A Good, Good Father

Sunday School, prayer and tithing -- these were qualities that my father taught coupled with hard work and sharing with others.  A jokester with a quick smile, his words were always genuine and came from the heart.  His love for his wife and children came second only to his love of God.  I had 47 years with him and still, it was not enough.

I won't lie, there were times when I thought I had the worst life -- he was super strict, expected nothing short of excellence and immensely overprotective.  It took years for me to appreciate and even revel in that side of him.  I believe I was one of four apples of his eye.  He was definitely the apple of mine.

I often said I wish every girl in the world had a Daddy who loved her unconditionally.  Every woman should grow up with that feeling.  However, I was never fond of sharing my Daddy with other girls.  The pain of losing him though is the flip side of that coin and something I would never wish upon anyone.

One of my favorite memories is our road trip to New Orleans to pick up my sister after her first year in college.  While he gave me driving instructions - no it did not matter that I had been driving for years or owned my own vehicle - he told me about his days as a youth...in the south...during Jim Crow.  I still shake my head at most of it.  He was a troublemaker at his core.

Fighting and defeating a number of illnesses throughout the years, his heart became increasingly worse and his quality of life suffered.  No longer able to visit the saints, and others along the way, he resorted to calling whenever someone was on his heart and mind.

I buried my Daddy on Good Friday -- April 10, 2020 in the midst of a pandemic in a small cemetery in his home state.  Can't say this was what I had ever imagined.  He wasn't surrounded by the scores of friends and family who loved him.  All the nieces and nephews, and others, who consider Uncle Raymond their favorite uncle were not there to reminisce.  But he always said he didn't want all of that.  He got his wish. 

I know Christ Tomlin wrote his song about God -- The Father.  But amazingly, the words fit my earthly Daddy too.

You're a good good father

It's who you are, it's who you are, it's who you are

And I'm loved by you

It's who I am, it's who I am, it's who I am.

I buried my Daddy on Good Friday.  There is significance there.

Meeting Jesus

Sitting in a booth in the back, reading, I casually glance out of the window from time to time and watch the passersby as I mull over the content.  he slides into the booth next to me.  I reflexively lay my head on his shoulder as a tear falls. 

Hey Jesus.

We sit wordlessly. He lets me cry, my tears saying things I can't verbalize, as space and time fall away -- it's just us.  Finally, he wipes my eyes and smiles at me.

I'm so thrilled to see you...here..with me.  How awesome! 

I run my fingers over his hands -- thinking about the nails -- and how he took that for me.  Then the floodgates open...

Remember that time Jesus?  I know you do.  I was on the highway and my brakes weren't working.  I tried to come off an exit with a long uphill curve and a stretch of road before the light. I entered the intersection standing on the brake pedal and screaming your name.

We laugh.  He remembers.  I turn somber. 

I remember when my grandmother was sick and I didn't want to lose her.  I prayed so hard and you let her stay here a few more years.  But the second time, I asked you to have your way.  

He nods in agreement.  I cry a minute.  We hold each other.

You've been so good to me. I wish everyone knew.

He pulls back, looks me in the eye and asks me directly...

What have you done for me?

I swallow hard, thinking back.  What's the last thing I've done.  I mean, not including going to service and worshipping, praying, tithing but really DONE.

Ok, there was that time that guy had car trouble and pulled over and let him use my jumper cables.  It helped that he was handsome and it was daylight and I tried to stay in touch but...ok ok.  Let me think of something else.

He nods, chuckles.  He knows me so well.

I do pray for people...mostly the ones who work my nerves.  I try to lead by example though, show gratitude and be helpful.

He raises an eyebrow. 

Do you share me with others?

My face told my true feelings and he laughed.

You can share me and I will still be yours.  But my message of love and forgiveness is for everyone.

Deep breath.  I know this.  I mean really, I KNOW this.

I will.  I must.

Into the wee hours of the morning, we talked and laughed and reminisced about the people, places, and things that make my life and how we were together through it all.

What would your meeting with Jesus be like?

MidLife...Crisis or Nah?

MidLife

I'm coming into my 45th year and have been doing some deep reflecting. Am I the woman I think I am? Have I achieved the goals I've set for myself? And if I haven't, is there time? I mean, my To Be Read list is 1700 books long! What can I do about that?! Should I set new goals and will they be achievable? I mean, I can still climb Mt. Everest but I'd have to get in shape first, purchase the proper gear, probably hire a professional. What is really on my bucket list? Sure, I've crossed off zip-lining and horseback riding, but I've still got skydiving and viewing the Pyramids. And I keep adding to it...as if the next 45 years won't be a blur.

This period of life is usually marked with dissatisfaction in areas such as relationship, career, and/or health. Whether the origin is psychological or biological, obsession and excess are manifested through drinking, depression, nostalgia and can spur transition often displayed as the need to reinvent or redefine. Both the real world and the internet have assistance at the ready during this season. Check out Halftime, Wander Woman, Signs of a Midlife Transformation and Midlife.

Historically, midlife crises are seen as an exclusively male phenomenon summed up by buying a sports car, having an affair or changing his fashion style/hair. Well, I'm no man (not by any stretch of the imagination) but I'm single (no affair necessary), my car is almost paid off (why start a new note unnecessarily) and fashion...well, my ratchet-thot days are behind me and changing my hair is not unusual.

Women panic about health issues during this time period. Realizing potential and discovering their greatness, midlife for women becomes more of a quest for identity. I googled "black women mid life crisis" and even Google Images were white. What does that really mean? I'm sure the entire contingency of "I need role models that look like me" can sound off for the next millennium about this but I choose to revel in it. I can be an example of what it looks like to...wait, am I having a crisis?

Crisis

By very definition, a crisis is a condition of instability or danger, a dramatic emotion or circumstantial upheaval in a person's life or a stage in a sequence of events that sets the trend for future events, good or bad. Hmmm...let's do some more digging.

Elliott Jacques coined the phrase "midlife crisis" in 1965. As a psychoanalyst, he felt women's midlife issues were brought on by menopause and felt that the stereotypes about men were coined by women. Instead, he was curious to know about the relationship with creative genius. Interesting huh? Tell me more.   According to him, many great artists and thinkers don’t survive this time period. “I had the impression,” explains Jacques, “that the age of 37 seemed to figure prominently in the death of individuals in this category.” Using a sample of 310 including Mozart, Raphael, Chopin, Rimbaud, Purcell, and Baudelaire, he discovered a considerable number transitioned between 35 and 39. “The closer one keeps to genius in the sample,” Jacques observes, “the more striking and clear-cut is this spiking of the death rate in midlife.”  Wait... I need to un-know this.

*Seeing as I've passed those ages, I’m curious to know what else Jacques says. And who labeled me a genius?*

Genius has three directions in midlife -- death (literally or metaphorically), full creative potential, or a dramatically sculptured creativity that is markedly different from earlier works and he cites Dante, Shakespeare and others as examples of this. This “catchall diagnosis” began to stick in the late ‘70s - what a coincidence – when Daniel Levinson, author of The Seasons of a Man’s Life, described it as a time when middle-class, middle-aged men were…no longer young and yet not quite old,” and included the “unavoidable comparison between his youthful dreams and his sobering present reality.”  What about the rest of us? And how doomsday-ish is that???

Complacency - one way to resolve this conflict - offers a mental buffer against anxieties tied to unrealizable dreams, according to Levinson. Very little proof exists to tie alcoholism, depression and suicide increases to this life stage, so we can release the myth. (Jacques article )

What's in a Name?

• DelRica - literally means of the rich. No really, it does. And here I am among the 99%; At times, I feel I'm masquerading as if my true self knows I should be in a penthouse suite on a cruise to nowhere or having some sunbaked cabana boy bring me endless umbrella topped drinks. But alas, I enjoy working and networking with the masses. I love interacting with my peers. I do believe that it's lonely at the top, but I think I'll visit before it's all over. So, there will be no changing of MY name. That said, I'm not feeling the phrase MidLife Crisis.
• Catharsis is the purging of emotions, or relieving of emotional tensions, so as to result in permanent relief of the condition. It doesn’t get too much more positive than that. That said, I’m having a catharsis. Yes, yes. It will end with me finding out more about myself, setting more finite and obtainable goals, and achieving a modicum of complacency. Ok, scratch that last one. We all know better.
• Typical Actions - Will I buy a new sporty car and race around town? Probably not. Even though a drive on the Autobahn is on my ever-growing list. Will I get a new, young beau and explore the cougar life? Nah. Not really my thing. Will I cut and color my hair, change my style of dress and post selfies incessantly on Social Media sites? Double nah. Will I seek out a new job or career path? Again...I've done this several times already. Not to say it can't happen again - which means the jury is still out on this one.

Ultimately, I will review my goals and dreams and attempt to pare down to the ones that will make me happiest and help others and make me money and...well, I'll keep you posted. I agree with Jacques when he said that “Whether a midlife transition will develop into serious depression or into an opportunity for growth depends on a number of factors, including support from partners and other loved ones.” Therefore, I will enjoy the black version of Eat, Pray, Love. Yeah, the one that doesn't involve a journey to another country and love in another culture and all the Hollywood violins and meadows. Nope, this version involves family, food and support. Let there be CRABS!!!!!

Friends

Friend is such a loose term nowadays.  The meaning has both evolved and devolved simultaneously.  We can virtually meet someone who has things in common with us that we may have otherwise never met.  But should we call them a friend?  We can dismiss someone for having a "negative" comment (I'm still struggling to define this one).  Were they really ever a friend?  Gone are the days when you can give someone a label without having to add words like real or true as a description.  If you're a friend, then you need no other introduction.

We have means of determining friends, some common connection or belief or event or issue or...something.  Maybe we decide based on whether they would change a flat at 2am or put us up for a night in a pinch.  Or we used to...prior to calling any and every one a friend.  It doesn't take much to notice that Johnny's belief system is a bit different from yours -- if you can see beyond the "lol" and likes on each of your posts.  We can see that Jane is a bit quirky after the "go girl" comments have stopped.  Are we so busy looking for connections that we don't actually connect?

We've come to a point in our society where our involvement in Social Media (because I refuse to blame an inanimate object for the shortcomings of humans) has changed the meaning of the term friend.  Would you really be friends with that particular person offline?  Why are your friends categorized by race or based on which candidate they support?  Is there more to this person or more to your friendship?  Or are you merely Social Media friends?  Just because I like your Instagram posts doesn't make us friends.  Or is it just me?

Posting about unfriending people because of differences of opinion, shows your childish nature.  True growth is for those who are capable of entertaining ideas that are different from their own.  Doesn't mean you have to adopt it or even constantly debate about it.  A healthy relationship means that there is no persuasion necessary.  We are, and should be different.  It has always bothered me when folks attempt to isolate themselves with statements like "you don't understand because (insert special case)."  It takes away the opportunity for someone to empathize with your situation and give you the support you crave.  I wonder if that separates us from the animals?  I digress.

In our inability to communicate, we fail to say things like "I can't believe that your value system is so different from mine that you believe it's ok to hurt children and I'm uncomfortable knowing you."  Instead we say, "if you don't agree with me, I'll unfriend you."  Define internet bully for me please.
All too often I've seen posts that mention differences in politics, race, religion, and celebrity worship end with a threat to unfriend.

So, I'll say this to my friends:  I am thankful for you.  For our different backgrounds, races, religions, sexual orientations, marital status, political affiliations, economic brackets, vices, fetishes and interests.  I celebrate our differences in music, food, drink, vacation destinations, child-bearing/rearing habits, and much much more.  Trust me, I'm not unfriending you.

The Dating Games

There is an uproar over the newest dating website and I’m having the hardest time figuring out why.  Dating websites are filled with married people trying to cheat and not get caught, single people who are dating someone but looking to trade up and socially incapacitated people…and me.  These are the major categories.  Now, on each site you have some preference questions and get to post a blurb about yourself that rarely gets read because the visual is all that matters.

That said, this new website is different because of the answer choices for two of the preference selections.  Sure, we know folks who have lips defined as “soup coolers” and some of us enjoy those (i.e. Beyoncé).  Others flaunt the fact that we’ve “gone natural” and many enjoy that as well.  So why is it that we are outraged when a particular website uses these characteristics to narrow down the our selection?

WE DO IT, 

BUT WE DON’T WANT ANYONE TO KNOW!

See, we can swipe left or right on a picture based on our preferences, making an instant decision about a person but we don’t have to profess that on our list of preferences.  Only in America lol.  It's not Democracy and Freedom but Hypocrisy that we should claim. But, I digress.   Strangely enough, I actually signed up for this new dating website and I do not take issue with it.  Nope, I didn’t read anyone else’s posts/articles about it.  I heard, I researched, I entered.  I wonder who’s insecurities are on full blast and what the root of the problem may be.

Mind you, those aren’t the ONLY two items on the list of preferences; but we have to find a molehill to transform into a mountain.

Now, before all the name-calling starts, because apparently we can’t disagree on a topic and present our ideas like adults (think Stacey Dash), check out this article.  Seems this opinion is different from mine.  Happy Dating and may the odds be...well, you get it.

Apparently, You’re Not A Parent

Disclaimer: I do NOT have children. If you believe a person has to be a parent in order to “understand,” you are not only wrong but also will gain nothing by reading this post. 

I was bothered by the news of the little boy who fell into the gorilla cage.  I was saddened by the news of the child snatched by the alligator.  In both cases my initial question was where were the parents?  It’s a very natural reaction since, for most animals, the parents care for and protect the children.

The outcry in the media following the initial incident resulted in the vilification of the parents.  It was painful to watch.  Ironically, the second set of parents received an outpouring of sympathy.   My initial thought was because of the death of the second boy.  Others feel it’s racially motivated.  Time has taught us that as minorities we are viewed and handled differently, even by the media in disastrous situations.  It’s a fact of American life, so I took it with a grain of salt. 

That is, until the articles about “parent shaming” began to surface.  The frustration and outrage began to build when I read about the differences between the attacks .  But my blood began to boil when I read the open letter. 

Who decided it was wrong to question parents when a child has been abused or harmed? Or is it only a problem when the child dies?  No, that can’t be right.  Have you seen the questioning a parent goes through when their child dies of SIDS? We didn’t feel bad about questioning Susan Smith or JonBenet Ramsey’s parents (just to name a few).

Again, it’s human nature to ask questions, to seek understanding, when something tragic happens.  Even as adults, people often point to our childhood and our parents when we do something questionable.  What makes today’s hot topic parents any different?

The one article suggested that we support the grieving parents.  Sure we can do that. We grieved along with the parents of Sandy Hook and Virginia Tech.  My heart goes out to these parents as well.  I can’t begin to assume to know the pain of losing a child, but I can acknowledge the depth of such a loss and therefore grieve alongside them.  That does not negate, in any way, their lack of caution in this incident.   

I don’t believe that every parent intentionally sends their children into harm’s way.  But there are those who turn a blind eye, then want to cry victim when something happens.  You’ve been at the mall, and seen the child who climbs on things and pulls on things, and you  hope and pray nothing bad happens to him.  Meanwhile his parent is texting or shopping and ignoring his shenanigans.  But when something happens we want to blame corporations and even God forbid, onlookers for what we didn’t do.

Yes I do understand that things happen in the blink of an eye.  More reason for the “village.”  Yes, even without children, I can and do watch out for little ones around me.   Lord knows I don’t wish any harm upon anyone’s offspring.  We must be held accountable.  It takes all of us to look out for our children.  I was upset with the onlookers at the zoo for capturing the moment on your phone instead of finding a way to help.

Time out for placing responsibility in the back seat.  We let the government assume their medical and schooling expenses, blame teachers if they don’t learn and blame doctors if they don’t get better.  We blame television and social media if they are angry or socially inept or even “bullied.” Enough is enough. 

We live in a culture where the media can sway how we should and shouldn’t feel, for many of us.  What’s reported and the light it’s reported in can sometimes cause the reaction necessary.  All too often we don’t take the time to consider the facts for ourselves because we’re too busy getting caught up in sound bites and bits and pieces of stories.  We don’t do our homework prior to sounding off about the issue of the day.  That is what needs to stop.  Holding parents accountable for the actions they do or do not take when it comes to the safety of their children is a wonderful and necessary practice.  And I for one will not be shamed into not doing it.

One article mentioned Adam Walsh and Baby Jessica.  Instances where parents were doing the right thing and tragedy struck.  Maybe if we re-institute accountability in our homes and everyday lives, we won’t have such insecure children who feel that mass murder will make them whole.  But that’s fodder for another post.

I still prefer not to think of this in light of race but moreso in light of life and death.  Death seems to trump all accountability when we sympathize, or empathize, with the victims.  We seem much more capable of pity when the child loses their life than we do when they are alive and well.  Hopefully, we can get past that and save more young lives.  Cynical me doesn’t think this will happen soon though.  I expect more of these incidents to make the news soon.  I guess leaving kids in hot cars is passé.

Voting Rights

I've recently watched the movie Selma and have deepened my appreciation for those involved in the Civil Rights Movement.  While I've never been one to glorify leaders, and no point starting now, I revel in the fact that ordinary people made up the numbers that mattered.  Unaware of the behind-the-scenes deals and thoughts and theories, I found the pinnacle of success to be a bit anticlimactic to say the least.

Being a Yankee, I haven't been affected as strongly by the tactics used in the rural south to impede the progress of Civil Rights for Blacks and I am empathetic.  Being a transplant to the relatively unchanged south, I have seen the manifestation of the attitudes that linger.   It's not just the flying Confederate flags or the systematic shunning of educated, dedicated Black employees, but also the air of entitlement and deniability that is nearly palpable. But I digress.

In this, an election year, we are faced with the devil we know and the devil we think we know.  The next years of our life hang in the balance since our choice will be able to leave their mark if we need a new Supreme Court justice or new legislature or, fingers crossed against this one, we go to war.  No matter your beliefs about the fairness of or the validity of our votes, I'm thrilled to have the right.

Here in America, I am elated to be able to express myself freely, though I may be heavily scorned, as well as other rights.  I am grateful to those who fought, bled and died in Selma and other places to ensure my right to vote.  And come November, I plan to honor them at the polls.  See you there.