Dysfunctional Family: A Good Ass Whoopin’ (Part I)

First of all, let’s clear the airways for those of you with normal families that you mistakenly call, “dysfunctional.” A dysfunctional family involves severe physical abuse, constant conflict, outright neglect, deadly addictions, pedophilia, and mental illnesses running rampant. The family is so out of control that the members have become accustomed to and normalize such behavior, to the point where the practices are carried into following generations. Basically, my parents beat me so badly that I have to beat you because it's the only way I know. Now, if your family doesn’t fit that description, you’re in the clear.

My family is dysfunctional. People literally hate one another to the point of murder threats, and in other families, those murders do occur. Siblings haven’t spoken in decades and are only referred to in the most ungodly names. Younger members know nothing of the other youth because it’s as if they don’t exist. I’ve had cousins tell me that they’ve only heard of me through stories of grandeur. Look, the only thing I did differently was become the first to graduate from college (second on my maternal side). My graduation caused an insane uproar of hate from several family members. Some even claimed that I didn’t really graduate…though my graduation was nationally broadcasted.

However, this isn’t about college. This is about slave upbringings gone even further wrong. Former generations beating the hell out of their children so “the white man” wouldn’t catch them doing something wrong in public and kill them. A “good ass whoopin” as so many call it, was the difference between life and death. As a child, I was sliced across my face with a “switch” (or thin tree branch) and even beaten until I couldn’t walk. My parents didn’t do that to me. Relatives did. The only explanation was, “It’s nothing compared to what our parents did to us.” That’s insane! Tell me you know how CRAZY that sounds. Imagine me, six-years-old, wearing a cutesy dress on a summer day, only to be snatched into the air by a 6’4 male and severely beaten all over my back and bare legs. That was a slave thrashing. This happened right in front of one of my parents and it was acceptable. For my parents, those beatings were the norm, and for their parents it was even worse.  There’s this notion of gradually decreasing the intensity of the beatings as generations progress, but when does it stop?

Spare the rod, spoil the child; I’ve heard this saying time and time again. “It’s in the Bible!” There’s a hell of a line between a spanking and abuse.  Some people have been beaten so badly that they wouldn’t dare touch their children, and others received the same punishment and feel like they MUST beat their children the same way. The latter is full of lines such as, “It worked for me, it’ll work for you,” and “It’s the only way I know.” Those people need therapy. That’s where it’ll stop. Unfortunately, many adults who were abused to this extent don’t believe in therapy. I know for a fact that therapy is seen as “taboo” in most of the African American community. Seeking psychological help is a sign of weakness and “telling other people our business.” There’s so much anger and pain built up in people who were abused, that many of them are numb to actual feelings of love.

Have you ever met anyone who couldn’t fully receive love? This isn’t to say that these individuals don’t get married or have children. Acting the part does not denote feeling the part. Sometimes there’s even a grudge toward their children because they weren’t abused to that extent: “You’ll never know what my mom did to me”; and, “You wouldn’t have made it in my daddy’s house.”  At this point, that level of negativity probably needs a pill to go with it. It’s the sad truth.

I could write on this topic forever. There’s always talk on being victims of one’s environment, but what about being a victim of one’s family?

It’s ok to talk about it. It’s even better to seek help.

The Birds, The Bees and...Birth Control

When is it ok to have "the talk" with your kids?

First of all, call it what it is: sex. We need to kill this notion of "taboo" when talking about LIFE with our children. As a child, there was no way in hell my "Old School" parents were going to talk to any of us about anything. However, all of my elementary school classmates were already full of gratuitous information about sex, and by middle school a few of them were having kids. That's right: babies having babies. It's really like that, and there's no going back.

Although parents have to face the music, we can feel free to rock it to our own beat. The truth is, every child doesn't need to know everything right away. There are age appropriate sex talks. Honestly, the talk should begin by telling children the names of their body parts, then progressing to conversations about not letting people touch them by age two or three. I know COUNTLESS tales of child molestation, even within my own family. You know if your immediate or external family is prone to scandalous behavior, and although we all try to keep our children away from such family members, sometimes their children have picked up their same carnal ways. Also, if a child has older siblings or cousins, you can be sure they'll hear all types of foolery at some point or another. Trust.

Now that we've passed the "hands off" conversation, questions of where babies come from will surely arise. While a five-year-old doesn't need to know mommy and daddy's dirty deets (details), explaining that babies are formed in a special place called a "womb" or "uterus" when two adults love each other, is a must. The whole stork thing is just going to shake the trust in the future parent-child relationship. By the age of eight, the child should know exactly what sex is, all about puberty, condoms and other forms of birth control. This is not a game. Where I'm from, kids are having babies at 11 years old. Newsflash, I'm not from the inner city. Don't let stereotypes of what only happens to students in urban environments, make you a grandparent before your thirties. No child should be buying diapers before a cap and gown. PERIOD!

After the gradual talks leading up to the real deal, the teen years will hit HARD! Since I had a job at 14-years-old (just before starting high school), sex was laid out for me by fellow employees on a silver platter. Although I refused to eat off of that plate, it wasn't without heavy temptation and constant confusion. I said, "No," because I knew I wasn't ready. This was not the case across the board in my household. Since my parents hadn't talked to me, I only knew what I'd heard. In middle school, there were talks of friends "leaving each other satisfied," and in high school, students were straight up sneaking multiple partners into their parents' homes on a daily (or nightly) basis. Every other girl I passed in the hallway was pregnant, and prom night was the ultimate get loose celebration for students who had yet to let it all hang out. Seniors (male and female) were taking freshmen to the prom and turning them out early. It was no secret who was getting down, because it was acceptable to talk about it. Kids were singing adult love songs like they'd written them, and lived them time and time again.

Temptation is real; if I'd given in, surely I would've been a teen parent. Peer pressure is real; students and people in general are a reflection of their immediate friends and surroundings. Get in your child's life. Make it a priority to know what's going on and leave the door to communication open. Although you shouldn't be your child's best friend, you should be his/her best parent. Don't let some creeper teach your daughter about sex in a shady apartment down the street. Don't give Ms. Cool Mom the opportunity to let your son fill in for her husband after a game. Sex, date-rape, molestation, and the like are all gender-neutral--- don't treat it with a double-standard. I know of parents who will let their sons get down and dirty right under their roof, but would kill their daughter for the same behavior. Not in my house; we all know what sex is, the rules of my kingdom, and that our bodies are not STD playgrounds.

My child's job from birth to graduation is to be a great person and student while maturing into adulthood. After that, living as an adult outside of my house, I don't really give a damn. All I can do is guide my children, the rest is on them. When they're young they sit on your lap, but when they're grown, they sit on your heart--- that's what a wise person told me.

So when do you start talking about the birds, the bees and birth control?
Now.

Team Natural vs The World...?

Here's my take on this HAIRifying Issue:

Look, I was born with a relaxer (perm) because I had parents birthed from a society that didn't know better. The day my mother put her first perm in, was the day she knew she'd do the same to mine if she ever had a daughter. My hair was predestined for a perm...and my mind followed. As soon as I felt a little hint of a wave growing through my roots, it was TIME! I'd share flaming scalp stories with my friends, and we'd laugh at the nappy natural girls who'd never known a perm. In my house, getting a relaxer was more on schedule than night and day. There was NEVER a moment when my hair wasn't fried, dyed and laid to the side. OKAY? I wouldn't have believed anyone who told me I'd be natural by my sophomore year in college.

Let's back up to freshman year when a perm went awry. I'd never, EVER had any problems with my relaxers until the day my edges came off. BAM! The whole right side of my hairline was Michael Jordan SMOOTH. I had to wear headbands and the whole nine. Ya dig? When the guy I was crushing on pointed out my Mr. Clean scalp, I was SO EMBARRASSED! He was cool about it, but damn, son. C'mon. But check this out, that still wasn't my last perm. After my edges grew back, I laced that creamy crack on the side and was back as sleek as ever. However, something about putting a perm on edges that had fallen out months prior, struck a nerve. Not only that, I missed playing with the baby curls on the side of my head. I missed those moments of natural innocence that I'd never experienced in my youth because my hair was taken before my memories of self existed. We're enlisted in this battle of Natural vs The World because somewhere along the lines we told ourselves we "needed" to fit into society's standard of beauty. I'm not pointing fingers at white people or Europeans because most of them have no idea what people of color put themselves through for a shot at upward mobility--- that's another topic. In my family, and in MY COMMUNITY we're told that we "need" perms. I strongly believed that I "needed" a relaxer and even suggested that natural's should invest.

Needless to say, when I decided to do the "big chop," my inner circle snickered and sniped. I woke up one morning on a whim, and cut off all of my hair with a pair of 99 cent scissors from Meijer. Yes, I did give the minor deets. And the date was April 6th, 2010. That's not even important. If you have a perm/relaxer, I know all about the struggle. I spent 20 years in it. I'm not telling you to rock your natural hair. But, I will ask if you know exactly why you get perms. Seriously. I've heard that it's low maintenance and that people don't have time for natural hair. I've heard people don't think it's professional...I even did a research paper on it. I'm a professional woman who has given presentations in front of 200+ white people who love my hair. But then again, it's not about white people, it's about US! Black women and Latinas. That alisado is in HEAVY rotation in DR & Puerto Rico. Maria's Peluqueria uses the same creamy crack as Brenda's Beau-tique.

Y'all know we're the queens of FLY hairstyles. Trust! Honestly, while I had a perm and routine salon visits, I often ran out of new styles to wear. I did the dyes, cuts, zillions, twists, roller sets, and everything else. Trust me. Now that I'm natural, I can still do all of that, plus curly, artsy sculpted, up, down, wet, dry, slightly diffused, and so much more. My hair grows faster than ever and it's so much thicker! I was complimented on having thick hair with a perm, so look at me NOW! You do not have to chop your hair off. Half of the people I know, grew their perms out. In a few months, I'll reach the overly-glorified bra-strap length and it's only been three years. Good hair is HEALTHY HAIR, and not one of my people is going to tell me that my hair isn't in better condition now that I keep it as it grows out of my head. What's more exotic than chocolate with a curly top, kinky carmel girls, and every shade in between with natural waves? That's sexy! Guys LOVE my hair. Straight hair is OUT! A flatiron still gets my hair just as straight as before, but now it's more VOLUMINOUS, SHINY and BLACK! I can workout when I want to, swim with my mind at ease, and get ALL THE WAY LIVE during a night out, without worrying about my hair. The more moisture in the air, the better my curls look. If you're still with me right now, just THINK about it. Shake those shackles, girl. If you're already living this FABULOUS life of LIBERATION, keep being free.

P.S....pass it on. :-)

-Maura

The Secret World of Alex Mack...I mean, Maura.

Why am I so secretive?

1) Psychology proves that people who talk about their goals are less likely to fulfill them because it gives people a sense of partial completion...even if no steps have been taken towards the goal. While I do discuss ideas, they aren't necessarily my personal goals. Big people talk about ideas, average people talk about things, and small people just talk about other people.

2) A TRUE secret is between oneself and God. Since you haven't seen God, I'm sure He didn't tell you my business...but maybe you've seen Sarah or Chris. If you don't believe in God, go tell it on the mountain, and I'm sure your secret will still be so tomorrow. Tell Sarah, and Chris will ask you about it randomly at the company party...or vice versa.

3) I don't like hearing gossip about other people. I don't even like when people tell me about their lives in excess. Honestly, I prefer the moments we build with each other. Let's talk about the time we went where ever and just did whatever. That's what I love. Let's try something new! If Mike wasn't there, he doesn't need to know everything about it, but he's welcome to come to the next event, brunch, kickback etc.

4) I trust my friends, but they don't need to know everything. There are no secret scandals. I simply like keeping pieces of myself, for myself. There's plenty of Reality TV to go around without me adding my life to it. Maybe I bought a new pair of shoes, discovered a new recipe, had an interview, started an exercise routine, or had drinks with an old friend. Who cares? Of course I could share, but why? I won't gain anything from it. When the cost is greater than the benefit, I don't even bother.

5) Small talk is annoying. "It'll be sunny next Tuesday." Ok...and? "My father told me that when a man starts talking about the weather, keep your hand on your wallet." -Eddie Murphy (Life).

I'm just a mysterious person. That wasn't my intention, but now it's reality.

What's the Quota for Minorities in the Work Place?

What’s the quota for minorities in the work place? Yesterday I had an interesting interview for an entry-level company position. There were two twenty-something-year-old women conducting the interview (one black, one white), and the big fish eats little fish dynamic was evident in their dialogue, as well as body language. The black woman was a college graduate and assistant manager within the company, while the other was community college attendee, holding the position immediately below assistant manager. 

After engaging in a series of questions that I could’ve nailed straight out of high school, I’d seemed to have greatly impressed the white interviewer. However, the assistant manager followed each of my responses with the back-story on how her progress within the company overrides my experience. She even went as far as to say, “The company gave me a Benz last year,” which was quickly and humorously revealed to be a lie by the white interviewer. Exposed, the black assistant manager smirked at her white assistant and shot over a snide remark. She then asked how I’d feel if she made such comments towards me on a daily basis. (B!tch, what?) I explained that it wouldn’t faze me because communication shouldn’t be rigid. 

For over an hour, I watched the assistant manager readjust her countenance to hide her agony over having another competent and competitive black woman on staff. How do I know? Because she shot down every compliment her white assistant gave me, then embellished her title, life and character. While the white assistant was thrilled by my wit and equal amiability— so much so that she spoke as if I’d already had the job— the black woman seemed floored and resistant. Once upon a time there were goals of black mobility through racial uplifting.  But what’s really going on? Are black women pitting themselves against one another, or do some people feel threatened by someone they view as a challenge? In this post-affirmative action society, has intra-racial discrimination surfaced in the work place? These are the questions...