Why Men and Women Are At War: Part One

 I had an experience at the age of 15 that served me well throughout my adult life. It shaped my view of relationships and became the basis for the way I approached relationships with men.

My mother was reared with four brothers. If she wanted to do anything she had to hang with them. My grandfather and three of my uncles could have been the blueprint for what has been labeled as "toxic masculinity." My grandmother was pretty much complacent until she wasn't. She stood up to my grandfather who was a horrible alcoholic and most likely a womanizer, but most definitely a free spirit. Both grandparents worked, even though my grandfather could not read. One day I got the mail and handed it to my grandfather who was sitting next to me on the couch. He looked at it then began turning it around and around as though he was contemplating then called to my grandmother who came and took it from him. I questioned the encounter and that is when she told me he could not read. I was shocked. This was a man who owned a house in one of the richest suburbs in Illinois. He went to work everyday, drove a new Cadillac every two years and traveled by car extensively. 

 So much made sense in that moment. He had a hair trigger wit, was always the loudest in the room and most often was quiet when certain conversations were going on. I knew immediately my grandmother had a huge burden as she was the one who had to read every document they dealt with, birthday cards, thank you cards, letters, etc. Living with someone who can't read, but knows everything is a hard life especially when you lack compassion. Their arguments were brutal because of the language they used talking about each other. She often called him a fool and many other derogatory names. He rarely called her by her name. As a matter of fact he rarely called anyone by their name. He mostly called everyone "Nigga." 

I am a true historian. After witnessing a vicious agreement between my grandparents, I asked my grandmother was there anyone else she liked other than my grandfather and she told me this story...

"When I was in school, there was this boy in my class. He was light-skinned and had curly hair. He would kiss me everyday and even got in trouble for it."

'Why didn't you date him?'

"Because I thought he'd one day call me black."

'So you married a man who calls you a nigga everyday?'

We both laughed, but that conversation brought up so much about how people like her who was what I call, "Mississippi black," experience in this country. Many are tortured by their own people because of their deep, rich dark skin color often making them feel less than and not appreciated for who they are. My grandmother's heart was with the light-skinned guy, but she settled for the silver tongued, illiterate who never showed her any true regard or respect and chose to call her nigga instead of her name. Ironically, the word nigger means black. Life is tricky, ain't it.

So, my mother grew up with this nonsense and watching her brothers live wildly and do whatever they pleased simply because they were boys. She was determined to prove she could do whatever they could and for the most part did. She led with her masculine side daily while teaching her four girls how to be ladies. She wanted all of us to be debutants, had us modeling, taught us how to sit and walk, etc. She took dancing lessons at the Arthur Murray Dance Studio and taught us to ballroom dance. She managed to tap into her feminine side when she wanted to. It was interesting to watch. When I was younger I had the nickname "Annie Oakley" for her because she truly believed anything a man could do she could do better. 

One of the biggest arguments my parents had was in 1972, when Title 9 became law. My father was reading about it in the paper and commented on his belief that girls couldn't play sports like boys. They argued for days about it. Of course, I thought she was right. I was 10 but I fully understood the importance of the conversation. It showed me my father had a limited view regarding what a female is capable of doing with her life. By 1977, I was 15 and got an education and demonstration of how a woman demands the respect she feels she is entitled to have within a marriage. 

To be continued...