The House My Father Built

       It occurred like a script unfolding in real life. It was as if I read God’s mind, wrote a blog & then He got jealous at my telepathic skills and decided to put me to the test. “How dare I pick up on God’s plan” is what this lesson was teaching me. How  dare I be so in tune with the powers that be that I set myself up in the cross hairs of this lesson’s aim. But here I stood, or laid rather. September 17th, 2010, just 9 days after I wrote a blog about being molested by my father……I wake up to a Facebook message of a woman telling me that she worked with my father and he was trying to find me.  *glass shatters* Fear riddled my body as if the Nazi party had ratted me out to the KKK for kissing a white man in Mississippi after running away from the plantation without my freedom papers. No amount of words could describe this experience.

        It had been almost 16 years since the last time I had set eyes on, heard from, or even smelled my biological father. It wasnt even anything that I missed. But here is was, invading my Blackberry and oozing into the privacy of my house. I closed the application just because I felt that it was giving too much information about my whereabouts. There I was… wrapped in my covers having not even stepped out of bed for the morning….and I was no longer the 29-year-old woman who I was supposed to be; I was now a 9-year-old crouched in the corner of the bed waiting for my father to turn the bedroom door knob after having smoked a Newport.

        How do you compete with that? How do you explain to yourself that the emotions you are feeling are validated yet you fight so hard not to experience them? Why was I on the brink of crying? Why was I feeling heavy all of a sudden? I was grown, right? I had done well for myself without him, right? He wasnt even on my radar. The last time , before the blog, that I had even thought of my father was when I was in high school searching obituaries just so that I could finally know that he had died. It was as much of a ritual for me as Muslims pray throughout the day. It was my sanctuary of revenge.  Housed inside of my facade of happiness hid the fear that he would one day find me.

        So from my bed, the first thing that came to mind was. I rent, so the house isn’t in my name. The phone is shared with my roommate and it isn’t in my name. Other than my taxes, only a hand-full of people know my exact location. I go by my stage name so that should people in Baltimore ever reference me in his presence, he wouldn’t even know that it was me. I never take the same route home or mode of transportation from and to different locations; I’ve become my own CIA agent. I have a google voice number so that no one can ever track me down and connect me directly. I know 4 escape routes out of my house just in case I need to flee. But why was it that….with all of this hiding, he still managed to find me . In my home. In my bed. Waking me from my sleep. I managed to still be exposed. This time, I couldn’t escape.

The correspondences with the coworker went as follows:

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  • Gina September 17 at 6:26am Report
  • 2Deep,
    My name is Gina and I work with your father. He has ask me to send you this message he would very much like to see you and sit down and talk. We are currently in Baltimore, Maryland. Please send me a message on what you would like to do. He knows that you don’t want to see him but he request that you at least give him a chance to explain. Thanks Gina
  • 2Deep September 17 at 6:29am
    Are you serious?!!!! How’d you even find me and where does he work/live? Etc. Let me think about it b/c I really don’t see what there could be to explain.

     
  • Gina  September 17 at 6:53am Report

    2Deep, he works at [employer], our number is 410-[###-###] not that I am pushing the issue just wanted to give you the number just in case after you think about it. Thanks for answering me, he does not have a computer

     
  • 2Deep September 17 at 6:55am

    I don’t mean to be rude, as this is not directed at you, but why is he looking for me now and does he know where I am? Is he dying? Because this sounds like a guilty man dying.

     
  • Gina  September 17 at 7:11am Report

    Believe me I understand and I know it is not directed at me. He was off yesterday and he came in this morning and said that a situation had come up and I guess someone told him to check on Facebook , in conversation I told him I had a Facebook account and that’s how he found you. He said that he has been looking for you, and it is important that he sees you. and no he is not dying. he just said to me it is important to him. I do not know the story nor am I trying to get in your business or his, but I understand your feelings because even though it may not be the same situation one of my family members did not see their child for years, and when they tried she did not want to see them. so I do understand. He just knows that you may be in Maryland, at least that’s what he said.

     
  • 2Deep September 17 at 7:13am

    Well, I will think about it. Thanks. Have a blessed day.

    Sent via Facebook Mobile

     
  • Gina  September 17 at 7:17am Report

    you too!!!

        Wow! What a way to start the day, huh? The sad part about it was… I put on a good front. I stood my ground and appeared sane. If only for a moment I felt proud of myself. I got up and took a shower, ate, and took over an hour to decide what I was going to wear to work, how was my hair suppose to be, and should I wear make-up. BAM! I caught myself. I caught myself making sure I was “perfect”. I hadn’t done this in years. My father, without even being in the same house, had managed to creep into my psyche and revert me back to the child who double checked everything before leaving my room. Part of it was to make sure that I was well covered so he wouldn’t be attracted to anything on me. The other half was so that I could cover up to the world just how worthless and ugly I felt from what was going on behind the walls of my house. It was dress up. And even though I still havent seen Tyler Perry’s interview, but have heard of it….. I dressed up to run away from the moments that weren’t so pretty. Everything could be dressed up. Everything could be made into make-believe and make-believe made real. And 16 years later, I stood in my house playing dress up for the day.  And I sat Indian style on the floor and cried. I made myself look in the mirror as I did this, made myself self say “fuck the time” as I was already late for work, and I cried.

I cried that the emotions I had dressed up had taken it  upon themselves to undress without my permission. They had chosen to come out of the closet and drape over my camouflage and force me to pay attention to the situation at hand. And I wasnt ready. I wasnt ready to go out on stage. I wasnt ready to speak the lines that were literally written on the page, but rather summarize the thesis. But curtain call was calling me to come and hold this situation’s hand and take a bow….the run on Broadway could end, but for some reason… I was a member of Cats and I identified myself with this long drawn out version of my existence. Who would I be if I didn’t have this as a crutch to fall back on when needed? Who would I be if I didn’t have this hatred in the back of my heart? Who am I?

So I got up, wiped the make-up from my face, pulled my hair back in a simple pony tail, and I went to work comfortably for the day. I was ready to be a big girl. Despite the walls that my father had helped me to build around my fears, around my self-worth, around my heart, I too knew how to handle a tool or two. And this act of defiance, this unwillingness to dress up on this day, shook the very foundation of my father’s house of cards that once seemed like Alcatraz wrapped around me. And a few days passed……

• 2Deep September 20 at 2:23pm

  Hello,

  I still havent decided on myself, but you could at least tell him that I passed his information on to my sister. She has been looking for him.

  I guess what is stalling my final decision would be.. what “situation” occurred that made him wish to look for me. If that cannot be answered on your part, I completely understand.

  I humbly appreciate your patience and understanding as well as your participation. God bless!
  ~2Deep

• Gina September 20 at 4:01pm Report
  2Deep I am at home now so first thing in the morning I will tell him about your message. We also looked for your sister on here as well and we did find a [My Sister’s Name] on here and I sent a friend request to the young lady but have not heard from her maybe she is not the right person or because she doesn’t know me she did not accept my request. I am sure he will want me to send a message to you in the morning but I don’t want to wake you in the morning so let me know what is a good time because I think that I may have woke you up the last time we spoke thru messaging. Thanks Gina
• 2Deep September 20 at 4:14pm
  I wake up around 6:30am every morning so I was just waking up last time. Yes, that is her and I have no clue if she still has an account here on FB, she an I are currently not speaking. Like Father, like child. Have a blessed evening.
• Gina  September 20 at 5:02pm Report
  YOU TOO!!
• Gina  September 21 at 9:15am Report
  2Deep,
  This is what he said to me. YOU ARE MY DAUGHTER AND I LOVE YOU AND WANT TO SEE YOU. When you decide to see me I will explain everything. that’s what he said to me. Gina
• 2Deep September 21 at 9:21am
  LMAO!!!!! Boy, I always wondered where I got my twisted humor from. Now, I see that I got it honest. Thanks for the message. I pray that you have a wonderful day. Mine is going beautifully. God bless!~2Deep

  Sent via Facebook Mobile
• Gina September 21 at 9:27am Report
  I am sorry if I sounded abrupt but that’s exactly how he said it to me.
  Gina
• 2Deep   September 21 at 9:36am
  Oh no, it’s NOT YOU. I heard his voice in my head when you said it. I believe that is exactly how he said it & that’s what makes it funny. Don’t mind me. Long story. Thanks again.

  Sent via Facebook Mobile
• Gina September 21 at 9:45am Report
  ok, no problem have a good one.
• 2Deep September 21 at 9:31p

        My sister, the one who would have a better shot at robbing Jesus of a Rolex & speaking to my father, said that she called the number you provided today around 4pm your time & no one answered. When is there a better time to call?I don’t know you, but I pray that this isn’t a prank,   for my sister’s sake. B/c this would kill her if she couldn’t actually get in contact w/ him. Thanks.

• Gina    September 22 at 6:40am Report
• 2Deep, this is not a joke!! I know your first name is [My Name] (spelling may be wrong) or at least that is what your father told me. He works 7 to 3:30 we close at 4:00 and believe me the girls in the office leave at 5 of. our answering machine does not come on until 5:00 pm
  she can call during th day at anytime. she did friend me and I am sure he will send a message. Thanks Gina
• 2Deep   September 22 at 6:43am
• Thanks so very much. I care more about her talking to her name sake than myself. My apologies if I sounded rude, I just have to play big sis and make sure that she isn’t being messed with. Have a blessed day.
• Sent via Facebook Mobile
• Gina September 22 at 6:48am Report
• I do not think you are being rude. Again I don’t know the whole story and of course what little I am hearing is one side. after working with your Dad for 4yrs I kind of know how he is, and after talking to you for just a few short days I can tell that you have grown into a fine young lady with or with out him. I can understand why you want to protect your family. Have a great day!!!
• 2Deep September 22 at 6:55am
• Wow! 4 years?! More power to you! I guess my curiosity only wants to know what he looks like. I don’t think that I am either emotionally or mentally prepared to hear much else at this time. Still praying on it. If I were to ever contact him I would have to feel safe & have all of my tracks covered. I am a secluded person, very secretive & private, & wish for not even friends to be able to find me or know where I live, all thanks to him. Been this way since my teens. So I will continue to pray about it & hope that he doesn’t feed my sister lies or false hopes. Thanks again for everything. God bless.
• Sent via Facebook Mobile
• Gina September 22 at 6:58am Report
• I hope he doesn’t feed either one of you lies and false hope. I will bring a camera in and take a picture and post it on my account for you. (if I can remember, I am old lol…) What ever your decision is I am just the messenger and I wish you well. I am sure we will talk again
• 2Deep    September 22 at 6:59am
• Thanks. God bless!

        Then one day, as if I wasnt moving on his time. I get a message that shook my defiance awake. It was as if this was a true test to my face! Bold, deliberate and outright disrespectful to my very being…to my existence. I woke up to a heading that read:  [2Deep], THIS IS A LETTER YOUR FATHER WROTE TO SEND YOU. HE ASK ME TO SEND IT THROUGH FACEBOOK,  and it read:

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  • Gina September 24 at 1:37pm Report
    [misspelled my name],
    It saddens me that you have to think about seeing your father. That tells me that the amount of poison that you have been fed has become lethal and my suffering will continue. On the other hand I am so very proud of you and your accomplishments!!!!! you appear to be a very beautiful young lady with a promising future. I will always love you and I look forward to the day that you can look pass my failures as a parent and try to start a new relationship with me..your father.

    (2Deep, I was hesitant to send this to you because I feel that it is not my place, but he asked because he has no way to contact you and he kept asking me. ) Gina

  • 2Deep  September 24 at 1:49pm
    Thank you so very much. If there is an address (US Postal) for him where I can reply, I’ll address/reply to him personally. Since he is playing victim & suffering from a bout w/ amnesia, I’ll remain on the borders of the real issues as well. Again, you are heaven-sent & your efforts are genuinely appreciated. God bless.~2Deep

    Sent via Facebook Mobile
  • 2Deep  September 24 at 2:09pm
    P.S. Please tell him to learn how to properly spell my name, if that wasn’t a typo.

        There it was. He didn’t take responsibility for anything. it was this mysterious “poison” that I was supposed to have been fed. I felt hurt all over again, but this time I decided to fight back. I fought the urge to cry, I wavered on what I should do… so I did what came naturally… I called my dad (godfather).

I mentioned it to my dad and my mother over heard the conversation. She said to me, “Forgive him, and then move on. Dont confuse forgiveness with reconciliation.”  And that was that. Again, my mother said the simplest thing and it made perfect sense. I didn’t have to sit in turmoil over what to do. I just had to respectfully forgive. I would never be as outright as Tyler and pay for his bills, etc. But I could at least respect his position of who he should have been and close this for myself. I still havent done it yet… but I plan to. I don’t know if I want to write a letter, or to call, or to see him in person just to close this out for myself. But one day soon… I will be free. 

I wonder what it will be like to live in a new house. A house where I won the keys, where my name is on all owner’s documents. Because living in this house that my father built has brought forth some bitter-sweet memories. I am thankful that I survived, but bitter that I had to endure the construction of these walls all in the same breath. Each day I build a foundation of courage to speak my mind , the wisdom to know what to say and if I should ask questions, the strength to walk away , the understanding to not feel guilty, and forgiveness to truly mean it for good. Forgiveness: Extreme Makeovers: Home Edition.

Sincerely,

~*My Mother’s Daughter*~

A Daddy’s Girl and Her Man

   

     Okay, so a stream of entries are coming from conversations that I had with a few of my friends over the Columbus Rediscovering America Day weekend. The topics that pop up are always about male/female relationships and I think several people walk away with a different persepctive….even the guy who’s relationship we think we broke up because we told him his girl was using him….lol. But it had to be true because any time you can get any group of women to come to a 100% agreement on anything, it has to have been an exercise of divine intervention.

        One topic that popped up was that of me being a Daddy’s girl, and I am. After hanging up the phone with my mother during the brunch someone called me a Mama’s girl and I said, no….actually I am very much a Daddy’s girl. Now before you get confused, those who have read my blog faithfully know for a fact that my biological father is not the point of this entry. God blessed me with two wonderful godparents who are the best godparents that anyone could ask for. So…the Daddy that I am referring to is my godfather, but he is very much my father. When I have traveled to see him in Minnesota, you can find my dad and I out and about town cracking jokes, having fun, and he even lets me drive his car…. and my daddy doesn’t play about his cars! Late nights I was in the garage handing him tools as he worked on cars or helping him drill pilot holes into the wood he was using to build a trailer. Yes, I am very much a Daddy’s Girl and proud of it.

        But much to my surprise, all of the guys at the table rolled their eyes and barked at how being a daddy’s girl is far worse than being a mama’s girl because, as her man, he must now compete with the father. First off…. my name is NOT Oedipus. Secondly, that’s just gross. Thirdly, I don’t live in any of the cross-breeding states. Fourthly, I am not an English Royal in the 1700s. And lastly, I hear you…. but I don’t agree with you.

        The guys ganged up on me when I said that yes, there are things that my daddy will always do just the way that I like it. Why did I say that? One of them told me to listen to what he heard when I made that comment. He said that he heard “Yes, I’ll let you cut the grass but my daddy cuts it better.”  Or, “You can pick the restaurant but my daddy knows how to cook my favorite meal better.” I then had to break it down that , in my situation, my daddy is a very wise individual and I didn’t mean it that way.

        My dad is just that….my dad. He is also a wise individual who is quick to put me up on game for the things guys will do, and he will also put me in check when I play games that females play. My dad made it very clear that everyone will not love like him. My dad is a very affectionate, hugging, loving, and communicating kind of father. Every man is not going to fit into that bill. I remember when he and my mom gave me the book “How to Love a Black Man” and told me to read it carefully…. I still own a copy til this day. It helped me understand that even though my daddy communicates with me the best, I need to know how other men communicate as well. Just because my daddy does things the way I like doesn’t make it better, and just because my man has yet to learn doesn’t make it worse, it just makes it different. Being a daddy’s girl with a brilliant daddy helped prepare me for reality and not a fantasy. My man will love differently and if I in turn love him back then the way he loves me is perfect. I don’t try to measure anyone’s love to my dad’s… they could never reach….because they are two separate kinds of love. So I don’t even try to compare. Whomever I’m dating gets measured on his own scale and I cherish each moment, I learn through each moment, and I love him for each moment that he shows me how he loves , through his way, and in his time. There is nothing wrong with that.

        A true daddy’s girl SHOULD know how a man works, his mood, how he will or wont communicate things well, but how he means well all in the same breath. She should know that men could care less about the latest fashions and will never know the difference between pearl and off-white. And she should also know that I love you may never be said out loud, but that a kiss on the forehead, a pat on the back, the sharing of the last bite, and his undying willingness to protect you at all times should suffice in case of emergency or a moment of questioning if you are loved. The things that I learned from my father I have taken with me into relationships. I don’t cook meat in my dad’s vegetarian cookware, I don’t punch the accelerator above 2 in his E Class, I let him go on some very LOOOOOOOONG winded conversations that make my eyes roll in the back of my head but come to appreciate later in a time of need, and when he says he needs a minute….I walk away, but knowing all the while that this is my dad’s temperament and he loves me just the same. My man gets the same courtesy. I am able to separate the two…my dad has my mom to love him in that manner. And did I mention that my name is not Oedipus? So you see, all daddy’s girls aren’t bad…especially if you have an amazing Dad to begin with.

Sincerely,

~*My Mother’s Daughter…..but My Dad’s Girl*~

I’m Not a Lesbian, but I Played One In College

        Now that I have your attention… welcome. The taboo sentiments that circle around the topic of homosexuality are enough to make me torch the nearest discriminating heterosexual with rainbow gasoline. Seriously, no matter what you think of the topic ,no one civil right should be trumped by one’s disapproval of another’s civil rights. Point, Blank, Period!

        The title, obvious. I pulled a Katy Perry once in undergrad; I kissed a girl…and I liked it. One time, end of story. Nothing dramatic, nothing scandalous, just truth. What?!!! I went to a majority white college… girl on girl kissing is required in the student constitution to get your diploma…lol. So, should I be persecuted for a seemingly innocent homosexual act? Should I be banned from heaven because, in all actuality, I find the feminine form more attractive than that of a male’s but prefer the male’s over a woman’s? Or do I get a pass, the left blinded eye of justice, because I am a “redeemed” homosexual and I didn’t even send in $10.99 for a free healing prayer cloth? News flash, it is not the act that makes a person homosexual.

        I’ve never had sex with a woman, I just can’t picture myself ever taking it that far….so I’m a lesbian on paper…lol. I send in my dues every month at a gay pride rally but that is about it. But if you ask me how do I identify myself….you’ll never hear me say heterosexual. For that matter, you’ll never hear me say I’m homosexual. I just am. I stand in the middle, torn by what a part of me once experienced and what the rest of the world says is appropriate, all the while thinking that they could both exist harmoniously.

        Ignorance about homosexuality makes me cringe. I actually have a co-worker who once, while proclaiming his frustration over his son’s flying to New York from Florida to see his long distance girlfriend, said, “Well, it could be worse. He could be gay.” He said it as if being a serial killer, an international terrorist, or satan himself were all better than if his son were a homosexual with perfect credit and a clean criminal record with the cure to all currently incurable diseases stuffed in his left jean pant pocket. But this of course is coming from the same “Christian” coworker who posted this above his desk:       

I rest my case……….Shame how people can hate but can’t even copy/paste scripture properly…lol

         I have homosexual friends that I have invited to my church over, and over, and over again. I hate having to preface with “the speaker may hit an anti-homosexual rant, but listen to the voice of God between it all.” I want to stand up and shout during service…. “MUCH LIKE THE MILITARY, THE MORE PEOPLE WE HAVE SPREADING GOD’S MESSAGE, THE BETTER OFF WE ARE IN THIS WAR AGAINST EVIL!” But I don’t. I let the masses in the pews clap and cheer and Amen the minister of the day. Deep down I just want to fix it all, help bring a different approach. Telling me that I am wrong will not make me listen to you, but showing me another way for something to be done may get me to see your side. Shouting to the hills that homosexuality is wrong keeps so many lost souls from hearing God’s message. It’s almost as if they don’t think that bringing them into His house, teaching the rest of his teachings, will be enough ground work for God to magically work in their lives the way that He sees fit. It’s almost as if they are shouting that you can’t be Christian if you are a homosexual or don’t disapprove of homosexuals. When in fact they could try the Pythagorean-ish theorem.  If a=God, and b=His mercy, then c=His love for you. One may conclude after hearing those lessons repeatedly that God would work inside of the person. You can’t cut out what you THINK is cancer without first taking tests, blood work ( pardon the religious pun), X-rays, and even the initial incision on the surgery table. Baby steps, not attack. And I am not saying here that it should even be changed…but if you think that homosexuals should be changed…think of a different approach.

I also don’t think that religiously suppressing homosexuals is a healthy method of spiritually reforming people for the heterosexual partners that they may find themselves with. As a female who would one day like to be married to a male, I have fears of being in a relationship with a male who loves another male but because his church tells him he should be with a female he picks one as a front for the public and then begins down low activities…been there, done that… tested negative. That is a touchy subject for me. If you told me that my “now” husband was once with a man… I would always wonder if he still had those same feelings and I would want him to go be with whomever made him happy rather than stick around in a marriage with me simply because I was female. Only God can change an urge. My urge to stop having sex, though, doesn’t make me a virgin again, just like making someone stop engaging in homosexual activities will not make a homosexual a heterosexual. So am I wrong for letting God work his magic on the things that would cause me to hate? Am I wrong for having faith that God will work things out and as long as I continue to love everyone around me, respect them as humans and preach the word of God to get people into His house, no matter their sexual preference, God will be proud of me? Or am I wrong for thinking that it is ridiculous to lose a person over one Biblical scripture rather than gain them through a thousand others?

        I highly doubt that when it is all said and done that I will get to the pearly gates and Peter is gonna chuck up the Dueces with Jesus on speaker phone as they both tell me that I must spend eternity in hell because I didn’t choose to persecute the gays. People use the Bible at their convenience to promote their cause. I say, if you don’t use it all exactly the way that it was written….dont come hollering that nonsense in my ear all out of context. I’ve even heard ministers say that “this is a new time but the messages still apply”. Well, when your wife can’t have a baby you better not turn to invetro, you better sleep with your house servant. When Michael Jackson died he should have risen like Lazarus. I’m just saying… do you see the disconnect here? Why is it that other things can be forgotten, modernized, and substituted, but the principle of homosexuality and adamant hatred associated with it managed to last throughout the ages? Maybe, now, God needs this individual, who happens to be a homosexual, to know the love that God has for all human beings. Maybe this individual needed to hear how Job waited on the Lord, or how Joseph, David, and others over came trials. Maybe they need for you to practice the agape that you preach. Just maybe.

        I know several homosexuals that walk the halls of my church without them ever having to say a word but I have proof….their secret will be safe with me even after I die ( and I love them for EXACTLY who they are). I have several friends who are openly homosexual and I preach the word of God to them. I even have one requesting that I explain to her what “touch and agree” means because I say it around her so much. And I have a homosexual friend who revealed to me their HIV status…I didn’t shy away from them, I didnt think…”that’s what you get”, no… I loved them even more. And I laugh, joke, and talk about God with them whenever I can. I actually have some deep conversations about God with this individual. So yeh… the gays know the Holy Trinity as well… they just don’t always feel accepted by those claiming to be “His” people. You see, I don’t think that its my place to cast the first stone, but it is my place to say, come into God’s house, listen to his word and He will work on you in His time. I love all of my brothers and sisters, straight, not so straight, and flat out crooked. I think that is what I am supposed to do.

        A homosexual engaging in homosexual acts may not directly or indirectly kill me. But a straight man who came to church to hear a word about how God will make a way out of no way but instead hears about the persecution of the gays who then leaves and holds my bank hostage while i’m trying to pull out rent money….just might. No one sin is greater than another. Shouting “no homo” is not only stupid, but saying that you are not the same…when in fact you are. You too are human, you too are a sinner looking to be saved, and you too are praying that one day you will get into heaven despite your faults. So much like weight, who a homosexual loves just happens to be a visual habit that many feel they can pick on while keeping their own personal habits in the closet.

        This is not a rant to say that “Christians” are wrong and homosexuals are right. Just like I am entitled to my opinion, you are more than welcome to be bigoted by yours. *smirk* I just know that I can wake up with my conscience free every morning knowing that I am not hating someone or a sect of persons just because someone standing before me says that I should. God hasn’t spoken that chapter of the Bible to me yet.

        All jokes aside, I don’t believe everything that I read because many a man has had their say so in what I read before my eyes ever set sail across the page. But I do believe that God exists and my relationship with him is one of understanding and love. I am comfortable in that and will not let anyone else’s interpretation of how my Father and I behave taint my relationship with Him or how He chooses to shine through me. Again, you “christian” your way and I will “christian” my way..yes, I made it a verb. lol. It shouldn’t be that way, but as it stands….this is peaceful. Now…back to the gays…..

        Being a homosexual, to me, isn’t a crime……hate my theory all you want, I will not change. I say this… premarital sex isn’t favored upon….lets hold everyone to that standard no matter what your preference. Because I would hate for someone to not get saved and know God like I am still getting to know him just because they chose to love differently than myself. I have faith that God can work miracles and if GOD chooses to keep them homosexual…then that is between God and that person. I must uphold the love, grace, and mercy that has been shown to me and display it to others who come in my presence. I’m not a homosexual, nor am I heterosexual,;I am the understanding. I understand what it feels like to want someone to hear you out. I also know what it feels like to hear God telling me what to do, not tainted in my mission and do it in spite of. I also know that God would want me to love far more than he would ever want me to hate. And if I am wrong in that assumption, He’ll deal with me on my Judgement Day. Until then… all humans are alright with me. None of us are 100 % right nor know all of the answers, but I will definitely love you until we find a conclusion or one of us dies. And if these men don’t start acting right I just might cash in my lesbian on paper membership to a full fledge flag waving VIP member… DON’T PUSH ME!!! No hetero.

P.S. If you like this topic, check out my other topic: 200 Men Said…. “Same”phobic Homosapiens <~Click Here

Sincerely,

~*My Mother’s Daughter*~

What Happens in this House….:A Molestation Survivor Speaks

WARNING: This is a very graphic and tough topic. Personal experiences and sexual references are made and PARENTAL DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

        Somewhere, in some part of the world, there is a little girl snuggled in her bed pressed against a wall, head under her pillow with just enough space to inhale for the breath holding ahead and to peek towards the door knob awaiting the return of her personal boogie man. Monsters Inc prepares children for the monsters who reside under your bed and in your closets, but what about the monsters who pin you down to the bed and force you and this secret into the closet….what then?

        I was one of those children, and I don’t know if I have ever stopped being one of those children. To this day, I sleep with my bedroom door locked, a privilege that was not granted to me living under his roof. I have escape routes out of windows in my house just in case an intruder were to ever invade my safe haven. Windows covered in complete darkness resemble the rooms I had growing up because our neighbor’s house was so close and he lived by the rule of thumb that “what happens in this house stays in this house.” Who was I to judge his authority?

(Screaming!) He molested me! *exhales* There, I said it…outloud. Who is this “he”, you ask?

        He was my father, Charles S Carter Jr, and he was the man who molested me from before I could remember until the courts took us away from him when I was 12 years old. People say that I look like him, but I still need a DNA test to even begin that process. He was an electrical engineer with several degrees who spoke several languages, and a normal relationship was as foreign to us as him speaking Korean to me in moments of battle. I was his daughter. His first-born, born from the love that he had once married to my mother, but I would come to learn that although I was not his favorite I would turn out to be Daddy’s Girl. Late night parent daughter talks, asthmatic lungs inhaling the stench of Newports from his chest as the weight of a grown man crushed my prepubescent body into a mattress for no other reason than I was female, easily accessible, and he had a disease that yearned to be fed. Daughter perched on daddy’s lap became a moment to talk about whatever popped up, as eyes were turned to the roaming hands of a step brother who idolized him and my flat chest at the same time. This is where I lived and died daily. I lived with a military man who swore to protect his country but protected the secret of his personal habit even harder. Just ask my crushed toes underneath the Army boots that were now stepping on my feet for not wearing socks or houseshoes…as if being his daughter wasnt punishment enough.

        I remember being punished just for breathing too loudly; popped in the mouth for the escape of a smack reaching his eardrum. A simple tug of his beard meant I was in trouble. One time, he hit me so hard in my tailbone that I lost control of my legs and urinated on myself all in one swift swoop, just to turn around and get a whooping for messing up the floor. A call from the teacher meant that I would have to strip in front of my father and walk the house butt naked and if he saw me ,and felt like it, then I would get a whooping right then and there. I became a master at silently turning door knobs better than he could and dodging in and out of bedrooms and hallway closets just to go to and from the bathroom in peace. Doing number two (pardon the graphics) was the only time I could be in the bathroom in peace without anyone entering.  Fingers entering openings to ensure “cleaning” because I was filthy, followed by my father laying me on the bed to towel dry me off and rub me from head to toe with baby oil. Slow grinding on me was common place. Adolescent hips popping out of socket under the weight of his grinding, hurting, caused me to try to push him off because talking would make him lose his concentration and bring whoopings. He never listened to my cries and held my hands down. There I was, learning the best lessons of male and female relationships from my father. How lucky was I to learn about the birds and bees from my own father? Every girl needs a father in the house, right?

        One day in church I just didn’t want to go back to his house. My aunt couldn’t make me if God told me to go back himself. I’d had enough. Sitting in the police station with male police officers giving me different toys to describe my fathers penis proved unfruitful; I didn’t trust males. They had no choice but to send me back. I got a whooping until I blacked out. My father took me to a therapist to save face…maybe she could figure out where I was “making these stories up”.

        Off of Carmichael Road in Montgomery, Alabama sat my therapist’s office. A soft-spoken caucasian woman who listened intently as my father sat on the other side of the door.  That is until the day she asked me to re-enact with Barbie and Ken what I told the police happened….so, I showed her. She opened the door and invited my father into the room so he could see too. I never spoke of anything again. And yes, you guessed it….I got a whooping until I had an asthma attack and he had to take me to Maxwell Air Force Base to the ER. This time my Aunt believed me and she fought for custody…but she still allowed him visitations until she passed away when I was 15. He came to her house for her funeral and sat in the kitchen and told ever male there not to be trusted around me because I would lie on them like I had lied on him. And he vanished into street legend. I never saw him, or the therapist ever again.

        My father followed me, in theory. I heard stories of him doing crack from friends in high school, but he had taught me the best lesson ever; Never let anyone make you feel like less of a person. I walked those halls of my high school as a virgin…because I was. Guys from all around wanted to be with the virgin and every single one failed. I wouldn’t willingly give myself to someone until I was in college. You see….I was molested, but he didn’t take my virginity.

        Every guy is not my father, nor am I searching for him in every guy that I date….but through all that I wrote above and more that I didn’t write….I was still a human. A demon like him couldn’t touch the best parts of me. He couldn’t reach them with all of his might because his intentions were wrong. My virginity had nothing to do with sex…my virginity was me, my mind, my free spirit, my determination to rise above where people keep putting me, and the favor that was placed over me even though I was entangled in a generational curse. He tried, but I walked out of his house and his presence with the hymen of my integrity and the mission over my life in tack.

        Today, he lives in Baltimore. He’s never been prosecuted, never been made to suffer for what he put me and others through. One day, and maybe soon… I will walk to where they say that he works and tell him that he couldn’t break me. He couldn’t make me feel less than a princess even though my father wasnt a king.

        This is a part of what I went through, but it is NOT who I am. It helped me make decisions about not showing my body to just any guy. You’ll never hear tales of me sleeping with different guys all in the name of love without being in love. You’ll never see pics of me plastered on the internet that show more of my assets than I am showing I am worth. And you will never hear that I’ve stopped breaking the silence. I was molested but I was never a victim. My virginity never has to be born again because it never died. I found strength through this. Dont get me wrong, I’d never go back a second time…. but I made it out, and THAT is something to be proud of. Where I came from does NOT determine where I will go.

       So, to anyone who has been through similar stories….today is not too late to realize that they had the problem and not you. We are of a sisterhood that many will never understand. I salute you and all of your wonderful glory. I stopped holding my father accountable for what he did to me and the effects it had on my life the day I last saw him….that is not my battle. It weighs you down, trust me. I try to find love as much as often in my daily activities…..today.. I love you. One day you will gain the strength to no longer be ashamed of your story…until then I will speak for you, I dont mind. What are sisters for, right?

        My prayer is that, just this once ,you listen to my father: What happened in your house, stays in your house…..including the pain and the shame. We’ve got other little girls to protect. No time for living in the past. Here, take my hand…..I’m with you as we walk out of our molester’s house. God bless!

Sincerely,

~*My Mother’s Daughter*~

This is the house where majority of it happened. On Pinebrook Dr in Montgomery,AL

….She’s Skinny…Standing Next to Your Mama!

NOTICE: If you read this.. LEAVE A NOTE DANGIT!!! W/ your rude behind!

 Yes….another blog entry about weight… get over it.

        So, one of my personal assistants, Andrew, and I have had long and drawn out text messages over the issue of weight. I hate to admit it…. but he brings forth some very good points….at very few times (lol). Yet, on some of his other points I need to know why he thinks that way because its hard for me to see a guy with amazing abs and body (did I mention his eyes?) hold a legit, equally balanced, and unbiased conversation about a person’s plight for being overweight. lol. [Wait, I hope that doesn’t constitute as sexual harassment since he is technically my employee…lol. Oh, hell, he’ll get over it. lol. ]Maybe that is a bias that I need to change within myself; the fact that you don’t have to be overweight to know where we’re coming from. Well, long story longer than the shorter version but shorter than the longest version….in response to my blog  “Yes, I’m Fat… Thanks for Noticing” he made a good point that reminded me of an idea that I’ve had for years; Why are plus size people looked at as weak? Shouldnt we be viewed as the stronger persons in society for walking daily with our issues on our shoulders? Shouldnt we be the sought after ones for surviving through all of the ridicule?

If you havent read the other blog entry… CLICK HERE and read it to catch up, you slacker.

 

        In the aforementioned blog I made the mention of how other people can hide their weaknesses and personal habits but that plus size people wear their issues on the exterior. We may eat in secret, or swallow pain and resentment covered in mango curry sauce…but everyone can still visually see our issues. Shouldnt the outward appearance of our issues be enough to say, “Here I am world. You know my problems now what are yours?” It would be like Intervention’s version of “You show me yours & I’ll show you mine.” Fear Factor for the dysfunctionally senile in denial! Those who are willing to walk to the closet of their issues and drape them with a beautiful umpire waisted belt and walk into the world the very same way that we do every day. See, walking to the closet every day , for the plus size woman who has accepted her plight and is not in denial, is more like preparing for a final exam or your thesis statement (just got another blog idea). What will this outfit say about me as it wraps itself around my already pronounced issues? I mean, there are tons of things that go through our mind as we get dressed, but in the end we walk out of the house with our heads raised high….some of us… and we face the world.

        How ironic is it that the world would make the people who carry the most weight the physically weakest? Shouldnt my carrying these extra 70 pounds make me stronger? Well, yes, technically it does…just not in the same physical manner as the gym buffs without necks. We become emotionally stronger and self-sufficient in our lives. Many of us have the very things wrapped up in our post-Christmas dinner wrappings that several other people look for but aren’t willing to unwrap.

        Picture this: (And this is not Skinny Chick Bashing but this is blunt Anti-Skinny Chick…lol.. I use to be one, so I can speak on it) A guy sees a fine, thin woman from across the room. He loves the way her curves appear, her assets are ripe for the picking and her womb is playing peek-a-boo behind a nicely Golds Gym ripped set of abs. This is what he loves. Now, as soon as she gets a little thicker, the birthing hips have now given birth to stretch marks and indent lines from the too tight panties she has suction cupped to her butt in hopes that this physical change will soon go away, he (not all but some) will no longer find her attractive. Phrases like, “Baby you’ve changed”, “You’re not the same woman I met” or “You’ve let yourself go” find their way into their relationship.  Was he there for the woman’s personality or was he there for her looks? Because a woman will stay there when she is in love and watch his waist grown and learn to love that there is more of him.

        Picture this #2: You have the hoodrat with the big booty, 2.5 kids or 5 abortions deep…which ever will make this more disgusting for you, living at home with her mama striving to be a model who SOMEHOW manages to get the business man who one would THINK had enough common sense to know that he needs a woman who is more on his level. Standing from my previous skinny chick position, even I would say that he was in it for the booty and he’d never marry her in his right mind. Some would say why would any woman want him in the first place? It is not necessarily that we would want him… we want his eyes to be opened to what he could have and is missing out on all for the love of booty. (Sounds like another VH1 Reality Show, right?) You have beautiful plus size women who would make sure that the home was taken care of, the man was head of household, a companion in both business and personal decisions who are intelligent beyond their years being passed up on a daily basis just because a guy can’t see himself with a full-figured woman. He is passing up the very qualities that a man is supposed to findth in a wife….not wifey…but a wife. See, something is not right with either of these pictures….. these scenarios are in need of a new photographer.

        I say this, fellas…. in a plus size woman, if you look at the qualities that she has: is she intelligent, is she mentally stable, she doesn’t have 7 different baby daddies, does she have goals in life, etc…then you will begin to see what we see. Instead of worrying what your size 4 girlfriend is going to look like in 7 years…you’ll already know what we look like when we gain weight…lol. The surprise will be what will we look like should we ever decide to lose the weight for ourselves, but the surprise will never be that you have possibly gained a beautiful woman who is created from your dreams and crafted to suit your needs as she conquers her own world as well.

        I understand that everyone has a preference that they are entitled to pursue, if you truly arent attracted, then you are exempt. I’m here to speak to the brothers that creep behind closed doors with the plus size sisters but wont take her out in public for one reason or another (all of the reasons may not be weight….but I see y’all taking the crazy as hell skinny chicks out in public while she shows out). You like who you like, and you don’t like who you don’t like, but I want guys to stop treating plus size women like the white girlfriend cooking bacon for a black muslim; a taboo. We exists, we are sexy, and we go through a lot just to fight to be treated less than equal. We run businesses, we dress to the nines, and we love life just like any other person because we are human as well……we just want to be treated as humans. We can put it on our husbands, whip up a meal and push out some gorgeous children too…all while being the true trophy on your arm. People will see our size, but they will also see the courage that it took for you to tell them all  to fall face forward with their mouth opened wide on to the lap of the status quo and commence to Super Heading.

Super Heading- (verb) created by 2Deep on Sept 7th. Intended to suggest the actions perfected by Karrin Stefans aka Super Head. Filacio.

        Fellas, can you imagine being a trendsetter?! Joining the brotherhood of the thousands of men who stopped being so friggin self-centered and shallow and finally found a woman who would have his back… who also happened to be plus size? Every size woman has her issues….but you’ll never know until you try. Stop asking if there are any real good women out there if you are only looking at 12 percent of the female population, whether it be size, skin tone, creed, or length of weave. There are some very attractive women out there who could be exactly what you are looking for…..the problem is that you’re not looking in her direction. She wears majority of her issues on her exterior…so if for no other reason to date her…. you know what you are getting into. You know that she managed to walk through the day exposed and may need a hug from you. But deep down she is still strong, not a victim, and not to be judged…she is human. At least treat her as such, and if all you see is a plus size woman who is unattractive,lazy, and not worth your time because she’s let herself go…think this….”at least she’s skinny standing next to your mama!” LMBO!!! (Thanks KaNikki!)

Sincerely,

Mother’s Daughter