As he kissed my left cheek I thought about the night we had. How he taught me things, and I showed him a few tricks. How he had me on the dresser, against the wall, on the floor and the bed. How he whispered in my ear all of the things he wanted to do to me and how he waited too long for me. The whole night was full of passion from the time he brought me home.
We knew each other in college. Nothing ever happened. We had maybe one class together, but basically I would see him across campus, at parties, in the cafeteria. He was out of my league anyway. He was a smooth, chocolate brother. about 6'3 or so, nice body, sexy as hell. Every female that came across him wanted him, badly. But he always gave off this vibe like, he didnt care about chicks crushing on him. I was intimidated. I'll admit it. I was very shy back then. I had only had one boyfriend and low self esteem, so, me approaching him was out of the question. But that didnt stop the dreams I would have about him. Little did I know that one day those dreams would come true and he would be everything I thought & fantasized about.
We ran into each other at a local store. I didnt even know he worked in the area. "Hey, I know u." he remembered who I was??
"Do you? And where do you know me from?" I was far from the shy girl he once knew.
"We went to school together didn't we?"
"yep. How have you been?"
"I'm good. You look like you're good too!" he said with a smile.
"I've been told." I laughed.
We exchanged numbers, he gave me a hug and promised to call me. He never even had to call me, I was just so happy that he knew who I was.
Over the next few days we talked and texted. We reminisced over people we went to school with..."Did u know 'so&so'?" "I remember him but I never really chilled with him." That's how our conversations went.
Then one time he told me, "You know I always wanted to fuck you!"
I was surprised! I never thought in my wildest dreams that he even recognized me, and here, come to find out, he's been wanting me all along! I was happy and sad at the same time. All of these years I lusted after him, even after school, after he was long gone from my life, he would show up in my fantasies. His face would replace that of my other lovers. I would smell his cologne on someone else and think of him. All of these years....I could have been with the real thing and not a figment of my imagination.
"Hello, why are u so quiet? Did I disrespect you? I'm sorry."
I was trying to stop blushing long enough to answer him.
"No, no, you just surprised me thats all. i didnt even know you knew I existed"
"What? of course! I was always attracted to you. You just always looked like you were so mean."
"are you kidding me? you know I had the biggest crush on you! All my girls did. And now look."
"so?"
"So, what?"
"Can I?"
"Can you what?" He confused the hell out of me now.
"can I fuck you?" Oh My Goodness!!!
We set up a time when I would go to see him. AS soon as I saw him he gave me the biggest, warmest hug. Like he didnt want to let me go. We went out to eat and get drinks. We really enjoyed our time together.
"So, are you going home now? Or do you have time to chill?" he asked rubbing my leg. Now why did he go and do that?
"Nah, i have time. But I'll need to leave by 12." lying.
We got to his house and started to watch a movie, I think it was "The Hangover". We never saw the end of the movie.
He rubbed on my thigh and looked me in my eyes.
"I can't believe you're here, at my house."
I smiled and sipped my drink.
He leaned in and kissed my cheek. He grabbed me and pulled me into him, taking my cup out of my hand and sitting it on the side table. He kissed me in my mouth, a hard passionate kiss. I grabbed the back of his head and kissed him back. He pulled me in tighter, grabbing my ass. He moved his mouth down my neck and then onto my breasts. He sucked on them until i thought milk was going to come out. Then he pulled my pants down and moved his mouth down further. I almost burst into tears, He did magic with his tongue. I couldn't help but to grab his head and push him further into me. Once I screamed with delight, he came up for air, grabbed my hand and led me to the bedroom. He laid back on the bed and I started to take his clothes off. I took off his jeans and he was at full attention. He whispered to me, "I've waited for years to put all of this inside of you..." I immediately got wet. So I returned the favor and went down on him. All i could hear was him saying "Oh my God! Are you for real?" over and over. I guess he couldn't take it anymore, He grabbed me by my hair and lifted my head up. "come here" he commanded, and I loved it. I straddled his lap and slid on top of him. All i could do was open my mouth. I rode him while he grabbed and sucked on my breasts. I leaned in and licked his neck and bounced my ass on his dick. I squealed as I squirted all over him. He flipped me over and slid into me. He was everything I imagined he would be. he looked at me..."Stop licking your tongue like that girl, you're turning me on!" I just smiled at him. he asked me, "What are you thinking about?" I smile again and I tell him, "I can't believe I'm fucking YOU!!"
This lasted all night long, I mean all-night-long. the next morning I couldnt even walk straight.
So he kisses me on my left cheek as he's dropping me off. And I just keep thinking about the night before. That was the best sex I ever had in my life. I swear if I didnt know any better I would've thought there was a camera hidden in there and he was performing for a porno. He tells me he had a great time and he hopes we can do it again. I tell him yes but knowing damn well, i won't. After all my husband wouldn't approve of it.
*Names and places have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent
Monday, January 31, 2011
I'm in love .....with a Leo
I love Lions! They are my absolute favorite animal. If I could have one as a pet, I would. I am so obsessed with the king of the jungle that when that movie, "The Lion King" came out, I bought the video tape, and didn't even have any kids. If I was a cartoon lioness, Mufasa would have no problem replenishing the pride! I love how lions move, I love how cool they are, I love their color, I love how they are so laid back until it's time for war. I love everything about those beautiful creatures.
I've always been attracted to Leos. Which is not necessarily a good thing. Sometimes, i dont even know that the guy is a Leo at first, it's just something that draws me in to them. But I'm a Scorpio, and Scorpio and Leo don't seem to mesh very well. We are both very stubborn people. And very fickle. We both seem to attract alot of attention from the opposite sex and I know for Scorpio, that stinger comes out really quick, because as much as we try to deny it, we are possesive and jealous. It may seem like everything is perfect between Leo and Scorpio, but then one thing happens and it all falls apart as quickly as it came together.
I loved him, I really did. He was so handsome, beautiful complexion, intelligent, I loved the way he moved. Don't ask me why I fell for him. He never treated me right, He never took me out, He never bought me anything, He never loved me back. But He'd say "I care". And that, he thought, should've been good enough for me. When It wasn't enough and I pushed for more, I pushed him away.
We met awhile ago, through mutual friends. We used to talk about any and everything. We were more friends then anything else. We would drink and smoke and party together. When I'm with him I feel like a teenager. I just had fun with him. Then one day, all that changed. We became more than just friends. That was fine at first, I didnt care. Actually he was the one that persued me. I didn't want to be bothered, but somehow he won me over. He'd give me those "eyes", smile, tell me I was sexy (although he never called me pretty, that should've been my first clue). He always made sure there was liquor around, my favorite kind, because everyone knows when I get drunk i get touchy feely. And since I was already obviously attracted to him, I would give in.
Somehow, my overly emotional feminine side, at some point took over. Which sucks. I hate being a female sometimes. But eventually I ended up falling for him. And I fell hard. Even though I knew he had other girls, and I had other dudes. Everything I did was to please him. What I wore, How I did my hair, everything. He never had to ask me for anything, I would just do it. I did this for quite sometime, until, as I like to say, my estrogen levels dropped and the testerone rose. Most people just call it "coming to your senses". but for me, when I am in love, I lose all common sense. All I want is to make sure that man is happy, even if it means sacrificing my own.
The ending of the story is....there is no ending. We are still friends, He still tries to persue me, Sometimes, I'm the one on the chase....But it seems that Leos are more similar to lions than I realized, even down to mating for life. I still love him, I really do. But my stinger has already been drawn, and the venom has been released and now things will never be the same.
The crazy thing about this story?? It's not one person that I'm talking about. It was two different men, two different times, same attitude. So if you thought you knew who I was talking about, think again.
I love Lions, it's true. But I got a feeling, Leos are not for me.....
I've always been attracted to Leos. Which is not necessarily a good thing. Sometimes, i dont even know that the guy is a Leo at first, it's just something that draws me in to them. But I'm a Scorpio, and Scorpio and Leo don't seem to mesh very well. We are both very stubborn people. And very fickle. We both seem to attract alot of attention from the opposite sex and I know for Scorpio, that stinger comes out really quick, because as much as we try to deny it, we are possesive and jealous. It may seem like everything is perfect between Leo and Scorpio, but then one thing happens and it all falls apart as quickly as it came together.
I loved him, I really did. He was so handsome, beautiful complexion, intelligent, I loved the way he moved. Don't ask me why I fell for him. He never treated me right, He never took me out, He never bought me anything, He never loved me back. But He'd say "I care". And that, he thought, should've been good enough for me. When It wasn't enough and I pushed for more, I pushed him away.
We met awhile ago, through mutual friends. We used to talk about any and everything. We were more friends then anything else. We would drink and smoke and party together. When I'm with him I feel like a teenager. I just had fun with him. Then one day, all that changed. We became more than just friends. That was fine at first, I didnt care. Actually he was the one that persued me. I didn't want to be bothered, but somehow he won me over. He'd give me those "eyes", smile, tell me I was sexy (although he never called me pretty, that should've been my first clue). He always made sure there was liquor around, my favorite kind, because everyone knows when I get drunk i get touchy feely. And since I was already obviously attracted to him, I would give in.
Somehow, my overly emotional feminine side, at some point took over. Which sucks. I hate being a female sometimes. But eventually I ended up falling for him. And I fell hard. Even though I knew he had other girls, and I had other dudes. Everything I did was to please him. What I wore, How I did my hair, everything. He never had to ask me for anything, I would just do it. I did this for quite sometime, until, as I like to say, my estrogen levels dropped and the testerone rose. Most people just call it "coming to your senses". but for me, when I am in love, I lose all common sense. All I want is to make sure that man is happy, even if it means sacrificing my own.
The ending of the story is....there is no ending. We are still friends, He still tries to persue me, Sometimes, I'm the one on the chase....But it seems that Leos are more similar to lions than I realized, even down to mating for life. I still love him, I really do. But my stinger has already been drawn, and the venom has been released and now things will never be the same.
The crazy thing about this story?? It's not one person that I'm talking about. It was two different men, two different times, same attitude. So if you thought you knew who I was talking about, think again.
I love Lions, it's true. But I got a feeling, Leos are not for me.....
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Old Memories......New Beginnings
My very first memory of my parents is my mother hiding me in the bathroom, while my father was getting jumped by my aunts at a family cookout. Nice right? I think I had to be about 3 yrs old.
Unfortunately, I dont have many memories of my father in my early years. And the ones I do have are not all that good. My dad, Walter Green, was a Jamaican-born, 6'2", dark skin, handsome, tempermental man. He was a carpenter by trade, but I dont really remember him working too much. He also worked as a Janitor for the Poughkeepsie Schools for sometime. But I mostly remember him being home, always injured, smoking weed, drinking and selling drugs out of our home.
My mother, Theresa Braxton, was born and raised in the Poughkeepsie, Millbrook area of upstate New York. She was the only daughter of Harold and Bernice, who, between the two families had tons of relatives in the area. She and her brother were known as the "fighting Braxtons" because she says, in the 1960's people were very comfortable using the word "nigger".
My mother never really dwelled on how she and my father met. I dont have any romantic stories to tell about them. And even when I ask she replies, "we met, we got married, we had kids, he left." I do know, from stories I've overheard throughout the years that Ma was an independent, hard-working, fashionable & caring young woman, before my Dad came along. She worked at a phone company, went to Nursing School, had enough clothes and shoes to just give away to her cousins. She would take care of her godchildren and baby cousins for weekends at a time. She always tells me the story of how some guy was trying to pick her up in a bar and told her "you aint the prettiest thing but you built like a brick shit house baby!"
My parents married in April 1973. I was born in November 1974, their first child. Within that time, somehow my father had the nerve to put his hands on my mother to physically hurt her. And somehow, not that she accepted it, but it started to break her down. Kill her spirit. When I asked my Mom, "why did you stay after he hit you the first time?" She answered, "cuz i was young and stupid and believed him when he said he wouldnt do it again." Now, I dont know often, why, where any of this happened. All i know is that there is no way my grandfather or uncle knew anything about it, because they would've killed my father. It's amazing how women can hide abuse so easily for so many years. That just shows one of two things; either we love our abuser so much that we have to protect them even when they are trying to destroy us or we are ashamed of what has happened to us.
So, back to the cookout, my first memory of Mommy and Daddy. My grandparents always had get-togethers at their house. My grandfather would have these giant grills that were made out of old oil drums or something. My grandmother would prepare all of the food inside and Poppop would cook. They had a gazebo on one side of the yard, where we kids, when we weren't getting into trouble would sit and play cards or ease drop on grown-up conversations. beyond the gazebo was a small hill and another small yard. On the other side of the yard was a huge hill that grew dandelions every spring. I always thought of that movie "The Sound of Music" when I would run to the top of the hill. There was a small garage, that no one parked in, at the bottom of that hill on the other side of the long driveway. Next to the garage was our swing set. My sister, cousins and I would play on there for what seemed like hrs, singing, fighting, talking. behind the house was a small garden that my grandmother used to tend to. If I remember correctly, we used to save our watermelon seeds and try to plant them there. I dont remember anything ever coming of those seeds though. beyond the garden was the back door to the house, which led to the basement or you could go to the other side of the house and come up on that small hill that I mentioned earlier. It seemed like a huge place when we were small. But it reality it was just a small yellow and green house on a hill.
At some point, I remember Daddy standing close to swing set, I was near the front door I think, at the picnic table. I saw him hit Mommy. I dont remember if it was a slap or a punch, but I remember my aunts running over there. I'm pretty sure other people ran too, but all I remember is my Aunt Gloria....running. Next thing I know I was in the small bathroom of my grandparents house. My mother sat me on the closed toilet and she sat on the edge of the tub in front of me. This is actually the last time I ever remember her telling me, "its gonna be ok, I love you." I have no recollection at all of her ever telling me she loved me since that day. Not saying that she didnt, I just dont remember.
Over the next 14 yrs, my father did not improve, at all. There were times when he would be in prison and Mommy had to take care of us all alone. Thats probably when she was her happiest, because when he was home he was beating on her. He never laid a hand on me though. But I was still scared to death of him. Daddy wasn't all bad though. Its hard for my mother and brother and sister when I say that, but that was MY relationship with Daddy. Once, I was in 4th grade and got in trouble for selling colored sand in school. Daddy was locked up in the county Jail. Ma screamed and hollered and threatened me and told me, "we're going to see your father!! you tell him what you did!" So we went, I was crying so hard i got a headache. I don't know why, he was in jail, he never beat me anyway. So he definitely wasn't gonna be able to hit me then. But I was nervous nonetheless. I told him what happened, through the small glass window. How I sold viles of sand to other kids in my class and then tried to cover it up by hiding the letter from the teacher. I dont know what he said to me, but I know he saved me. He begged Mommy not to beat me. So I was grounded, until she said otherwise. 28 years and 2 kids later, I think I'm still technically grounded! Daddy and I would cook together, go shopping (what I later realized was more shoplifting than actually paying for goods), hang out, watch tv, paint....He was my Daddy. I didnt know any different.
One time, we walked into our apartment after Mommy had picked us up from school. Everything was completely dark and I saw a figure sitting in the middle of the room as Ma turned on the lights. Daddy was home from jail!!I was so happy! I just remember hugging him so tight. After my brother was born, Daddy would hold Harold on his forearm, like one of those blaxploitation, velvet pictures, and kiss him over and over. He adored my sister, Tiffani. Regardless of it all, he was always still Daddy.
Like I've said, I knew Daddy would beat up on Mommy. I was the one who would have to call the cops. I was the one who was told, I was fat and ugly just like my mother. I was the one he called lazy. The one he would force to eat every bit of food on my plate while my sister was allowed to leave the table, and then I would have to finish her plate too. I would hear him slamming her into walls and the slap of a belt against her skin. I saw and heard things that my mother still doesn't know that i've seen. But that one day, when she had to drive to the police station, with blood streaming out of her head, thats when my point of view of Daddy really changed. I think Daddy was locked out or something, but for some reason we had to go to the apartment building we lived in. Daddy was standing outside. I saw him coming to the car and as I opened my mouth with a smile to say "Hi, Daddy!" he hit my mother in the head with a hammer! I don't know how many times he hit her. I remember being in the police station and the cops telling her, as she stood there bleeding that they didnt see him do it so they couldnt do anything about it.
Daddy left in 1989. Not voluntarily, but at the "urging" of the U.S. Government. All the drug dealing and shootings and armed robberies and whatever else he did finally caught up to him and the FBI showed up at the door. Alot of his dealings have been blocked from my memory. But from what i've been told, once, people came to the house to kill him, and I answered the door. I remember traveling to the Bronx and Newburgh and Kingston with him on his drug runnings, whether he was picking up or selling, I was right there. I remember seeing him free basing in our bathroom. I remember him actually teaching me how to roll an ez-wider. Even though I can't roll a blunt to save my life now. I remember all types of people in and out of our house. I remember a schoolmate showing up to work for Daddy. I remember meeting our brother Avery, before my brother Harold was born. I remember being frightened when Daddy's lungs collapsed on Main Street and I had to run home to get Mommy. I remember him teaching me how to make a glass painting, cook calamari, make dumplings. I remember his stupid lil song about an old jamaican dude on a porch lying about his name. I remember his glasses, Mommy braiding his hair, I remember that big ass boombox he used to carry, the green gremlin that he drove, when he would leave money for me in my room (then turn around and ask for it back), how when i broke my arm he carried me home and bought me a whole box of doughnuts to nurse me to health while we waited to go to the hospital.....i remember Daddy.
The entire time she was with my father, Mommy worked 2 or 3 jobs at a time, went to school, was active in church. She was never home, but it was because she had to provide for us. No one ever faulted her for that. My mother is amazing!! And even though My father broke her spirit, she still showed us how much she loves us everyday, even when she doesnt say it. But when my father wasnt in jail or working, he was our caretaker after school and in the summer. When he was deported, I felt like he abandoned me, even though he put my family through hell. I hated him. The more I thought about the physical abuse he inflicted on my mother, the psychological abuse he put me through, the more I hated him. I even wrote him a letter telling him "the only thing i learned from you is how to break the law...I have a son now and I pray that he never grows up to be like you....You are dead to me."
Recently, I started to forgive my father. For everything. I've reached out to my brother Avery, who we held malice against for yrs, and for no reason. He was a baby, he didnt ask to be brought into that situation anymore than we did. Now, he is wrapped up in some legal issues and I havent been able to meet him in person but we write to each other and speak on the phone, like we were raised together. I have spoken to Daddy on the phone a few times. He's cried and apologized for everything he has done and put us through. He told me "I worry about you guys, but I worry the most about you, because you are the most like me." I smiled, and dropped a tear at the same time. Because he has no idea how much like him I really am. I have so much of Green's traits that it scares me sometimes. He told me that I have a 9 yr old sister in Jamaica, now. My sister, Tiffani and I were even planning on taking a trip to go see Daddy. There's this line in a Tyler Perry movie where he says something like "forgiveness is not for the other person, it's to set yourself free. You walking around mad at this person and they're going on with their lives." I actually cried when I forgave Daddy. And he didn't even know it. All the hate I had for him, I transferred to all the dudes I ever encountered in my life. To all of my relationships, friendships, and worst of all to myself. I dont know what my father did from the time I was 14 until I forgave him 5 yrs ago. I dont know anything about him anymore. But I'm willing to find out. Because no matter what, that's still my Daddy. and I love him.
Unfortunately, I dont have many memories of my father in my early years. And the ones I do have are not all that good. My dad, Walter Green, was a Jamaican-born, 6'2", dark skin, handsome, tempermental man. He was a carpenter by trade, but I dont really remember him working too much. He also worked as a Janitor for the Poughkeepsie Schools for sometime. But I mostly remember him being home, always injured, smoking weed, drinking and selling drugs out of our home.
My mother, Theresa Braxton, was born and raised in the Poughkeepsie, Millbrook area of upstate New York. She was the only daughter of Harold and Bernice, who, between the two families had tons of relatives in the area. She and her brother were known as the "fighting Braxtons" because she says, in the 1960's people were very comfortable using the word "nigger".
My mother never really dwelled on how she and my father met. I dont have any romantic stories to tell about them. And even when I ask she replies, "we met, we got married, we had kids, he left." I do know, from stories I've overheard throughout the years that Ma was an independent, hard-working, fashionable & caring young woman, before my Dad came along. She worked at a phone company, went to Nursing School, had enough clothes and shoes to just give away to her cousins. She would take care of her godchildren and baby cousins for weekends at a time. She always tells me the story of how some guy was trying to pick her up in a bar and told her "you aint the prettiest thing but you built like a brick shit house baby!"
My parents married in April 1973. I was born in November 1974, their first child. Within that time, somehow my father had the nerve to put his hands on my mother to physically hurt her. And somehow, not that she accepted it, but it started to break her down. Kill her spirit. When I asked my Mom, "why did you stay after he hit you the first time?" She answered, "cuz i was young and stupid and believed him when he said he wouldnt do it again." Now, I dont know often, why, where any of this happened. All i know is that there is no way my grandfather or uncle knew anything about it, because they would've killed my father. It's amazing how women can hide abuse so easily for so many years. That just shows one of two things; either we love our abuser so much that we have to protect them even when they are trying to destroy us or we are ashamed of what has happened to us.
So, back to the cookout, my first memory of Mommy and Daddy. My grandparents always had get-togethers at their house. My grandfather would have these giant grills that were made out of old oil drums or something. My grandmother would prepare all of the food inside and Poppop would cook. They had a gazebo on one side of the yard, where we kids, when we weren't getting into trouble would sit and play cards or ease drop on grown-up conversations. beyond the gazebo was a small hill and another small yard. On the other side of the yard was a huge hill that grew dandelions every spring. I always thought of that movie "The Sound of Music" when I would run to the top of the hill. There was a small garage, that no one parked in, at the bottom of that hill on the other side of the long driveway. Next to the garage was our swing set. My sister, cousins and I would play on there for what seemed like hrs, singing, fighting, talking. behind the house was a small garden that my grandmother used to tend to. If I remember correctly, we used to save our watermelon seeds and try to plant them there. I dont remember anything ever coming of those seeds though. beyond the garden was the back door to the house, which led to the basement or you could go to the other side of the house and come up on that small hill that I mentioned earlier. It seemed like a huge place when we were small. But it reality it was just a small yellow and green house on a hill.
At some point, I remember Daddy standing close to swing set, I was near the front door I think, at the picnic table. I saw him hit Mommy. I dont remember if it was a slap or a punch, but I remember my aunts running over there. I'm pretty sure other people ran too, but all I remember is my Aunt Gloria....running. Next thing I know I was in the small bathroom of my grandparents house. My mother sat me on the closed toilet and she sat on the edge of the tub in front of me. This is actually the last time I ever remember her telling me, "its gonna be ok, I love you." I have no recollection at all of her ever telling me she loved me since that day. Not saying that she didnt, I just dont remember.
Over the next 14 yrs, my father did not improve, at all. There were times when he would be in prison and Mommy had to take care of us all alone. Thats probably when she was her happiest, because when he was home he was beating on her. He never laid a hand on me though. But I was still scared to death of him. Daddy wasn't all bad though. Its hard for my mother and brother and sister when I say that, but that was MY relationship with Daddy. Once, I was in 4th grade and got in trouble for selling colored sand in school. Daddy was locked up in the county Jail. Ma screamed and hollered and threatened me and told me, "we're going to see your father!! you tell him what you did!" So we went, I was crying so hard i got a headache. I don't know why, he was in jail, he never beat me anyway. So he definitely wasn't gonna be able to hit me then. But I was nervous nonetheless. I told him what happened, through the small glass window. How I sold viles of sand to other kids in my class and then tried to cover it up by hiding the letter from the teacher. I dont know what he said to me, but I know he saved me. He begged Mommy not to beat me. So I was grounded, until she said otherwise. 28 years and 2 kids later, I think I'm still technically grounded! Daddy and I would cook together, go shopping (what I later realized was more shoplifting than actually paying for goods), hang out, watch tv, paint....He was my Daddy. I didnt know any different.
One time, we walked into our apartment after Mommy had picked us up from school. Everything was completely dark and I saw a figure sitting in the middle of the room as Ma turned on the lights. Daddy was home from jail!!I was so happy! I just remember hugging him so tight. After my brother was born, Daddy would hold Harold on his forearm, like one of those blaxploitation, velvet pictures, and kiss him over and over. He adored my sister, Tiffani. Regardless of it all, he was always still Daddy.
Like I've said, I knew Daddy would beat up on Mommy. I was the one who would have to call the cops. I was the one who was told, I was fat and ugly just like my mother. I was the one he called lazy. The one he would force to eat every bit of food on my plate while my sister was allowed to leave the table, and then I would have to finish her plate too. I would hear him slamming her into walls and the slap of a belt against her skin. I saw and heard things that my mother still doesn't know that i've seen. But that one day, when she had to drive to the police station, with blood streaming out of her head, thats when my point of view of Daddy really changed. I think Daddy was locked out or something, but for some reason we had to go to the apartment building we lived in. Daddy was standing outside. I saw him coming to the car and as I opened my mouth with a smile to say "Hi, Daddy!" he hit my mother in the head with a hammer! I don't know how many times he hit her. I remember being in the police station and the cops telling her, as she stood there bleeding that they didnt see him do it so they couldnt do anything about it.
Daddy left in 1989. Not voluntarily, but at the "urging" of the U.S. Government. All the drug dealing and shootings and armed robberies and whatever else he did finally caught up to him and the FBI showed up at the door. Alot of his dealings have been blocked from my memory. But from what i've been told, once, people came to the house to kill him, and I answered the door. I remember traveling to the Bronx and Newburgh and Kingston with him on his drug runnings, whether he was picking up or selling, I was right there. I remember seeing him free basing in our bathroom. I remember him actually teaching me how to roll an ez-wider. Even though I can't roll a blunt to save my life now. I remember all types of people in and out of our house. I remember a schoolmate showing up to work for Daddy. I remember meeting our brother Avery, before my brother Harold was born. I remember being frightened when Daddy's lungs collapsed on Main Street and I had to run home to get Mommy. I remember him teaching me how to make a glass painting, cook calamari, make dumplings. I remember his stupid lil song about an old jamaican dude on a porch lying about his name. I remember his glasses, Mommy braiding his hair, I remember that big ass boombox he used to carry, the green gremlin that he drove, when he would leave money for me in my room (then turn around and ask for it back), how when i broke my arm he carried me home and bought me a whole box of doughnuts to nurse me to health while we waited to go to the hospital.....i remember Daddy.
The entire time she was with my father, Mommy worked 2 or 3 jobs at a time, went to school, was active in church. She was never home, but it was because she had to provide for us. No one ever faulted her for that. My mother is amazing!! And even though My father broke her spirit, she still showed us how much she loves us everyday, even when she doesnt say it. But when my father wasnt in jail or working, he was our caretaker after school and in the summer. When he was deported, I felt like he abandoned me, even though he put my family through hell. I hated him. The more I thought about the physical abuse he inflicted on my mother, the psychological abuse he put me through, the more I hated him. I even wrote him a letter telling him "the only thing i learned from you is how to break the law...I have a son now and I pray that he never grows up to be like you....You are dead to me."
Recently, I started to forgive my father. For everything. I've reached out to my brother Avery, who we held malice against for yrs, and for no reason. He was a baby, he didnt ask to be brought into that situation anymore than we did. Now, he is wrapped up in some legal issues and I havent been able to meet him in person but we write to each other and speak on the phone, like we were raised together. I have spoken to Daddy on the phone a few times. He's cried and apologized for everything he has done and put us through. He told me "I worry about you guys, but I worry the most about you, because you are the most like me." I smiled, and dropped a tear at the same time. Because he has no idea how much like him I really am. I have so much of Green's traits that it scares me sometimes. He told me that I have a 9 yr old sister in Jamaica, now. My sister, Tiffani and I were even planning on taking a trip to go see Daddy. There's this line in a Tyler Perry movie where he says something like "forgiveness is not for the other person, it's to set yourself free. You walking around mad at this person and they're going on with their lives." I actually cried when I forgave Daddy. And he didn't even know it. All the hate I had for him, I transferred to all the dudes I ever encountered in my life. To all of my relationships, friendships, and worst of all to myself. I dont know what my father did from the time I was 14 until I forgave him 5 yrs ago. I dont know anything about him anymore. But I'm willing to find out. Because no matter what, that's still my Daddy. and I love him.
Monday, January 24, 2011
The birth of Chaune Braxton nee Chandrika Green
No I am not Schizophrenic. I do not have any type of mental disabilities. (At least not any that have been officially diagnosed) I just like to keep my mind active and also, somehow, get some money my pocket! Why not?? In the past year, I have started a virtual assistant business, a jewelry business and now....Well, at the urging of several friends I have decided to start writing, professionally. I decided to use the pen name Chaune Braxton. Chaune (pronunced Shawnee) is just a different spelling of my nickname that I have had since birth. Braxton is in homage to my grandparents, Harold and Bernice Braxton, who always inspire me, even in their absence.
I have always been a writer. I wrote plays for my church, kept a journal, wrote poems, blogs, i'm on twitter, facebook, myspace, wrote long ass "women scorned" letters to ex-lovers and even prefer to text than talk, because it is easier for me to write. I never thought anyone really paid any attention to my life. I mean, yeah its important and interesting to me, but it is MY life....who knew so many people cared about what happens to me and my bad ass kids on a daily basis?? I cannot name anyones names, first of all because now that I'll be getting paid, I'm not giving up any royalties and also because I know I'll forget someone. But I want to thank all of you who have encourged and pushed for me to do something positive with all of my negativity.
Well, just in case any of you reading this actually can refer me to a real job, let me tell you a little about myself that you may not know, so that you can see what kind of craziness will be spewing out of my miniscule mind....
I am a thirty-something year old, Christian, Afican-American, single mother of 2 young boys. I am a Hairdresser by trade, a college dropout, former wannabe history teacher. I do not drive, I live in the "hood" and I take public transportation, which means i encounter all types of people. I listen to music like most people drink water. I love hip hop especially old school hip hop (not biggie smalls...old school meaning anything circa 1988 or before) I listen to all types of music, rock, country, pop, gospel, everything. Um, what else....let's just say that in all my years on this rock called Earth, I have seen and been through it all....abuse, rape, alcoholism, nicotine addicition, jail, drugs, sex, child birth, death, love, love-lost, pain...everything! And guess what? I can find something funny or sarcastic to say about it all! Life is way too short to be serious all the time. God wants us to laugh, otherwise he wouldn't have created man.
Now since I'm just starting out in this field, I don't know what prices to charge, or even how to actually get started. I'm just stepping out on faith. One of my favorite scriptures is Psalm 126:5 "They that sow in sorrow; shall reap in joy." and Lord knows, I've had enough sorrow in my life. I honestly and truely believe that this is my time. Thats why I'm trying so many different things. one of these ventures has to pop off! Besides that God doesnt want us to be broke....We should have streams of income from a variety of sources coming in, and since child support is not one of them, I gotta make it happen on my own!
Well, I just hope that this pans out as something profitable. If not, thats cool too...maybe it can serve as my anger management since i can't afford therapy....alcohol is way cheaper! Now I'm going to go light up a newport and clean this house, since my sons have decided to have random science experiments brewing in various rooms at the same damn time......
Peace & Blessings
Chaune Braxton nee Chandrika Green
"hey Chaune!" you might say, "How can I reach you and see what you have written?" "well..." I'd reply "you can find me in a few places....just look below."
www.divadlux.blogspot.com
www.facebook.com/divadlux
@divadlux
chandrikagreen@aol.com
I have always been a writer. I wrote plays for my church, kept a journal, wrote poems, blogs, i'm on twitter, facebook, myspace, wrote long ass "women scorned" letters to ex-lovers and even prefer to text than talk, because it is easier for me to write. I never thought anyone really paid any attention to my life. I mean, yeah its important and interesting to me, but it is MY life....who knew so many people cared about what happens to me and my bad ass kids on a daily basis?? I cannot name anyones names, first of all because now that I'll be getting paid, I'm not giving up any royalties and also because I know I'll forget someone. But I want to thank all of you who have encourged and pushed for me to do something positive with all of my negativity.
Well, just in case any of you reading this actually can refer me to a real job, let me tell you a little about myself that you may not know, so that you can see what kind of craziness will be spewing out of my miniscule mind....
I am a thirty-something year old, Christian, Afican-American, single mother of 2 young boys. I am a Hairdresser by trade, a college dropout, former wannabe history teacher. I do not drive, I live in the "hood" and I take public transportation, which means i encounter all types of people. I listen to music like most people drink water. I love hip hop especially old school hip hop (not biggie smalls...old school meaning anything circa 1988 or before) I listen to all types of music, rock, country, pop, gospel, everything. Um, what else....let's just say that in all my years on this rock called Earth, I have seen and been through it all....abuse, rape, alcoholism, nicotine addicition, jail, drugs, sex, child birth, death, love, love-lost, pain...everything! And guess what? I can find something funny or sarcastic to say about it all! Life is way too short to be serious all the time. God wants us to laugh, otherwise he wouldn't have created man.
Now since I'm just starting out in this field, I don't know what prices to charge, or even how to actually get started. I'm just stepping out on faith. One of my favorite scriptures is Psalm 126:5 "They that sow in sorrow; shall reap in joy." and Lord knows, I've had enough sorrow in my life. I honestly and truely believe that this is my time. Thats why I'm trying so many different things. one of these ventures has to pop off! Besides that God doesnt want us to be broke....We should have streams of income from a variety of sources coming in, and since child support is not one of them, I gotta make it happen on my own!
Well, I just hope that this pans out as something profitable. If not, thats cool too...maybe it can serve as my anger management since i can't afford therapy....alcohol is way cheaper! Now I'm going to go light up a newport and clean this house, since my sons have decided to have random science experiments brewing in various rooms at the same damn time......
Peace & Blessings
Chaune Braxton nee Chandrika Green
"hey Chaune!" you might say, "How can I reach you and see what you have written?" "well..." I'd reply "you can find me in a few places....just look below."
www.divadlux.blogspot.com
www.facebook.com/divadlux
@divadlux
chandrikagreen@aol.com
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Another hole in my head!
ok, so i was just researching microdermal piercings. I went to have my labret pierced (the area of my lip right above my chin) and saw one of the workers at the shop with piercing right next to her eye, like she was crying diamonds. I thought it was sooooooo dope!! So I asked the price, started looking to see how it was put in. (a small piece of ur skin is removed and an anchor is placed in ur face which the earring screws into) and i was like "ok, i can take that. that wont hurt too much" I was all ready to go next week and get it.
But mind you I am 36 yrs old and although i love getting the piercings now, Im sure when I start having grandkids that they wont want me showing up at their christmas recital with earrings in my face. I've seen a nose piercing heal, had mine pierced twice. I know how a tongue piercing heals, I had mine pierced 3 times. When I take my labret piercing out, my lip is big enough that it will cover whatever hole is there. But i never saw how a microdermal teardrop looked when it is removed.....then i saw a video of them taking one out....
OH HELL THE FUCK NAW!!!!
I know we only live once but i dont need no help being ugly. I can do that on my own! lmao a lil hole from my nose or lip piercing is one thing. to have gaping hole and scar under my eye?? no thank you. call me a punk!!
Next thing I googled?? "Fake dermal piercings"....TRAGIC!!!
But mind you I am 36 yrs old and although i love getting the piercings now, Im sure when I start having grandkids that they wont want me showing up at their christmas recital with earrings in my face. I've seen a nose piercing heal, had mine pierced twice. I know how a tongue piercing heals, I had mine pierced 3 times. When I take my labret piercing out, my lip is big enough that it will cover whatever hole is there. But i never saw how a microdermal teardrop looked when it is removed.....then i saw a video of them taking one out....
OH HELL THE FUCK NAW!!!!
I know we only live once but i dont need no help being ugly. I can do that on my own! lmao a lil hole from my nose or lip piercing is one thing. to have gaping hole and scar under my eye?? no thank you. call me a punk!!
Next thing I googled?? "Fake dermal piercings"....TRAGIC!!!
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