By now the tender age of 40, which is reported as the new 20, I sincerely believed that I’d be blissfully married to a somewhat emotionally and financially stable man, and enjoying the company of one or two children. Instead, I am enjoying the company of one really cool kid; my sweet, but lost man-child boyfriend, a bitter ex-army manger who still wants to be friends, several disgruntled, clinically instable, broken-hearted and broke ex- boyfriends who can’t let go and a couple of eager on lookers, who forgot to buy tickets to my love shack.
Sure Milwaukee is a large city, chock-full of men. However, as a youngish black woman, (trying to get in and stay in the black) I am here to tell you: cultivating a healthy relationship with an “eligible man” gives “frozen tundra” new meaning. I can’t say for sure that this is the climate elsewhere in the country, but here, in my own human experience, men nosedive neatly into one of four categories: sorry, apathetic, manipulative and confused.
Of course, I haven’t dated all dateable men in the city. That would be, well…too much fun. I have, however, had a bevy of suitors, who generously lent me fodder for this and every Valentine’s Day
Sorry
Though I am proudly black and all, I have dated about all the races. The hue of a mans skin may vary a titch, but they all bled red. Many of the men I’ve come into contact with were just plain-old sad creatures, feeling sorry for them selves and rarely doing anything about it. They work meaningless jobs, complaining endlessly. They have estranged relationships with the mothers of their children, lamenting about “them” being no good and lazy. Such men usually have low-self images and high sex drives. You become his private life coach. But he is an unwilling player. He has a deeply rooted need to be in control, even though his life consistently spirals willy-nilly out of control. Or, like the apathetic man he prefers to do nothing…
Apathetic
Nothing, expect for enjoy indefinite tenure as a street pharmacist or mooch off of some unsuspecting woman who thinks he’s an artist, or a musician seeking “his shot at it.” This guy never really has a regular job. So dating him is difficult, because you always have to foot the bill. He can’t even afford common sense. His apathy, at first, is attractive, because most apathetic men show up as needy, handsome, virile, fit and pseudo-committed. They commit to you first, only to gain your trust and/or a place to live and then, like the leeches they are, they get restless and seek out other full-bodied women to suck the blood, money and trust out of. They also make intimate partners out of alcohol and hemp, which do nothing but fuel their apathetic states. And they are too apathetic to notice the connection between their using and their miserable existences.
Manipulative
Dating manipulative men is truly a blast because they are the most creative and innovative. They will do and say almost anything, to attain what they want. They will steal and even lie to you, in bed-naked, sloshing around in each other’s sweaty fluids. They sometimes even get a little jazzy, taking their fists and hitting you or spitting mean, hate-filled insults, all in the name of love, they claim. Manipulative men are nearly the worst kind because they will flip the script at any point, to suit their causes. Their physical manipulation is deplorable, often criminal. Usually, these men are rather shallow, formally uneducated and insecure, seeking to pummel you in anyway possible into the abyss of their own ignorance. A “Mr. Manipulative” once told me that I made him so mad; he “had” to hit me. If you stay with a manipulative type like I did, because I was forgiving and trusting, he will no doubt hit you again.
Confused
A courtship with a confused man is a “Twilight Zone” episode. He wants you more than life itself, but is habitually late, inconsiderate and thoughtless, engaging in affairs outside of the relationship, without remorse. This man is possessive beyond belief; probably for fear that you will return the favors. He will often “boo-who” about how badly he’s been hurt by “gold-digging” women who mercilessly used him, he swears he didn’t have it coming. As you listen to his stories, a part of you feels sorry for him, so you try to atone for the ills of other women. As you do, the confused man suddenly remembers he has a wife or serious girlfriend he needs to tend to. This convenient soap opera amnesia is blood boiling. In my 20s, I fought back against “I forgot-I-had-a-wife” men the best way I knew how. Once, an angry wife contacted me about her wayward husband. After I hung up from her cussing and threatening, I called the utility companies, posing as the wife and I told them I was moving and my services must be disconnected at 5pm that night. Surely the wayward man and his wife found each other comforting in the quiet, cold darkness of their home.
Though it isn’t advisable to fight back in such a manner, it felt so good, and I was only 20. These days, I am not fighting back so much, just fighting for some consistency, respect and honesty. But those are qualities that are hard to find, even with a flashlight in the daytime. Men are conundrums for me-at least, those frequent fliers in my four categories.
Basically, they cannot see me, save the generous amount of fat attached to my posterior. They rarely notice I have straight, white teeth, beautiful brown eyes and an independent and fierce drive to succeed, with or without them. I love like I created it, give till it hurts and loyal like a mule.
A wise 50-something woman recently told me the reason I was “without a husband” was because of my inability to “submit.” I sat on that a while and decided she was right. What woman in her 40s, (which is reported as the new 20) in her right mind, would submit to a man who takes her kindness as some sort of flaw, views her forgiving spirit as a means to continue to screw off, and caresses a remote control more than her?
Submit to what, I pondered? I will not submit to any man, of any hue, who can’t lead his own way out of his hellish village of sorry-ness, apathy, manipulation and confusion. And love? What’s love got to do with it?
–loosely adapted from my rant, “Fighting Back” in the Shepherd Express, 2004–
