Everything I know about the male species, I learned from raising sons

Well, not really, but I've learned a lot.

Since I grew up female, I've learned I was, in many ways, clueless, about the male species and their thoughts and habits. For example, I could never understand how males can miss that big hole in the center of the toilet. It's so big, how can they miss it and end up with a bathroom that smells like urine. Why do they urinate on the sides of the seat and toilet? Finally, when my youngest son was a teenager, he told me, "Mom, you have to understand the sprinkle effect." With a, I'm sure, puzzled look on my face, I asked him, "what is the sprinkle effect," thinking of the lawn sprinkler. He then explained that unlike what I (and probably most women thought), the stream of urine is not one stream that stays in the straight line as it enters the toilet. Rather, it is a stream with lots of "sprinkles" on the side that fall off the stream as it enters the toilet. These sprinkles are what hit the sides and the raised seat on the toilet. It seems that, with the exception of aiming for the basket on the basketball court, men can't aim worth a hoot. This applies to the toilet, the hamper, the sink when brushing their teeth, or even the trashcan when aiming some balled-up piece of trash at it. I won't even go into the need to ball up something and throw it at the trashcan rather than simply walking to the trashcan and dropped it in. I'm assuming it has something to do with basketball.

I also learned that, once they get to be a certain age, boys do not want to be seen being dropped off at school, or work, by their mother. "It's like being dropped off at grade school on the first day of school." Later on in life, many men would rather drive their wife to work and keep the car rather than being dropped off at their job. Hmm, seems like there is something testosterone-like about being seen driving a car.

It's easier to get males to do something if you ask them rather than tell them. "Will you take out the garbage?" "Will you unload the dishwasher?" Being told to take out the garbage or to unload the dishwasher results in a sullen, begrudging look from a male teenager and a job poorly done at best. In an adult male, the task usually won't get done. Males like to be ASKED to do things.

Males don't like to accompany us to buy bras. One Saturday, when my youngest son was a teenager, I asked him if he wanted to go with me to the mall. He asked me what I was going to get and I told him I needed several things and perhaps we could have lunch when we were through shopping. After stopping at a few stores, I started to go into Victoria's Secret to buy a few bras. He decided he would wait for me in the mall. Later that night, he told his older brother "Mom, tried to trick me into going with her to buy a bra." When I was married, my husband ALWAYS declined to enter either Victoria's Secret or Bath & Body Works. Now this reluctance I just don't understand. Are they afraid that some male friend will spy them leaving Victoria's Secret or the lingerie department of Dillard's? If they are seen, so what? What will be the implication?

Now this one has been written in granite since probably the caveman was around. MALES DON'T NEED DIRECTIONS AND WILL NEVER ASK FOR THEM. THEY ALSO DON'T NEED MAPS AND WON'T USE THEM EVEN IF THEY'RE LOST. Once my sons got to driving age, they knew absolutely everything. This, of course, included the directions to places they had never in their life seen before. I learned not to offer directions and only hope that they arrived at their destinations. Last year while in Pittsburgh, a male friend travelled to the house where I was staying. It was about an hour's drive from his home and he was totally unfamiliar with the area. I gave him directions and he picked me up. As we were leaving the house, I began to give him directions to our destination. He stopped me and said, "I got this. If I need some help, I'll ask." My older son recently told me the same exact words, "Mom, I got this."

I suspect the GPS Navigation Systems in cars and on smartphones was the brainchild of a male. This way, they never have to admit that they need directions.

Blessings,

T

I want a secret room in my house!

Ever since I was a small child, I've always absolutely loved to read. The East Liberty branch of the Carnegie Library was at the end of my street. Each Saturday, I would go to the library and spend hours there, my head buried in a book. When I left the library, I would check out the maximum number of books I could and most times finished them before the next Saturday. Because my mother also loved reading, books were a staple in our home. As a result, books often became an escape for me. Not from any bad situation at home, but an escape into a world of vivid imagination. I usually could be found somewhere, hidden away from everybody, curled up in a window seat with my head buried in a book. As children, my siblings and I often would walk to Mellon Park in the East Liberty section of Pittsburgh. On our way, we would stop at the NBC Bakery and get little snack cakes and take them to the park with us. While my brothers and sisters would spend their time on the swings and the slide, I would be laying in the grass, reading. I remember lying beneath a grove of trees, the branches forming a leafy ceiling between me and the sky, reading my latest book. Even today, I can spend hours in a bookstore. I often go to my local Barnes and Nobles, grab a decaf mocha and browse and read for hours. In several of the books I read as a child, there were houses with secret rooms, accessed typically through a panel disguised as a bookcase. These were places where one could escape the villain who was chasing them. Sometimes, it was a secret passage that led out of the house. In the back of my mind, I always wanted to have such a room. I guess it's the little child in me. When I saw the movie Panic Room, I was once again reminded of my lifelong desire to have a secret room in my home. When I build my new home, it won't necessarily have a panic room, but it will have a secret room. It will have a window, a comfortable chair, music and a bookcase. The window will have glass that doesn't permit one to look in from the outside. My grandson and future grandchildren will have a ball hiding in it and their Nana will no doubt spend some time in it, too.

Blessings,
T

Stuck in the Meantime

This year, like every year at this time, I find myself contemplating changes that I want to make in my life commencing with the new year. A friend told me several years ago that January 1^st is not an ideal time to make such changes or resolutions. He told me that changes and resolutions are best made in the spring, which is a time of renewal and regrowth. January 1^st comes in the winter, when things are cold and stagnant. Though this makes a lot of sense to me, I still find myself thinking about affirmations and resolutions at this time of the year. A few weeks ago, I made the decision to cut most of my hair off. I wasn't happy with its condition and it just didn't seem healthy to me. Strangely, this cutting of the hair has been a renewal, a rebirth of sorts for me. I feel that, symbolically, I am starting in many ways, a clean slate. I can choose to write, draw or sketch whatever I want on this clean slate. The year 2008 was a tumultuous year for me in many ways, mostly having to do with the loss of my dear father. There were many ups and downs for me in 2008. In the process, I continue to learn a lot about myself. Isn't it funny that no matter our age, this journey called life continues to teach, and lead us? It seems that I've been stuck in the middle of what Iyanla Vanzant calls the meantime. I know exactly what I want in life, but what I want is nowhere in sight. The windows of the meantime house are clouded by fear, and self-doubt so that the light of love cannot shine through. The windows of our hearts and minds are streaked with past pains and hurts, past memories and disappointments. In the meantime, we keep looking through the foggy window, trying to convince ourselves that what we see is the real thing. It's not, and some part of us knows it, but we keep looking through the clouded, dirty windows anyway.

I've decided that the renewal that I'm experiencing will include a massive cleaning, cleaning out the old so that the new can see in and I can see the new. It will include a sweeping out of the old stumbling blocks that have stalled me in the meantime time. In order to welcome the new, to be open to what will be, I must prepare myself to be ready for the next steps in this journey called life. These steps at first will be baby steps, then they will be long strides, I may even take a few steps backwards, but I will resist the urge to be stuck back there. I will be open to new experiences, new people, new relationships, new career opportunities and a new openness.

So, there are things I will resolve to do and other things I will resolve not to do in the new year. I won't list them here for the world to see because I am a private person, and this I'm sure won't change in 2009 J. I do feel such a strong feeling of good things to come for me and those close to me. In The Secret, it tells us to envision it and then go live it. I intend to do that in 2009.

 

Blessings,
T

People who need to get a real job

Or, how do these people really earn money?

1. Alan Keyes – The perennial presidential candidate. Mr. Keyes has been around for a long time. This also-ran needs to get a real job and face the fact that he will never be elected dog-catcher, much less president. After failing in his many attempts to win the republican nomination for president, he finally left the republican party and joined the constitution party. Surprising to no one but perhaps, Mr. Keyes, he also failed in this presidential bid. His latest act to keep his name in the news is his filing of a suit to require Barack Obama to produce the "long form" of his birth certificate before he takes office to prove he was born in the United States. Alan, read my lips. YOU WILL NEVER BE ELECTED PRESIDENT. Go home to your family and attempt to reconcile with your lesbian daughter who you disinherited because you "cannot approve of that which destroys the soul of your daughter."
   
2. Jesse Ventura – Jesse, you were a good wrestler and a so-so governor. Now, you're just a loudmouth who likes to hear himself talk and who makes inane statements and predictions on the various news talk shows. Jesse, take a deep breath and hunker down for the cold Minnesota winter ahead. Perhaps by the time spring arrives, you will have figured out a real job you can handle.
   
3. Ross Perot – Ross, you will never be president either. You're rich and nearly 80. Shut up, take your money and go retire to some island country.
   
4. Ralph Nader – Another perennial also-ran. Ralph, you've had your fun as a spoiler. Time to stop running for president and get a real job. How do you make your money anyway? People have long tired of hearing your rants and raves against the main political parties. You're nearly 75 now, Ralph. AARP has been pounding on your door for a few years now. Answer the door, Ralphie, take what little money you have left (according to you, you live on $25,000 a year) and please fade into the sunset.
   
5. Newt Gingrich – Newt, Newt. I thought we had heard the last of you and hoped you had quietly retired to the ranch. Let's see, you married your high school geometry teacher, who was seven years your senior. When she lay in her hospital bed recovering from cancer surgery, you brought divorce papers to her bedside. You cheated on your second wife for more than a decade during which you led the charge against Bill Clinton for the Monica Lewinsky debacle. You were finally sanctioned for ethics violations and left the house in disgrace. Now, you're back, I guess assuming the American public has a short memory. I don't, Newt. Get a job. Your alimony payments must be killing you anyway.
   
6. Ward Connerly – probably the most well-known black opponent of affirmative action. I should probably clarify the adjective black. Mr. Connerly claims to be only one-fourth black. I admit he looks like a straight-up brother to me. Mr. Connerly's job seems to be to allow himself to be the tool of affirmative action opponents for pay. He travels around the country attempting to dismantle affirmative action wherever it exists. Odd, since Mr. Connerly, born in 1939, undoubtedly benefitted from affirmative action. What more can I say about someone who, in 2008, supported Rudy Giuliani for president. Ward, get a real job.
   
7. Joseph C. Phillips – that guy Denise married on The Cosby Show who now feels compelled to share his opinions every opportunity he gets. Joe, hopefully you saved the money you made on Cosby and now you can do sit down somewhere. Your homophobic views are outdated and out of sync. Joe, get a real job.
   

And, I'm not going to start listing the "celebrities" who seem to have endless funds from doing absolutely nothing.

Blessings,
T

Obama Does Not Walk on Water

In other words, Obama ≠ Messiah. With all the talk and expectations of Barack Obama even before he takes office, I am reminded of the line from a movie that asks, Is he the One? It would take a Messiah to clean up all the mess left by George Bush. The financial industry is in shreds, the auto industry is going bust, unemployment is near record highs, our image overseas is badly tarnished, we are occupying Iraq in a fraudulent war, we have a record budget deficit, the war on drugs has long been lost and home foreclosures are at record highs. Who but a Messiah could fix all that in four years, or even eight years? Anyone who expects, believes, that a President Obama can fix all that in four years is living in a fantasyland. Yet, somehow I suspect that Obama will be held to a much higher standard than any of his predecessors. You know, "we've" always had to be better to get and keep the job. Every cabinet choice he makes, every speech he gives, even every stroke of his pen, will be analyzed and over-analyzed.

I would have voted for Obama if his skin color had been purple. I voted for change. I voted for the hope that things would get better, for all Americans, but most especially for the 95% of Americans who are not wealthy. I wanted a president who cared about the environment. I wanted a president who did not practice bully politics. I wanted a president who believed that health care was the right of every American. I wanted a president who would end this fraudulent war in Iraq. I wanted a president who cared about international relations. Do I expect him to be a miracle worker? Nope. Do I think he can clean the mess of the last eight years in four years? Nope. Do I expect him to make a dent in restoring all of the above? Yes. Do I think he will walk on water? No. I even expect him to make some missteps. And, I expect him to be crucified by some for those missteps. I have no doubt that Obama will be under the microscope more intensely than any president in history.

Every single job I've held in my life, I've had to be better just to get the interview. It will be the same for Barack Obama. Will I hold Obama's feet to the fire? Darn tooting! If he fails, will it have anything to do with his race? No, not one single thing to do with his race. I am claiming success for him. Success, not as a Messiah, but success as a president who just happens to be a black man.

Blessings,
T

 

And the tears flowed

What an evening! The tears flowed freely. I did not believe I would live to see this day! My heart and my spirit are full! As an African American woman, I wanted to stand on the roof and shout! I wanted to set off firecrackers! I wanted to shout! I wanted to give thanks, thanks to all those who fought, marched and even died so that this day would one day come. I am so proud, not only of our new president, but of my country. This is not just a victory for African Americans, but is a victory for our country as a whole. One hundred and forty-three years after U.S. slavery ended. One hundred forty-nine years since the death of John Brown. One hundred thirteen years since the death of Frederick Douglass. Sixty-eight years since the death of Marcus Garvey. Forty-five years since the death of W.E.B. Du Bois. Forty-three years since the assassination of Malcolm X. Forty years since the assassination of Dr. King. Three years since the death of Rosa Parks. I am thankful to all of them and to all the many others who lived and often sacrificed their lives for this day. We owe them all our thanks.

The images from around the country were moving. Jessie Jackson, who marched with Dr. King and was with him when he was assassinated openly shed tears. The students at Spellman who shouted with joy, hugged each other and cried. Mothers in Chicago who brought their children to Grant Park wanting them to witness and be a part of this day.

I hugged my son and told him that this means that anything he dreams is possible. My grandson can now point to someone who looks like him and say, "I want to be president like him." My forebears are looking down relishing this day. My Dad is looking down beaming.

I am bursting, beaming and bawling.

Hope prevails.

Blessings,
T

Standing at the Precipice

My country, the country of seven generations of my black and red ancestors stands at the edge of a precipice tonight. Tomorrow, November 4^th will be an historical date in the history of this country – regardless of who wins. The United States will either have its first African-American president or its first female vice-president. I am unabashedly an Obama supporter. While my support of him is not solely based on his race, I am mighty proud of him and this country. I honestly doubted that I would live to see the day when a black man would occupy the oval office as commander-in-chief. I doubted whether my sons would live to see such a day. I hoped my nine-year old grandson would live to see such a day.

As this day approaches, I think of my father who passed away at the age of 82 in March of this year. I think of his early support of Obama and though I know he's beaming down from above as this day approaches, I sorely wish he were here to cast his vote and celebrate the victory. I also think of my ancestors, both African and Native, whose blood enriches the soil of Virginia. I think of James Chaney, Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner, the three civil-rights workers who were murdered by the Ku Klux Klan in 1964 for attempting to register blacks in Mississippi. I think of Denise McNair, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson and Addie Mae Collins, the four little girls murdered in 1963 in Birmingham, Alabama. Denise, Cynthia, Carole and Addie were my contemporaries. These little girls were killed in Sunday School at the 16^th Street Baptist Church. This election is for them, too. I think of Irene Morgan, who in 1946 refused to give up her seat on a Greyhound bus to a white person and was jailed. I think of Rosa Parks, whose courageous act in 1955 in Montgomery, Alabama helped to begin the crumbling of the Jim Crow South. I think of W.E. B. DuBois and his Talented Tenth. Specifically his words, one in ten black men becoming leaders of their race in the world, through methods such as continuing their education, writing books, or becoming directly involved in social change. He believed they needed a classical liberal education to reach their true destiny as what would in the 20th century be called public intellectuals. I think of Booker T. Washington and Frederick Douglass and Sojourner Truth and, oh so many others, countless and often nameless. And, of course, I think of Dr. King, who knew we would get to the mountaintop though he would not get there with us.

My heart, my mind and my spirit is full. Words fail me at the pride I feel. Pride not only in this black man, Barack Obama, but also pride in my country, that finally, blessedly, hopefully, we are finally beginning to make progress on the racial stain that has blighted this nation since its birth. I give thanks to all those who fought and died for this day to be possible. We stand at the precipice.

Still I Rise!

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Maya Angelou