He Holds My Hand

Every night at 12:15 I would get a phone call.

I didn’t know if it was him or her playing on my phone. But now that I think about it, it could have been my X friend because he likes to play jokes like that too. Regardless, I decided to start turning my ringer off because I wasn’t interested in dealing with that drama.

On one night, I happened to be up late chit chatting away when my phone beeped. I looked at the time on my computer screen. 12:13 am. Damn.

“Hold on,” I told my friend.
“Hello.” I said.
“Oh, you can’t answer my phone calls now?”
It was him.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Why you actin like that man?”

This dude insulted me and when I told him to beat it he gives my cell and house phone number to some chick and allows her to play on my phone… and he asks me why I am actin like that. ~rolls eyes~

“Look, I told you that I don’t want to talk to you! I’m not interested in your drama! You KNOW that! Givin my number out and shit…what kind of nicca are you?”
“Man! Calm down. What are you talkin about? I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“I don’t CARE! Don’t call me anymore. You seem to have forgotten, not only do I have YOUR number too, I have your Mama’s house number and your Daddy’s cell phone number. If you wanna continue to disrespect my house, I can do the same to YOURS! But I won’t because I have sense!”
“Let me TALK!” He tries to interrupt.
“I don’t care what you have to say. Don’t call me anymore!”

I hang up.

And I haven’t gotten a 12:15 am call since.

Good riddance…

Last night my Mama and my Stepdaddy came over. They are avid DVD collectors and they really do have a ridiculous collection. My friend Sylvia called me this weekend and told me that I needed to see The Diary of A Mad Black Woman because it reminded her of me. So I called my Mama and asked her if she had it, ofcourse she did. But she wouldn’t let me borrow it. “This ain’t Blockbuster bitch!” she told me with a laugh. “I don’t trust your ass with my movies. I’ll come over and watch it with you so I can get my shit back in one piece.”

Yeah, my Mama really speaks like that. I just have to laugh. She’s hilarious. She and I are so different. She’s way more hood than I am. She will STILL fight you if you try her. She has long blonde dreads and one gold tooth right in the front. Disco Rick is what we call people with one gold tooth. It has a tear drop in the middle.

My Mama lived a crazy hard life. She was one of 12 children born to her mother and father. She says they were that family that everyone laughed at because they were so poor and lived in a broke down house. But since she had so many brothers and sisters, she was never afraid to fight. She’s short, like me. Maybe 5’2″. Light skinned with green eyes. I was always afraid of her because she never let go of this mean mug. She always looks as if she’s about to choke you.

Her mother died when she was nine. And under the pressure of raising 12 kids, her father killed himself when she was 11. All of the kids were shuffled around to foster homes and basically raised themselves since then. From what I hear, my Mama was a wild cat. She would fight any and everyone in a quick minute regardless of their size. And she would cuss out the President if he looked at her funny. She would tell me, “I had no patience for silly bitches on my job. If one of them tried me, I’d beat that bitches ASS! Shit! I could always find another job.”

And then there was my StepDaddy. He came over too and my sons jumped on him, pounding him with their fists and jumping on his back. They adore their Granddaddy. He gives them anything they want, and I do mean ANYTHING. One day my sons asked him, “Granddaddy. Why do you always buy us everything?” He just smiled and said, “I’m Granddaddy.”

Now for as long as I’ve known him he has worked two jobs to support us. With little education, the only jobs he could get were physical labor type jobs, but he still does it to this day. I am sometimes in conflict over my feelings for him. I had a rough childhood, mostly due to his harsh criticism and abuse, but I can not help but to feel appreciation for how well he took care of me. I remember when I was voted Most Popular in highschool. I came home and told them about it and he laughed. “I never even liked THOSE KIND OF GIRLS in school. And now my own daughter is one of them… Now don’t forget who bought you those clothes and made sure your hair was always done so that you could be so proud to stand in front of everyone all the time.”

After the boys were sent to bed, we all went to watch the movie in my living room. I watched as he struggled to sit down on the floor. He’s getting old. Wow. I used to have nightmares about this man. I remember lieing awake in bed at night shivering and waiting for him to come home late at night when I had done something to piss my Mama off. I knew he would come in, flip the light switch and drag me out of bed by my leg. I would have to listen to a long ass lecture, sometimes followed by mutliple slaps to my face and demeaning words no child should have to hear. The same insults my X friend used last week. The same words my Baby Daddy would use too.

I’d lie awake at night. My teeth would chatter anxiously. I hated that feeling. I’d take a sock and put in in my mouth to stop the grinding. And I’d wait and wait. For him to come. To punish me.

Now as I watched him laugh at Madea, I felt a sense of peace. A sense of forgiveness. He’s just a man. Just a man. He’s not a monster. Anymore. He wants the same things I want: love, family, appreciation. Maybe he didn’t know how to express his desire. Maybe he didn’t know how to show love except through buying me what I wanted.

Whatever the reason for all those years of tears, I’m over it. I really am.

And that movie. Wow. I can see why Sylvia told me to watch it.

~singing~ strumming my pain with his fingers…

I needed to see that.

It inspired me. It helped me to see that I’m not the worst person in the world. If someone can make a movie that mirrors the pain in my heart, then that means that I am not the lowest of the low. Someone else has gone through this too. It’s not just ME. I’m not the only one.

All these years I thought I received so much abuse because I deserved it. They all justified their behaviour by saying that they were reacting to MY actions. But no, it wasn’t me. It wasn’t even them. It was a war waged against me since the day I was conceived. A spiritual war that I can not fight alone.

Someone doesn’t want me to succeed. Someone doesn’t want me to recognize my worth. Someone doesn’t want me to know who I am in Christ. So he sends multiple men to bring me down, to break me down, to crush my spirit.

There’s a reason why I am pretty, talented and personable. And it’s not so that I can live rich and be famous and wear the best fashions. I was given these gifts for one reason, to glorify God. And to have Christ’s light shine through me.

And I will not allow anyone to take that from me.

I will be used.

I will fulfill my destiny.

You can’t stop me.

Because He holds my hand.