DEAFinitely Deaf Facts (okay, only some) 

Dear People,

​Okay, listen y’all– and I’ll try my best to be as clear as possible– but I have to get something off my chest. (Sorry it’s kinda longish)
You will not and I emphasize will NOT go to hell for making “deaf jokes.” (There’s no special section down there for those who made deaf jokes. Trust me. I checked) If made tastefully they can actually be quite hilarious. Sure, it seems insensitive to make jokes about something someone cannot change but y’all out here making racial jokes daily and aside from Rachel DoWhatever, one cannot simply change their race. Now can they?
If you meet a deaf person like me who has completely come to terms with their deafness they might tell you that they actually enjoy a good deaf joke every now and then. Why? Because for a culture that is seemingly ignored it makes me feel like we’re being noticed and not only that but I like seeing and understanding different people’s perspectives on deaf people and deaf culture because if something is misunderstood it gives me a chance to slide up in there and teach and enlighten! And something most deaf folks can agree on is: we really wish hearing folks would start using all of their brains as much as they use their ears (see? I made a bad hearing joke, and nobody is crying, right?) 

Okay great, moving on.
No, not all deaf people are dumb just like not all hearing people are smart! Just like not all black folks are hoodrats, just like not all white folks are rich! Just like not all Asians are smart, just like not all Americans are dumb (dumb enough to vote for whats his name — but in our defense the majority of us actually didn’t vote for him, those higher up folks did)
No, me and the next deaf person cannot hear the same things. Some deaf folks can hear more than others. Some can speak on the regular phone, some can’t or prefer to instead use a Videophone (Google will tell you all about those. Just type in “Sorenson Video Phones”… There’s a rival company called Purple Communications but I’m #TeamSorenson!) 

Pop quiz! Let’s see if you can guess my phone preference! When hearing people say for me to call them or they’ll call me I’ll either say “okay, but don’t expect me to respond beyond ‘hello'” or I’ll just give them a blank stare then smile politely and say “I’ll text ya!” Or “if you call I won’t answer, I’m just letting you know now so you won’t be offended later” if you guessed, that I prefer not to use a regular phone, you are cor-rect!

Okay, back on topic!
No, not all deaf people know sign language. I, myself learned sign language in 6th grade which is considered late in the Deaf World and yes, I’ve gotten that “what the f***” look from other deaf people when once upon a time I had to tell them I didn’t know sign language. I also get the same “what the f***” look from hearing folks who communicated with me strictly verbally for months with no problem and suddenly saw me use sign language one day or saw my hearing aids and  that conversation usually starts like “wait…. You’re deaf?” To which I’ll say “yes” and then they’ll say something like “… but you speak so well…” which leads me to my next point and it’s a big one so get ready….Oh! But before we move on–no, I don’t hide my deafness, but if conversation flows without a problem, I won’t interrupt you and tell you I’m deaf. If you happen to cover your mouth or turn around while you’re speaking,THAT’S when I’ll tell you–if you didn’t already notice how my eyes zero in on your lips– because I rely on reading lips. So yeah, my next point….dun dun dunnnnn…
YES, some deaf people can speak just like you! (If you are a hearing person.) Remember what I said about me enjoying seeing and understanding other people’s perspectives on deaf folks? Yeah, THIS tells me that hearing folks expect us to all sound distorted (or I’ve heard some people liken it to sounding like a Whale or seal) so I’m able to tell you that that misconception is exactly that, a misconception. Oh the joy! 

How well you speak all depends on when you lost your hearing and/or how much you can hear. (You can pick up the book  “I can hear you whisper” by Lydia Denworth for a more in-depth explanation of how the ears and speech work. I, however, am typing this from my phone and my thumb burns so….) 
With all of that having been said, I hope you have at least a little more of a better understanding about us Beautiful Deaf People. I will detail more things once I get on a computer but for now I think this is good enough! 
So, come on,  talk to me! I want to hear  (read) some of y’alls best or wackest deaf jokes, come on peeps! Or if you have any questions, I’ll be more than happy to answer them! 

Love,

DEAFinitely Tay. 

Yet so far away…

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder but sometimes that isn’t always the case.  Sometimes absence can drive a bigger wedge between two people especially if the reason behind said absence is in bad taste.

Both people are left with that distant feeling where suddenly all of their good memories are ancient history and all of their bad memories seem like the only memories worth remembering.

How do you get back what you once had? Is there even a way to get it back? Or should both parties just accept the fact that it’s over?

via Daily Prompt: Distant

Happy and you know it? Clap your hands

I am always interested to learn what makes people happy.  I feel like in order to enjoy life people should do what makes them happy, would you disagree?

So tell me, what makes you happy? How do you know you are happy? How would you define happiness?

For me, writing makes me happy.  I find writing to be extremely therapeutic when I am going through something tough.  I like to write my feelings and thoughts down because I believe that once you put your feelings down on paper (whether it’s in the form of a diary entry, poem, or song) you would not only have a better concept of how to deal with them but you’ll be able to get them off your mind.  I’m sorry was that confusing? Whoops.  Okay, let me try again, you go through a rough patch and you don’t write it down to get it out of your system, it builds and you’ll most likely implode whereas if you jot everything down, it doesn’t need to stay on your mind anymore.

I know I’m happy when I feel like I’ve grown in any area of my life.  Whether It’s making an improvement in my writing, turning a new page with my kids, learning how to better communicate with my husband, or making a new friend, the feeling of growth is how I would best describe my happiness.  As long as I am growing and gaining new experiences, I know that I am happy.

As long as what you do doesn’t feel like a burden or a job that you don’t want, I think it means you’re happy, right? If you could wake up every morning and look forward to doing what you do everyday it would be safe to believe that you are happy, correct?

Now, with that said, if you aren’t happy, what are some of the ways you can become happy? What advice would you give someone who is stuck on their road towards the pursuit of happiness?

I would love to hear your thoughts! I might be able to make use of any advice anyone may have.

Can You Believe that?

Almost everyone around me associates themselves with a religion.  I, however, do not.  I don’t consider myself in any way, shape or form, religious.  I think that the best way to describe my belief system would be that I am a spiritual person.  But don’t get me wrong, I am very aware of the different religions out there and I try my best to learn about them; I may even take a little of what I learn and align it with what I believe.  In other words there’s a little bit in each religion I’ve learned about that I hold with me.

I feel that my choice not to be affiliated with one religion gives me the ability to be religiously free.  I don’t think there is a right or wrong religion, I don’t think that there is any belief that is wrong.  I actually respect the differences in people’s beliefs.  I try to understand why they believe what they do rather than try to tell them that they are wrong.

I remember when I was in College I had an art class–but we didn’t draw anything and that upset me! I was tricked because no one told me it was an art history class (bore, bore, snoozefest, cue in the snoring).  I remember specifically learning about the Greeks and Romans and all of this stuff about the way they lived and how they captured their lifestyles in their art.  I remember little things about why their sculptures were the way that they were and so on and so forth.  I remember one day the topic of religion came up and my professor talked about Jesus on the cross.  My sign language interpreter made just about every face in the book and kept shaking her head and adding “that’s wrong” or “that’s not true” whenever my professor would explain a “textbook fact” about Jesus.

There was one comment that she made that has stuck with me through all of these years because I remember thinking to myself, “I don’t care about what’s wrong, I just care about what the professor is saying because that is what’s going to be on the test and I need to pass this class.”

When my professor mentioned the shape of the cross and how Jesus was positioned on it, she said it was a plus-sign shape and Jesus’ arms were stretched out on his sides. my interpreter who was a Jehovah’s Witness said to me in sign language, “that’s not true, that’s the stupid Catholic belief.  In the real bible–my bible–it states that the cross was in fact not a ‘plus sign type-shape’ but it was actually a ‘x shape’ with another piece going straight down in the middle.  His hands weren’t stretched out across the cross either, his hands were actually tied up above his head because think about it, if you hang someone up on a ‘plus sign shaped’ cross with their hands stretched out, gravity would cause their body to fall and possibly detach from their arms and the cross would fall forward, whereas if it was positioned the way it shows in my bible, Jesus would have had more support. Plus, it makes more sense that way”

I remember looking at her feeling a growing pang of annoyance.  I couldn’t immediately determine if I was more annoyed by the fact that she was telling me this, or if I was more annoyed by the fact that since she started telling me this my professor possibly switched topics three or four times, or if I was annoyed with the fact that she seriously called another person’s belief stupid.  It’s a belief system as far as I am concerned, none of it is proven facts.

The bible has been repeatedly altered throughout the years to match the evolving times so what right does anyone have to say what is wrong or right?

I believe in the power of love, freedom and respect.

My grandparents are Jehovah’s witnesses, I have an uncle who is a converted Muslim (If thats the proper termonology), I have aunts who are Catholic, a whole family of Christians whether they are devout or not, I have friends who are Atheist, I know people who are Protestant, I know people who practice Hinduism, and with that being said me, not being affiliated with any religion makes it easier for me to absorb everyone’s belief.

It also makes it easier for me to see people for who they are beyond their choice of religion, or their choice of lifestyle like being Gay, for an example. (Let me just say, I don’t like using the term “homosexual” I feel it’s just as offensive as the word “Faggot” which I don’t use either; I prefer to use terms like Gay, Lesbian, Bi-sexual, Transgender etc.)

If you’re human and you happen to be Gay–as long as you are not going around killing people or harming other people in any way–I love and respect you (that goes for anyone, whether you’re gay or not). Why is it a problem that you love someone who happens to be the same gender as you? As long as you found love, and you are happy nothing else matters.  I don’t feel like being Gay is a “sin” I don’t believe that being Gay is even wrong; I honestly see nothing wrong with being Gay. I hear the saying “people should be fruitful and multiply” but some people don’t want children (even ” straight” couples) and children are expensive as hell…I know this from experience.  I’ve heard the saying “God made Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve.” Man, listen, God made, Adam, Eve, Steve, Shaquana, Taquan, Richie, Raul, Maria, Su yung and all of them, if you believe that God made all of us, right?

A belief system is a belief system, and I want to share with you my belief system.  In addition to believing in love, freedom and respect, I also believe there’s a reason why everything happens and people die (before they get old).  This might be a little confusing but I will try my best to make as much sense as possible.

Okay, so, everyone has a different walk of life, everyone goes through different things and everyone turns out to be who they are.  Why? Because every walk of life teaches people different things that could either help them grow or give them knowledge that they could pass on and potentially plant a seed in another person who would then have the power to change the world.  We all go through different things in order to polish us and groom us so that we could be functioning human beings–life to me is all about learning.  We all turn out to be the way we are so that other people could learn from us and experience some inner growth.  We need other human beings to survive, is what I believe.

I believe that if you wronged someone in any way–and if you are religious it’s always a good thing to ask for forgiveness from your God–but even if you are not, it’s also a good thing to face the person or people you’ve wronged and ask them for forgiveness as well.  Give people and yourself a peace of mind to be able to grow and move through life as smoothly as possible without carrying the weight of being angry or resentful.

Is this confusing? I hope you at least get the gist of what I’m trying to say because my belief behind death might be a little more confusing.

When people are faced with a tough situation they tend to pray on it to their God.  I pray to any loved one of mine that passed away.  In most cases I pray to my Uncle Tony.  I ask him to look over me and I ask him for clarity.  I ask him to give me signs that I am walking the path I’m meant to walk and he always comes through for me.  It gives me comfort because I actually know my uncle, I know what his voice sounds like, I know his personality.  I know what faces he might make if I ask for something ridiculous like if he could find a way to make it so that when I wake up in the morning, a million dollars would be sitting on my nightstand.  I know his laugh so when I think of something funny I can hear it.  I know him personally.

Which brings me to my reasoning as to why he and many other people passed and still pass away “before their time”. I believe that each death has its purpose.

I was too young to understand what–if anything–was going on in my family around the time that Tony passed away but I do remember feeling like my family became closer after his death.  I remember feeling like everyone was checking in on everyone often and everyone was helping everyone out more often. So, I think that the reason he had to pass away was to wake my family up and to make them aware that even though on the outside we may look healthy, we might be fighting internal battles (diseases or otherwise) and we need someone to reach out to us and help us because we may not always be too forthcoming when we need help.  I think it’s safe to assume that my family also learned to appreciate the gift of life and became more driven to achieve their goals being that Tony was in his late 30’s when he passed away. He was very young.

I’m currently twenty-six years old and will be turning twenty-seven at the end of the year and I want to do so much with my life, I have so many ideas but I don’t know where to start. I started this Blog with hopes of figuring that out.  I have to admit that I feel a little impatient because I am not where I want to be, but I do believe that when it’s my time to put all of my ideas in motion, I will do so with a bang with the help of Uncle Tony and other humans in my life or who I will eventually cross paths with.

The stronger Sex?

All throughout history we’ve heard about how such great men have helped shape the world and everything we know.  We have heard about how men have fought in war and men were stronger by default simply because they are…men.

But if you really take a closer look you’d have to ask yourself, are men really the stronger sex?

Sure, physically, many men may be a wee bit stronger but what about every other aspect of life?

As of recently, men have been ticking me off, pissing me off, disappointing me and letting me down.  I have been really been walking around with hooked eyebrow.  What in the world is going on with our men?

In the celebrity world, we have T.I. stating marriage is a distraction and I’ve actually saw a man on my Facebook post the same exact thing stating, “I want a relationship but they are a distraction”

From what I heard Carmelo Anthony stated that LaLa has been married but he’s been single all along.

I can’t help but think, these men are bitches. Or maybe I should just say, these men are…men since calling someone a “bitch” implies they are weak and the word is also associated with women.

How could you go out and embarrass your wife like that? How could you publicly hurt her feelings? How could you ask a woman to marry you, have children with you (which puts our bodies through hell, by the way, with all of the changes and motions), support you and maybe even catch a case for you and you STILL have the nerve to hurt her? Men are supposed to protect their women, right? So what the hell is going on?

It’s taken me a while to finally put my thoughts into words because almost daily I’m baffled by the things men do.

The Facebook Killer. I mean what the hell?

Through the weeks I have probably thought of a 101 scenarios which can prove that women are more than likely the stronger gender  so forgive me if I forget some of my points but from the top of my head I’m going to list what I can. And yes, this list will be all over the map, because I’m upset and confused and desperately need to jot my thoughts down as they come.

So here it goes:

When a man cheats, he expects a woman to forgive him and take him back with no issue, but when a woman cheats, the man cannot do the same.  Why is that?

I am aware that there are men out there who are rape victims but they don’t come forward because they think it’s weak that a man should ever be raped by a woman because after all, men should want sex at all times and it’s unmanly to turn down sex with a woman, it’s “gay” if you will.  But I believe true strength comes from admitting you were violated and seeking justice.

Admitting there is a problem is a sign of strength, isn’t it?

All throughout history men have had to put women down just to prove they are stronger/ better.  Women had to fight for their rights and even when we were given equal rights, men felt so insulted and still cannot view women as equals.  Why is that? Are they afraid that a woman just might be able to do the same things they could only better?

It seems as if naturally women are more forgiving than men whereas men would rather just burn a bridge and never look back.  Isn’t forgiveness a sign of strength? Isn’t avoidance a sign of weakness?

A woman can work full-time, come home and cook and clean and make sure the children do their homework, are bathed and put to sleep, but it seems like most men are only wired to just work, eat and sleep, why is that? I need some answers.

A woman can be a stay-at-home-mom with four children under the age of five–which means she’s constantly moving around tending to each child, trying to establish a schedule, making meals, trips to the park, or other activities to keep the kids entertained–but the moment she asks her husband for a break so she can get me-time, most men would become overwhelmed at the mere thought of having to take care of four children at once. They may busy themselves with other things and the women possibly never gets that break, but when she snaps under pressure and stress, the man has the nerve to be confused as to why she did.

Are we not human? Are women robots or something?

Oh! And my favorite scenario! A man can lay up in bed with a woman, get her pregnant be aware of this pregnancy and still walk away from his responsibility claiming he didn’t want any kids in the first place or the kid isn’t his, or his day-to-day life doesn’t allow him to make room for a family.  Excuses, excuses, excuses.  So the responsibility of raising a child falls on the lap of the woman and often times when she has that responsibility she goes above and beyond to ensure that her children are well taken care of, yet she’s still considered weak because she may need government assistance to make up for the absentee father.

A man would belittle a woman based on her outer appearance then turn around and get upset when a woman decides she doesn’t want to be with a certain man.  It’s as if their ego can’t take rejection but they could dish it out with no problem.  I’m confused.

I was on Facebook the other day under a thread under an article posted in TheShadeRoom regarding the Carmelo Anthony and LaLa situation and a woman commented saying “My father told me don’t think a man can take what he dishes out because he can’t” and I was lost for words.  One, because a man knows this is true about men, and two, because a man knows this is true about men and most men aren’t doing anything about it.

Our generation of men are the most easily influenced group of men that I am aware of.  If a celebrity says they should call their wives and girlfriends, “Bitches” then our generation of men would do just that; if a celebrity states that a certain type of image accurately portrays beauty, then our generation of men would become bobble-heads and stop at nothing to destroy a woman’s self-confidence all because she doesn’t have a big butt, big boobs, long silky hair, light skin, “chinky” eyes and full lips. Then if a woman pays to get work done in order to fit the bill of men’s image of beauty, she becomes unworthy because none of her is “real”

Um, I think a lot of men have a lot of nerve.  They are never satisfied.  They complain if a woman is independent, they complain if she relies on government assistance; they complain if she works long hours, they complain if she doesn’t work at all; they complain if she works as a stripper to make ends meet, they complain if she would rather keep her clothes on and collect government checks to make ends meet.  All of this complaining and judging, ugh, aren’t those signs of weakness?

Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t the saying go, “behind every good man is a strong woman”? or something to that effect? Which therefore means a man needs a woman and not the other way around?

Why are men so freakin’ selfish? Why do men expect women the stroke their egos day in and day out? Why are men so insulted by a woman’s strength to the point where he has to belittle her in order to feel good about himself?

I need some answers and I am open for a debate because I find none of this fair at all.  Women are supposed to take blow after blow and still be strong but if a man steps on glass he falls apart and it’s okay for him to.

I might add more to this should something else come to me.  But sound off, please, I am interested in hearing your opinions.

 

Broken Pieces

I remember being a young girl, just starting out in the dating world.  I had an idea of my ideal husband and our family, I had an idea of how I wanted the relationship to be.  I envisioned a man who protected and provided and told me what he loved about me.  I envisioned a man who openly expressed his feelings and wasn’t afraid to let me know when something was wrong.  I envisioned happiness sprinkled with an occasional issue because if I was going to be realistic, there is no such a thing as the perfect relationship.

After years of dating and trying to find my mister right, I ultimately found my husband. Our union started on Facebook under a picture of a mutual friend of ours and our first conversation was an argument–a playful one at that.  Two days later he actually added me on Facebook–two whole days later. Ya’ll,  he was thinking about me for a whole 48 hours before he worked up the nerve to add me on Facebook.  We spoke through Text messaging, BlackBerry Messenger, and even though I was nervous we had a brief conversation on the phone.  Before that conversation, however, I stressed to him that I was Deaf to which he seemed genuinely confused.  Not because I was deaf but because I thought it was an issue for him.  In my mind I thought it was pretty much common sense–if I’m deaf, how will we speak on the phone? But in his mind it was pretty much common sense that if I could speak then I didn’t have to listen to anything I could just talk and he would do the listening.  He flat out told me “I don’t give a f***, you can talk right? Okay, cool, I’m calling, now” and before I had a chance to protest his name popped up on my caller ID.

I was nervous and of course let the phone ring a couple of times–half because I was thinking about not picking up at all, and half because I didn’t want to seem to eager and answer on the first ring.  I eventually answered and lord his voice was smooth.  It had been my first telephone conversation in years and I really felt like a fish out of water. My thing was texting, it almost seemed weird that people still spoke over the phone.

We had a little conversation about I don’t remember what, but I do remember it was an on-going conversation because I remember thinking to myself “how is it possible that I understand this guy over the phone? I’m Deaf damn it!” I took it as a sign.  We were meant to be, simply because I could understand him over the phone.

We eventually made arrangements to meet in person and I strangely didn’t feel scared; I didn’t feel like I needed to bring a friend along, ya know, just in case.  It felt right.

On March 5th, 2011 I laid eyes on my husband–in person–for the very first time.

It was like a scene out of the movies.  Or at least it was for me.  As a white limousine taxi drove by in slow motion (I swear it was in slow motion!) I looked at him from across the street, standing there wearing all black trying to look intimidating.  I heard the words “Oh, my God, I just met my husband.” Once the taxi passed and the moment was over I realized that the voice was mine and I truly believed it.  March 5th 2011 at approximately 6pm, I met my husband.

We walked to the check cashing  place, talking like we’d known each other for longer than a few weeks.

He was trying to act tough but it was a little off-putting because he wasn’t making and keeping eye contact with me.  I started to think he didn’t like me and I started feeling so sad.  But you see, I was a 20-year-old and no longer a teenager so I wasn’t going to keep my thoughts to myself so I told him, “I don’t think you like me.” The look on his face was what I would later be able to dub as his “well, that’s stupid” face and he said, “and why do you think that?” I looked up at the side of his face and replied, “because you aren’t even looking at me, you’ve barely made eye contact since I’ve been here”

Insert “Well, that’s stupid” face here and I deserved it because, well…at this point we had just met in person twenty minutes prior.  But this guy wanted to make me happy so he looked at me and didn’t take his eyes off of me.  Talk about awkward.

We went to his house and engaged in conversation and I’m not quite sure how it happened–I probably may have rested my head on his shoulder and asked him to look at me…I don’t know, because what happened next had me forgetting my own name.

No, we didn’t have sex, I’m not that type of girl. Insert hair toss here.

But our first kiss was…magical. There was passion, there was fire, explosions if you will.  It was everything. It was kind of scary having such burst of emotions but at the same time it felt right.  Meant to be.

And that was it.  I didn’t have to look any further, I had found my husband and the father of my children.

I thought that he was perfect for me and he was.  He was literally a gentle giant.  Just by looking at him, one would assume he would crush skulls if someone so much as stepped on his toes but as the months went on, I quickly learned that looks were very deceiving in his case.  That’s how he’d gotten by in life; people were scared of him but I wasn’t.

So soon in the relationship there was so much passion and we often talked about what we wanted out of life and the steps we wanted to take in order to get where we wanted to be.  We found out that we’d been in a bunch of the same places all over New York City but we’d either missed each other or been there at different times.  We also discovered that we had a lot in common.

He never really had a fight before, me neither; he’d never been arrested, me neither; he’d never been to jail, me neither. He liked to laugh, me too; he was the oldest sibling out of his mother’s children, me too; he had dreams and aspirations, me too. But then there was that thing that set us apart. He liked to sweep things under the rug, rather than face them–wait, I couldn’t and can’t do that.

This is our main issue.

Imagine listening to a song that describes your life and problems perfectly.  Imagine feeling each pluck of the guitar, each key of the piano, each blow of the horn and the singer on the track has a voice that embodies your spirit in a way that words can’t describe–oh, it’s getting intense now. Now imagine the song getting to the hook and it just becomes too much to bear, this song is stroking heart-strings that you haven’t learned to use due to lack of security in your past.  Instead of facing the music, hearing it out until the end and learning to use those feelings that it evokes you just mute the song–while it’s still playing.  You so stubbornly sit in the silence, put the song out of your mind and pick another song from the playlist–this time a song that is least likely to evoke such feelings.

Are you frustrated yet?

My husband would much rather throw himself into some sort of work than to sort through the pain that he is obviously carrying.  It’s more important to him to appear strong and together than to admit that he needs help.  No matter what I try to do or say, if he’s not ready to receive it, it goes in one ear and out the other.

But nevertheless, my husband was brought up to value the importance of family.  And I love me a family man but his inability to face his personal issues has made him seemingly too scared or insecure to make decisions where our children are concerned. In his eyes I know what I am doing so his response to everything is “ask mommy.” I have reasons to believe that he is afraid of causing damage to our children but little does he know, all parents make mistakes–I make them daily–but it’s all about acknowledging when a mistake is being made and seeking a solution–a healthy one at that–so you and your children can grow and your children can become normal functioning adults one day.

I don’t think that he would ever be able to shift his focus from himself and the family he was born into, to the family he has created until he faces some of his childhood trauma that varies from family issues to cheating ex-girlfriends.  It’s funny now that I think about it, I used to say to my husband how much I liked his ex-girlfriends because if it hadn’t been for their eff-ups he would have never been able to find me.

Ha! I don’t feel that way anymore!

Even through all of this, I can’t help but feel a little selfish like, I want him to myself sometimes.  Am I wrong for that? Am I wrong to feel like he should put me and our girls before the family he was born into more often than not? After all we aren’t the ones who caused him any of the pain he continues to bury.

Oh, don’t let me forget about my husband’s inability to slow down.  He has a huge issue with putting too much on his plate at a time and then biting off more than he can chew.  He also has a huge issue with shifting his focus often to match his current situation.  In short he’s always overworked, overwhelmed and desperately trying to make everyone happy and often times I don’t feel I’m part of that “everyone.”

When I first met him, he was all about music.  He was DJ, he was a rapper and he loved everything about music, you could hear it in his voice when he spoke, the passion he had for music.  He had a dream.

Over the years, however, his focus has been shifting quite often.  Almost as if he is still trying to find himself.  As if he isn’t sure what he wants anymore.  As a result, I imagine how much pressure he probably feels he’s under, being 26 and married and having two small children under the age of five.  His younger brother claimed he wasn’t happy living in New York City so my Husband–having his superman complex–jumped in and offered him a place to live at the same exact time our youngest was born.  It’s crowded.  Anytime there is a conflict in his family he is the one who is called on to be the mediator.  In their belief, he’s the man of the family now following the untimely death of his grandfather; in my belief he’s supposed to be the man in our family and he hasn’t been the man in their family since he became a father.

He has all of these strings pulling him in so many different directions that I feel forgotten.   When I have an issue it seems like it’s too much for him to bear; he seems too unavailable and wrapped up into his world to even notice when my stress is eating me up; he doesn’t notice when I’ve lost some weight or when I’m in pain.  If he does, he doesn’t deem it important enough to mention it to me.  When I want him to make some time so that we can talk, he disregards it claiming there’s nothing to talk about.  So me being aware of his burdens, his pain and his lack of focus I keep a lot from him and have to deal with a lot on my own.

I can easily take his baggage and sort through them for him if he would just hand it to me but my husband is broken, and I don’t know how to fix it.

Am I wrong for wanting to help him to clear his plate and start taking smaller bites so that he could have time for our family? Am I wrong for wanting him to myself sometimes? Or am I being unreasonable?

Maybe I’m wrong

It’s hard for me as a parent to see my children in any type of pain, whether it’s pain caused by a small scratch on the knee, pain caused by hurtful words, pain caused by something internal, and especially pain caused at the hands of another person.

Excuse me if I might sound ignorant, but it is within my belief

pexels-photo
photo creds: Pexels.com

that the only two people who are allowed to put their hands on a child are the parents.  After all it’s the parents who brought the child into the world and it’s the parents who are solely responsible for grooming their child so that when they are ready to flee the nest, they would do so gracefully.   With that said, no one and I mean no one is allowed to put their hands on my children.

It is within my motherly nature to protect my children in any way possible now that they are so young and it kills me inside knowing that I wouldn’t be able to protect them from everything harmful in life; I can only teach them how to recogonize and avoid danger from afar and hope for the best.

It kills me inside knowing that there are some very horrible people in this world and I wouldn’t be able to throw an invisibility cloak over my children so that those bad people wouldn’t be able to see them and therefore harm my children; I can only teach them how to defend themselves and hope for the best.

It also kills me inside knowing that if pain is inflicted upon my children by the hands or mouth of another person, as a mother, I cannot react the way I instinctively want to react because I know that my children are watching me and how I behave and react will someday be how they behave and react.  And I wouldn’t want them to one day snap and end up in a world a trouble.  So I have to think, not twice, but four times before I act.  All. Of. The. Time.

Can you imagine how exhasting that is coupled with constant worry and other things mother’s are faced with?

At times I may seem calm as if things don’t bother me or as if I don’t see what’s going on around me, but please know that I am well aware of my surroundings; I’m deaf but I hear everything, I may be looking one way but I see everything. My children are the only reasons why I remain seemingly calm in situations where people would otherwise raise hell.  It’s called self-control and I want my children to have it.

Afterall, children don’t do as they’re told, they do as they see.

Unfortunately, there has been a time where someone, who should have been able to be trusted, put their hands on my daughter.  Though this incident took place months ago, even now it still angers me.  From the night that it happened up until this very moment as I am sitting here typing this out, I’ve replayed the incident over and over again in my head and each time I get even more upset.  I always ask myself why–after all of this time–does that incident still piss me off?

Well, on the night that it happened I was pissed because it was unexpected and the person who put their hands on my child was honestly the last person I would have expected to do so.

Remembering the fear and confusion on my child’s face sent me to a very dark place and it took everything for me to come out of that dark place.

I had just given birth at the time; my youngest was just shy of four weeks old, everything was all happiness and smiles as my family adapted to having a new addition.

On this particular night I called my daughter to my room to let her know that it was bed time.  I was fully prepared for her to put up a fight and whine and complain about how she wasn’t sleepy yet and she wanted a few more minutes of playtime, but to my surprise she did the exact opposite.  Before I could even say my usual “it’s time to clean up and brush your teeth, grab a book so I can read you a bed time story” she beat me to it.  I was thorougly impressed with how much of a big girl she was being that night.  To my announcement that it was bedtime, she simply said, “Okay, I’m going to quickly clean up my toys, then I’ll go brush my teeth and then can you read me a bed time story?” I was damned near moved to tears.  My four year old wasn’t going to give me a hard way to go? That was certainly a first.

However, thirty minutes later when my daughter didn’t report to me that she was finished cleaning up her mess, I didn’t see her go into the bathroom or come into my bedroom and get a book from the book shelf,  I started to think that she fooled me and snagged an extra thirty minutes of playtime.  But as I walked past her bedroom to make my way to the living room with my three week old in tow, I was stopped dead in my tracks.

My usual lively four year old was trembling, rocking side to side, holding her thigh with her face burried in her pillow. A closer look told me she was crying; the side of her face was red. Now, she’s already dark in complexion so if her face turned red that should tell you something.

I simply asked her, “what’s wrong?” and she shot up, eyes wide showing obvious fear. She held her hands to the sides of her face and shook her head quite violently “I’m so sorry, mommy! It was by my accident! I didn’t mean to!” I didn’t even try to hide my confusion as she breathlessly tried to tell me what had happened.  I tried to get her calm down thinking she thought she would be in trouble for falling–because that’s what I thought happened.  I thought she fell and hurt herself or at most fell and broke something in the living room. But by the same token, I didn’t remember hearing a thudding sound so that just added to all of my confusion. With the help of some deep breathing on her part, I was finally able to understand what had transpired.

It’s possible, and I never knew that it was, for someone to see fire and have steam to shoot out of their ears.

Straight from her mouth my daughter told me that she and this person was playing as they always used to and my child playfully tapped the other persons face by way of playful affection. (think of a grandparent caressing their grandchilds face and giving it three taps) Now, to me, I knew this was all done in play because I know my child–I even had her demonstrate on me what she did and it only cemented what I already knew. She’s four and very heavyhanded like her father.

To the other person it may have felt like a purposeful full-force smack to the face but had they have used words instead of retaliation they would have gained the knowledge that it wasn’t meant to come out the way it felt.

However, when the other person was asked to tell their side, they only told what my four year old did to them.  They was mum about what what they did in return.  Which threw up red flags in my mind. Why couldn’t they admit their part? Is this not the first time something like this happened? Has something ever happened while I was asleep or in the shower–two times when my hearing aids aren’t in my ears?

It took me a good fifteen minutes to calm my daughter down enough for her to breathe normally again.  I let my daughter know that I knew she made a mistake and her “hit” wasn’t intended to be interpreted as it ultimately was.   As I would later learn that this person likes to initiate roughhousing but would only stop if something breaks, someone gets hurt physically or someone’s feelings get hurt.  I’ll have you know that this person is old enough–in fact way older than my child and a member of the oposite sex and therefore should have known better than to react the way that they did.

Now, when I think back on that day, I realize that it still pisses me off because I can no longer trust that person and when my trust in someone is broken it upsets me because I start to feel like my judgement in character should have been better.  It makes me feel like I not only endangered myself but worst–I have put my children in danger as well.  All because I thought  a person could be trusted.  It makes me feel like a terrible mother; like I’m not doing a good enough job to protect my children the way I should.  In short, I feel like shit.

I’m no longer wired to be able to forgive, forget and give another chance.  I can only forgive, but you will never be given another chance to mess with my family–especially my kids, ever again.

Naturally, since I became a mother almost five years ago, something in me disallows me to give people more than once chance.  Shockingly the transition from being a person who handed out chances like water to being a person who cuts people off if they so much as move a fraction of an inch in the wrong direction was pretty easy. After becoming a mom, I no longer felt like I needed a lot of people in my life; my main and only focus became the caring and well-being of my family (Husband, children and myself) everyone else could get dropped with the quickness and I cannot and will not apologize for that.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I understand that people are still learning and growing throughout their lifetime but I cannot subject my family to bullshit if I can help it.  They are not test objects to be used at anyone’s disposal in their journey to finding themselves or learning right from wrong.  That’s what your parents/ guardians are for.  And if they failed to teach you what they should have taught you, stay away from my family.

Just to be clear I am not talking about children here.  Children will inevitably make mistakes and over time learn from them.  I am talking about people who are of age.  And by “of age” I mean, people who are legally allowed to drive, legally allowed to smoke, legally allowed to drink, legally allowed to go out clubbing and will legally be placed in the big house instead of Juvenile if they were to ever break the law.

I don’t know, it might just be me.  But me personally, I would never put my hands on another person’s child–and I never have even when I was a teenager, even when I was a child myself (yep, that’s right, I never had a fight before).  Why? Because I’ve always known that other people’s children aren’t mine and I therefore I didn’t and still don’t have the right to put my hands on their child and for the bonus reason…..wait for it, now…..I knew better.  As someone who is clearly no longer a child (and I haven’t felt like a child since I entered High School back in 2005 when I was going on 15 years old) hitting someone younger than me not only seemed cowardice but it also seems predatory in my eyes.

In my eyes, if someone of age thinks that it’s okay to hit a small child, then what else do they think is okay to do to a child? I’ll leave that to your imagination.

Maybe I’m wrong.  But I don’t think that I am.