the relationship. They often disappointed me and I know now that they didn't have a chance to do otherwise. I absolutely had to be the "strong, independent, black woman" - taking care of them and myself. I did not need anyone's help. I attracted men that wouldn't challenge me - intellectually or otherwise. I would use my wit and intelligence as a weapon to browbeat them into submission or to make myself feel superior. I painted them as people that couldn't "handle" my personality, my grit, my strength. That was how I set it up - as a zero sum game. One of us had to be the loser. I own that.
The origin of this phenomenon, the "Super Woman Syndrome", started long before I was born. I suppose it may originally have been borne out of necessity.
My great-grandmother, Daisy, ended up a single mother. In the late 1920's. In Oklahoma. Definitely not in vogue at the time. She had married my great-grandfather, Albert. They had four children, one of them being my grandmother, Marguerite. One died in infancy. They just didn't get along. Word on the street was that my great-grandfather would sometimes smack Mama Daisy across the mouth if she irritated him - which sometimes seemed to be her intent. She would often remark that his mother looked like "poor white trash". Apparently, the woman could pass for white. I'm not making excuses for Albert. Putting your hands on another person is not acceptable under any circumstances, but talking trash about somebody's mother is grounds for fighting in some circles!
Mama Daisy had gone to college, a feat of gigantic proportions for the time in which she lived. I think that because Albert's mother lived on a farm, Mama Daisy would make snide remarks about the fact that they weren't educated. I don't know who left whom or exactly why, but in the end, Mama Daisy held so much contempt for Albert that she refused to be buried next to him. She's next to strangers in the cemetery. You should know that Albert died about 25 years before she did. Nana and her sister, Aunt Beetsy, often remarked how poor they were as children. There was never enough food to go around. Mama Daisy worked several jobs, including washing other people's clothes. It was not ideal. I'm sure that under those circumstances, Mama Daisy came to the conclusion that the best thing to do was to rely upon herself and no one else.
My great-grandmother, Daisy, ended up a single mother. In the late 1920's. In Oklahoma. Definitely not in vogue at the time. She had married my great-grandfather, Albert. They had four children, one of them being my grandmother, Marguerite. One died in infancy. They just didn't get along. Word on the street was that my great-grandfather would sometimes smack Mama Daisy across the mouth if she irritated him - which sometimes seemed to be her intent. She would often remark that his mother looked like "poor white trash". Apparently, the woman could pass for white. I'm not making excuses for Albert. Putting your hands on another person is not acceptable under any circumstances, but talking trash about somebody's mother is grounds for fighting in some circles!
Mama Daisy had gone to college, a feat of gigantic proportions for the time in which she lived. I think that because Albert's mother lived on a farm, Mama Daisy would make snide remarks about the fact that they weren't educated. I don't know who left whom or exactly why, but in the end, Mama Daisy held so much contempt for Albert that she refused to be buried next to him. She's next to strangers in the cemetery. You should know that Albert died about 25 years before she did. Nana and her sister, Aunt Beetsy, often remarked how poor they were as children. There was never enough food to go around. Mama Daisy worked several jobs, including washing other people's clothes. It was not ideal. I'm sure that under those circumstances, Mama Daisy came to the conclusion that the best thing to do was to rely upon herself and no one else.
When her children were grown, she moved to Los Angeles from Oklahoma with her sister and worked a maid. She took care of her business. She was the "go-to" person. Just about every adult from my mother's generation and older, at one time or another, borrowed money from Mama Daisy. She always had it - in cash. She had a huge oval shaped cherry wood table in her living room with a gray and white marble top . The top was movable and that was where Mama Daisy kept her stash from which people borrowed. Everyone knew it was there. No one ever tried to steal from her - no one dared. She was a force to be reckoned with. She was the matriarch of our family.
She also never remarried.
Just one generation later, Nana had the unfortunate experience of getting pregnant at 17. She had to get married. This was the 1940's. Still in Oklahoma. She had my uncles, Harold, Wayne & Richard by the time she was 22. Clearly, she married too young. Her husband, Orville, wasn't ready for the responsibilities of being a father and a husband. As my Uncle Harold put it, when he was angry, Orville would "dot" my grandmother's eye from time to time. For the uninitiated, that meant she'd sometimes end up with a black eye.
Nana herself once told us the story of how, in one of his rages, Orville had a switchblade to her neck, ready to slit her throat. She said she looked him straight in his eye and told him "If you kill me, you will have to take care of these three babies." I guess he thought about it, because thankfully, he put the blade away. Soon after that, she packed up her 3 children (all under the age of 5) left her husband and moved to California. Ironically, it was her mother-in-law that gave her the bus fare to leave. Nana said that Orville's mother wanted her to leave her son and have the chance to make something of herself, even if that meant that she probably wouldn't see her grandsons again. She left Oklahoma in the 1950's, came to California and later met my grandfather. Thank goodness that happened, a year after they married, my mother was born.
Despite my grandfather's love and support, she still fiercely maintained her independence. She insisted on maintaining separate checking & savings accounts as well as credit cards. She always worked, had her own interests and friends. She even travelled without my grandfather from time to time. She suggested the same to me while doling out "life advice." She loved my grandfather and was married to himfor 47 years, until he died. I see now, that even with the love she felt, she was simply unwilling to place herself in a position to be vulnerable to another man. She wasn't wrong. She was just living in the truth of her experience.
There were other women in my family whose stories I don't have the room here to tell. However, it's easy to see based on these two stories why the men in our family were de facto second-string players. They had non-voting shares in our family stock. For the older generations, men had proven to be unreliable creatures, subject to flights of fancy. They didn't stay around to do the difficult and back-breaking work of raising children and supporting a family. They just left...so it was best not rely on them for input, for money or anything else.
It goes without saying: I love the men in my family. They have a quiet strength that I think went unappreciated for a long time. As I kid, I didn't give it a second thought: What the women wanted is what would happen. In my eyes, it was the women that were the glue. Maybe the men understood that they were outnumbered and it was best not to challenge the tsunami, the coven or whatever they thought of all these strong, loud, boisterous, opinionated women. My father has been a great dad and a phenomenal grandfather. He's always been there. He just isn't as loud as my mother. The same could be said for my grandfather, Lorrence. He ADORED my grandmother. He never ever said a bad word about her. He was such an incredible man, I named my daughter after him.
It really wasn't until I met Ray that I could really appreciate what men bring to the table. I don't know if it was maturity, or having the sobering experience of dealing with the wrong kind of men, but when I met Ray, I knew something was different about him. He wasn't afraid of my intelligence. He could handle my sarcasm and throw in a few barbs of his own. I couldn't intimidate him. It was undeniable, he was my match in every single way.
In order to find happiness, I had to come to terms with the fact that respecting him and including him in my plans wasn't taking anything away from me. In fact, it made me stronger - because I now had a partner in crime in my plan to conquer the world.
My sincere hope is that the newer generations in my family, starting with me and going forward, can recognize the wounds we unintentionally carry from the past (sometimes from other people's stories) and find a more fulfilling experience in our relationships. Ones that do not don't involve the constant exhaustive action of protecting yourself from the supposed "inevitable" wrong that men will do.
We can't take out insurance against life's disappointments, but perhaps we can do better for ourselves at the outset by choosing to not partner with folks that clearly will do nothing but disappoint us.
If by chance we do kiss a few frogs in search of our prince, I hope we won't let the experience harden our hearts. Instead, we can be like the mythological Phoenix and rise from the ashes stronger than before.
Perhaps, we can look inside ourselves, be comfortable with the strength, the tenacity, the fortitude that naturally resides there and not weaponize it - keeping everything out, including the goodness the universe really wants to send our way.
That way, all of us can win - in love and in life.
It goes without saying: I love the men in my family. They have a quiet strength that I think went unappreciated for a long time. As I kid, I didn't give it a second thought: What the women wanted is what would happen. In my eyes, it was the women that were the glue. Maybe the men understood that they were outnumbered and it was best not to challenge the tsunami, the coven or whatever they thought of all these strong, loud, boisterous, opinionated women. My father has been a great dad and a phenomenal grandfather. He's always been there. He just isn't as loud as my mother. The same could be said for my grandfather, Lorrence. He ADORED my grandmother. He never ever said a bad word about her. He was such an incredible man, I named my daughter after him.
It really wasn't until I met Ray that I could really appreciate what men bring to the table. I don't know if it was maturity, or having the sobering experience of dealing with the wrong kind of men, but when I met Ray, I knew something was different about him. He wasn't afraid of my intelligence. He could handle my sarcasm and throw in a few barbs of his own. I couldn't intimidate him. It was undeniable, he was my match in every single way.
In order to find happiness, I had to come to terms with the fact that respecting him and including him in my plans wasn't taking anything away from me. In fact, it made me stronger - because I now had a partner in crime in my plan to conquer the world.
My sincere hope is that the newer generations in my family, starting with me and going forward, can recognize the wounds we unintentionally carry from the past (sometimes from other people's stories) and find a more fulfilling experience in our relationships. Ones that do not don't involve the constant exhaustive action of protecting yourself from the supposed "inevitable" wrong that men will do.
We can't take out insurance against life's disappointments, but perhaps we can do better for ourselves at the outset by choosing to not partner with folks that clearly will do nothing but disappoint us.
If by chance we do kiss a few frogs in search of our prince, I hope we won't let the experience harden our hearts. Instead, we can be like the mythological Phoenix and rise from the ashes stronger than before.
Perhaps, we can look inside ourselves, be comfortable with the strength, the tenacity, the fortitude that naturally resides there and not weaponize it - keeping everything out, including the goodness the universe really wants to send our way.
That way, all of us can win - in love and in life.
