Posts tagged as:

family

Short Notes: A Family Thing

by Jose on September 6, 2009 · 1 comment

in life

Wu Tang Clan

Wu Tang Clan

You probably wouldn’t know it from the lack of information I’ve shared about my actual family, but I come from a single-mother household with one brother from my stepfather and a plethora of siblings, a couple of whom I didn’t even know of until I was 16. Much of that stems from lack of responsibility or maybe even ignorance, but I’m over that. It took years for me to realize that this reality, this diversion from the “American dream” had less to do with me and more about the ideals instilled in me from my surroundings and the parts of me I felt I was missing from not having a real positive male presence in my house.

This, and many other related thoughts ran through my mind as I had 2 of my cousins and my elder brother sitting around a table at Dallas BBQ last night. One would never think that a family this disjointed would find themselves boisterously enjoying Hennessey-dipped wings and hating on outside vagabonds. In true Vilson form, we also threw a few barbs at each other and the rest of our family for good measure. At one point, I found myself just surprised at the naturalness and the openness we’d all established with each other over the last 6-8 years, as if we had been together for most of our lives.

It also got me to thinking of the students I’ll have this year, most of whom I’ll have had for 2 years going on 3. How much of this consistency with these students has maintained my students who don’t have father figures in their homes? How much have I contributed to a family-type environment in that room? Do I contribute positively to their lives or am I just another stressor in addition to the various complications they have at home? Because I’m such an advocate for the socio-emotional development of my students, I find myself on the opposite side of the trends people follow around me.

For instance, a fellow math teacher told me she couldn’t put up inspirational poster boards because people in years past told her that non-subject-related posters were unacceptable, especially in a topic like math. To that, I retorted, “F* ‘em.” Sure, it was a little terse (and hilarious), but I also recognize the need for my students to love where they are, and know that they’re welcome and accepted somewhere, even with the rules we have. Too many students aren’t invested in school because a) their roles at home are elevated and / or b) they have emotionally / socially / economically broken homes. Some of us “educators” are far too concerned with complying with the state tests that we don’t teach them the critical thinking skills that will lead our students to help their own communities on a myriad of levels.

If not for my elder brother, ever the family historian, zealous salesman, and effective-problem solver, we wouldn’t have found that common bond between the Vilsons necessary to build those connections. Now, a whole generation of Vilsons, displaced by circumstance, can do things like terrorize waiters and customers at Dallas BBQ. Or for that matter, develop the extended family we never really had.

Jose, who tried to make this short, but this was far too important …

{ 1 comment }

Against All Odds

by Jose on June 16, 2009 · 0 comments

in life

2Pac In Backwards Hat & Chain

2Pac In Backwards Hat & Chain

Today will mostly be remembered for 2Pac Shakur’s birthday. The once and still prolific MC carried on a legendary life, evidenced by his persistent legacy and demigod status within multiple communities. He constantly ranks amongst the most profitable dead celebs, and his style continues to pervade some really popular MCs. People like me were also captivated by the man’s intelligence and his allusions to some of the most sacred and revered text we know to this day, and his profound understanding of the plight of the average urban Black male. Yet, we always found him such a contradictory figure, from his misogynistic lyrics to his thuggery, a reflection of his hopelessness in many ways. My late cousin could relate.

Those of you who know me personally also know that last year, my cousin died from an apparent drug overdose. (Even the details of that are shady). My thoughts turn to all the photos in his house, from graduating my same elementary school, to getting his high school diploma. I remember our fights, and the time he came back from jail after almost a decade, swearing off his previous lifestyle, only to walk away from his house when we dropped him off. I remember the random visits to my house, asking for money, or him calling from another small jail stint. I remember him coming to my house and doing little jobs for a few bucks, but suddenly disappearing once when we gave him a $20 to work on something. The next time I saw him was under a sheet, with his mom crying over him, and his brother checking under the sheet to reaffirm what he already knew.

It’s not that these men have some need for friends. Both were handsome in their days alive, and quite popular in their respective fields. My cousin had 2 beautiful daughters, and 2Pac left plenty of disciples and wannabes. They didn’t lack for intelligence, and their toughness is unquestioned in most sectors. We who are social polemicists and “thinkers” often criticize people like Pac and my cousin because they’re somehow “wasting” their intelligence when they spent the last year of their lives almost wishing for death. We can hear the tears seep through Pac’s music, where at once he’s forgiving enemies and wishing death upon everyone in his way, including himself. With my cousin, I saw the rings under his eyes and his facial expressions, tired from the crap the world had to offer him.

This is where many of you will be tempted to say, “Well why didn’t your cousin get a job and make something of himself?” My reply now, and will always be, “What are we doing for these cases when that’s not possible?” And when will we realize that the American Dream doesn’t look the same for everyone? When do many of our prophets, living or dead, get their props for booming their voices for the losers of this capitalist society? We can always be positive, but eventually, we also have to see the ugly, even from brothers so handsome.

Their deaths always give me pause in a way very few of us can understand. Even with such ostensibly different lives like my cousin and Pac’s, it’s almost like the way they met the end of their respective roads converged upon death. Ironically, on the same day my cousin died, my heart almost failed on me. But like today commemorates for so many of us, I chose tehse two men as inspiration to keep living.

A small part of me knows that I gotta keep a message of hope alive, against all odds …

Jose, who wants you to know I ain’t mad at ya …

{ 0 comments }

The Sounds of Quisqueya Call Me Right Back

by Jose on May 19, 2009 · 17 comments

in life

Jose In The Dark

Jose In The Dark

Today, Raquel Cepeda linked me to a post about Dominican-Haitian relations that she wrote on her blog, and for those of you who know me, you know I had to jump on that quickly. Most of you know my story already: Dominican mom, Haitian father, grew up conflicted about my identity and how people sought to mold it for me through their often contradictory actions, and eventually, I found my way to an odd but pleasant understanding of how my identity will work for me. It’s a gross summarization / oversimplification of the events that led to the man you see before you.

And even still, I have so many unresolved issues with my “mix” that I almost feel like I’m going to have to write those answers into the history books myself. For instance, why do Dominicans celebrate their independence from Haiti but not from Spanish / French rule? Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to celebrate it from those powerful empires and not a neighboring country that helped them become independent in the first place? Of course, the answers to these questions partly lie in one of the most reviled men of Dominican-American history, Rafael Trujillo, who ruled absolutely, almost like a now and forever king, except much more evil.

The ideas he helped instill (and ideas that many Dominicans were readily willing to accept) made way for people who’ve lived on the same island for centuries, have similar skin tones, foods, music, and DNA mixes to look at each other as completely different. It’s the reason why, when people look at my face, hear my talk, see my fluidity in culture, they’re puzzled and fight that feeling by stigmatizing my being. As a young man trying to understand everything around me, memorable quotes such as “Your lips are so big; you gotta be Black” and “How can you dance? You’re not Dominican.” or even “Man, this is the way we eat food here; you weren’t raised Haitian, so how can you be?”

I couldn’t reply in Creole. I couldn’t tell them about zouk and kompa, or that Quisqueya was the term that we both used to talk about our country. I couldn’t jump into a conversation because I hadn’t developed the ability to interpret conversation based on facial expressions. I couldn’t tell how hard it was to make peace with my stepfather’s ignorance about Haitians and how I felt so unwanted by my mother’s family because I came from a Haitian. I could barely speak Spanish either, except from what I taught myself to read and write. I couldn’t tell them to stop laughing at me for not knowing the word for tooth, or that I’d been to Dominican Republic more times than them.

Because I wasn’t Dominican or Haitian, even though I was clearly both.

But something funny happened along the way. Amidst the prejudice and pride, I used that disposition to assert myself as a whole everything. I am a whole Dominican and a whole Haitian, despite anything telling my observers the contrary. I will dance, I will eat, I will hear, I will speak. Not that I need to always prove people wrong, but icing is a really tasty part of the biscocho. I researched more than most of you care to hear, and got familiar with topics important to both countries.

And the crux of this discovery came from the sounds of Quisqueya itself. Wilfredo Vargas, a Dominican merengue artist best known for “El Perrito (the dog)” dance, had a string of hits in the 70s such as “El Jardinero,” “Cafe Con Leche,” and “La Medicina,” all very country-sounding merengues and all excellently written. In 2002-2004, I’d have these songs on rotation alongside my other musical obsessions of the day because my Dominican family played this during gatherings and parties. In 2008, while hanging with my Haitian family in Miami, I heard a song blair out of my cousin’s speakers. Oh snap. It was the same exact riff from “La Medicina.” All the melodies were there, and even the background singers sang the way “La Medicina” had them.

As Junot Diaz wrote in his meritorious book The Brief Wondrous of Oscar Wao, in one way or another, the island of Quisqueya always has a way of calling back its diaspora. In one way or another.

Jose, who solemny swears by his truths …

{ 17 comments }

Open Thread: Thankful

by Jose on November 27, 2008 · 3 comments

in life

A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving

A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving

My favorite Thanksgiving traditions involve my younger brother and cousin eating pernil (pork) from Mom’s awesome cooking, drinking tons of soda, playing NBA 2Ksomething, or Mario Kart, and then sitting in the living room after the adults left and talking shit. Just putrid and haterific shit. Most of it I can’t even remember, but I know most of it wasn’t even called for. Needless to say, my family traditions weren’t traditional.

Living on the Lower East Side in a time when I’d hear random gun shots fired, and darkness rarely evaded us, many of us were just thankful to live to the next day, when Chico was making murals for the deceased every 2 weeks. In many ways, I’m thankful for the difficult times growing up, because it developed my character and made me perceptive and resilient where others may have folded.

I’m thankful for family, wherever they are. As uncanny as my situation may be, we in the younger generation on both sides of my family have definitely taken the initiative to solidify our relationships with each other. I’d like to say it’s because we didn’t want to follow the example of our parents … well that’s the truth actually.

I’m thankful that I’m in the profession I’d like to be in. The opportunity to have an impact on any child academically and socially becomes too hard to pass up, especially in these days and time.

I’m thankful for my support system, especially my lady. Even though she’s got a lot going on, I know she’s someone who I can depend on when times get crazy.

I’m thankful for the opportunity to express myself, really.

What are you thankful for?

Jose, who wants some of that tasty pernil now …

{ 3 comments }

All For Naught

by Jose on August 12, 2008 · 22 comments

in life

Immigration in Contempt

It bothers me that the children of immigrants can so blatantly show disrespect to present day immigrants.

Let me give a little backdrop. I was in a car once with a group of young women, and one of them said, “I have very strong views on immigration.” I said, “I do, too.” (wink) She went on to talk about immigrants as if they’re that much different from us. Another young lady went on to talk about how they should be made to speak English if they’re going to be part of this country. Naturally, I’m looking at them, and the other young lady present, wondering how anyone could agree to these sentiments knowing the history of this country, and their own families.

For one, this country, the country that people love / fear and want to hold up right next to G_d, is in fact, a country of immigrants. Unfortunately, the indigenous people of this country were ripped and raped off / of their homelands, and had to settle in lands that these new immigrants made for them when they developed a system of colonization from sea to shining sea. And the definition of who was considered “immigrant” and “foreign” changed depending on who these higher-ups wanted coming in the country and who they sought to benefit from.

Nowadays, the descendants of these immigrants, the presidents, land owners, business executives, and billionaires publicly set an agenda of anti-immigration to instill a sense of nationalism in the rest of us. And what’s worse, we’re eating it up, even when many of us are treated like second-class citizens. What’s the difference between the trailer park and the barrio? The hood and the run-down suburb? Believe it or not, not much, but we continue to segregate ourselves because we have a misconstrued view of the class system here.

So, knowing all that, we now see that people who do come to this country, whether by visa or by more clandestine methods, come because they want a better life. When people see the word “immigrant,” they’ve been taught to think “uncouth,” “Mexican,” “tons of kids,” and “Spanish-speaking” by the images on television, newspapers, and their own government. Yet, there’s a group of “illegal” Irish immigrants working off Long Island right now, wishing they were home but thankful for making a little more money than they were back at home. There are Haitians in Miami who are locked into closets and kitchens for days on end like they’re attached to their brooms and pans just because they “have no rights” here in this country.

There are Dominican immigrants, Chinese immigrants, Indian immigrants, and all sorts of people just trying to stay alive in these hard times, but we want to chastise them because they’re trying to make money just like we are. We want them to speak English, when some of us have a hard time with the English language ourselves. We want them to follow the laws of this country when their only “crime” is standing on the so-called hallowed ground you do with a different colored card than we do. We want them to follow our customs, but if we have the nerve to criticize others for the lack of diversity in different arenas. We want them to stop taking our jobs, but too many well-to-do families pick them up from the corner and make them do menial jobs for slave wages. We want them to get the hell out of this country, but when these same well-to-do families have no need for them, they suddenly find la migra busting through their doors and they never find a means of naturalization.

And this is a bigger issue than I can tackle on my own here (though I could keep going, honest), but I think back to my own parents, both immigrants from their respective countries, and how they worked their way to where they’re at now. And more recently, I think of my older brother on my father’s side, who was considered for all intents and purposes a Haitian immigrant. He fought for 10 years to obtain citizenship, which we take for granted, but for him is the difference between a certain and an uncertain future, for the difference between being deported and just getting a ticket or two paid off if anything ever happened to him. When he became a citizen, he was practically in tears, because it was a culmination of all the struggles he’d gone through in this country.

Yet, even people related to him support anti-immigration policies. Thank goodness those opinions can’t be transfused in my blood …

jose, who doesn’t hate people, but has an aversion to half-baked ideas …

p.s. – There’s nothing illegal about any human. Let’s fix that.

{ 22 comments }

Ojala Que Llueva Cafe En El Campo (Hope That It Rains Coffee In The Field)

by Jose on July 22, 2008 · 16 comments

in life

Kids In Front of School In Rain

Juan Luis Guerra’s quintessential song is “Ojala Que Llueva Cafe En El Campo,” a song that comes across more as a incantation that the poor and hopefully at the least have coffee somehow fall from the sky to bless them, as if to say that G_d might bless them with their basic necessities to relieve them from their hunger, strife, and sorrow. Riddled with metaphors and as passionate as any song you’ll hear, it’s a reminder of how simple his people’s needs really are. In our own little way, we can be that “cafe” for someone else, not necessarily saving the children, but giving them what they need as well as we can.

On the first night that I landed in Dominican Republic, in the village my mother comes from, I almost immediately found myself teaching math, in a town in need of someone who understands how to turn “improper” fractions into mixed numbers, and how to divide. It’s scary that, even on my vacation, I’m put in the precarious position of trying to tutor a student on 2 years of math in 2 hours. The 16-year-old had a test the next day, and she didn’t really understand anything her teacher was talking about. Of course, that’s where I get to show off and make students wish they got excited about math the way I do. (ed note: Please don’t get it twisted. For goodness sakes, this is strictly PG if not G.)

Granted, a couple of things are at work here. First off, the environment she’s been raised in isn’t the best. The emphasis on education in the neighborhood is, to put it politely, disparate, seldom, and limited. There are a few residents of the hood who’ve done great things like try out for the Olympics and gone to Argentina and Spain (I’m proud to call them family), but most of the people in my neighborhood beyond that. There’s also the utter destruction of their streets, the filth that emanates from the lack of sewage and garbage transport, the violence and rape that’s occured and increased over the last 6-7 years, and what seems like an unresponsive government only concerned with getting their faces painted all over buildings and not reaching back to their supporters.

There was also her attitude. Her voice went from sweet to rancid in seconds, calling out her friends and passersby all types of names that I wasn’t too fond of. When I’m in an educational mind frame, I can’t help but roll my eyes when I’m cursing. Her friend, whose 2 years younger but who looks 10 years older, quit school (or was asked to leave) because of a prank she pulled on a teacher. Her own voice seemed to echo a naiveté about the consequences of her actions, and what most of my friends here deem as unacceptable (having a family really early) seems to be her destiny from the hints she dropped about herself.

Yet, the one slice of hope, and that’s when the next day, the girl I taught told me she definitely passed her math exam, and that excited me a bit. I also knew I couldn’t be there for the rest of her educational career to see her through “la universidad.” However, I did find something out about my little cousin Wanda that I would have never known.

She likes math.

A lot.

And she’s proficient.

Once I found out, my brother and I decided we’d sponsor her to come to the States, that is, if her grades remained at the excellent level they’re at. I put down a nice down payment, and all they needed to do was make sure she’d do what she needed. Not to say that the conditions here are the greatest, but I also find that the most successful people out of Dominican Republic have traveled to other places besides the other side of their country. They can follow the examples of Juan Luis Guerra, Aventura, Julia Alvarez, Junot Diaz, Amelia Vega, Felix Sanchez, and the myriad of underrated athletes, politicians, historians, writers, beauty pageant contestants, and television personalities that may come from their neighborhoods.

But more than anything, they can come back to their neighborhoods and be the coffee that awakens the people in their neighborhoods.

Ojala que llueva cafe …

jose, who’s taken some of the lessons from over there and applied them to his mindset here …

{ 16 comments }

Younger, But Not Little

by Jose on March 20, 2008 · 9 comments

in Uncategorized

Ralf

I love my brother.The herb’s birthday was on St. Patrick’s Day, and yet, another year passes and I couldn’t celebrate with him personally. He’s making big moves at my alma mater, doing everything I didn’t, and hopefully excelling academically. I wish him the very best in his growth as a young man, and as a brother. We didn’t always get along, but he more than anyone else made me want to redeem myself for my past transgressions as an aloof if not dispassionate family member on both my mother and father’s sides. He made me want to be a father someday, too, because of the struggles we went through getting adjusted to each other.

And I already knew he was too big for his britches when I called him up on Monday, and his voicemail was full. Must be all those women (and frat brothers) across the state leaving him crazy messages. I hate to say it, but with 300+ pictures and 600+ friends on Facebook, I admitted to him on Tuesday that he’s getting dangerously close to being more popular than I am, (which is fine because he’s more built for that life). He might have gone to every school I did, but he’s doing everything his way, and despite my nervousness for his future, I’ve come to accept that.

At times, he still needs guidance, but that’s what big brothers are for. Other times, though, my job is to learn from him, too, and not try to outshine him or outdo him wherever I go. Now when I go back to my alma mater, I’m referred to as his brother and not the other way around. It makes me feel old, but it makes me insanely proud. He’s his own star; I can’t always be the brighter of the two. But we’ll forever be part of the same constellation. I have a hard time showing it, but I’m honored that he represents me.

Younger, but not my little brother, Ralf. Happy belated birthday, and keep shining …

jose, the big brother …

Me and My Brother

p.s. – Joel posted a dope awesome Carnival of Education, so a big shout-out goes to him.

edit: by dope, I mean cool. My slang is very NYC-oriented. Sorry for the confusion. Moving right along.

{ 9 comments }

Our Father

by Jose on February 27, 2008 · 8 comments

in Uncategorized

Father’s Hand

I wasn’t supposed to write tonight, but I’m moved again.Excuse me for getting a little too personal, but over the last week, I’ve noticed the vital role that fathers play in their offspring’s role. Unfortunately, we still have fathers who won’t own up to being fathers, mothers who berate fathers regardless of how integral a person that man is, fathers who want to be great fathers but never learned, fathers who never wanted to be fathers to begin with but ended up liking it, fathers who love, who kill, who cheat, who work until their bones show, fathers who abuse their positions in life by projecting death, and fathers who despite their faults are fathers to their children.

Some social scientists and psychologists point to how many boys watch their own mothers and sisters go through some sort of abuse and at some point sympathizing with the mother but eventually turning on the victim and wondering how they could allow that to happen. When they grow up, they go on to mimic the behaviors they observed, subconsciously becoming the person they wish they weren’t, but isn’t that the beauty? It leads me to believe that there’s a potential, then, to reverse the negative, and redefine the role of a father, even in the most dire of straits.

This weekend, for instance, I got the chance to go see my fully recovered father in Miami, as I mentioned before. The effect he’s had on his children is profound, even when they don’t realize it themselves. The way they project themselves and treat others has traces of my father all over it. All of his children have a serious sense of humor and a charm about us that translates socially. Yet, each of us have a varying degree of cynicism towards the world, and that comes through in the sarcasm and insecurities some of us display (or displayed). Maybe it’s the way some of us belittle others, or aggrandize ourselves when it’s not that necessary. As water beings, we have a constant need to find a balance of some sort, and by going to one extreme, we can balance out the other extreme. Yet, that’s a reflection of whatever role our father played in our lives, how our mothers reacted to his oscillating presence, and how / if we ever grew from that experience.

Yet, in his most dire moment, close to death, we still made our presence felt near his bed in that ICU, hovering around him, in pain. Fortunately for us, he came back to consciousness. I can’t say the same for one of my good friends. Kel wrote a eulogy to his father on his Xanga, and honestly, it really cut me deep:

However, I did come to know that my father lived life by his own set of rules. And in accordance with his rules decided it was best to pursue his relationship with god on his own terms. In fact, my father said very little to me about life in general. My father never asked me if I did my homework or anything of that nature, which for a child I considered weird. Though my father never said much to me I was fortunate enough to observe his actions and decide for myself if those were actions I wanted to replicate. To some this may be a reckless, haphazard means of parenting, but I will say that it allowed me to become a man in my own right in accordance to my own precepts.

Damn. Underneath his admittedly apathetic exterior lies a man whose soul and heart no one could capture. He lives by his own rules, and thinks as critically as any human being as I’ve ever met. I discover today that influence is paternally genetic. It also makes me wonder if I’m ready to be a father. I’m already a bit of a perfectionist, and my experiences have only led me to believe strongly in the idea of a father, whatever that might mean when I’m ready. I’m far from. I have an ideal for what I want to be as a father, consisting of a boundless list of “not”’s and “don’t”s. Most of my friends have a negative experience with their father, but the ones who had a father in their family are as well-adjusted as people get.

So while I send my friend his condolences over the loss of his father and appreciate the traits I adapted from my father, I try to redefine for myself what a father means these days. Because G_d forbid if I dishonor the title of a father. It’s not just about being 1/2 of someone’s DNA: it’s helping to compose your offspring’s whole humanity.

jose, who’s still trying to understand his own father’s impact on his life …

{ 8 comments }

Short Notes: Somewhere In The Middle

by Jose on January 20, 2008 · 11 comments

in Uncategorized

The Fresh Prince of Bel Air family

A few notes of interest:

1. Yes, I cleaned up around here. Click refresh, and tell me what happens to that header. Do it a good 7 more and you’ll get your wishes granted ;-).

2. The oddest thing happened on Friday. One minute, my Feedburner says I have 83-93 readers, and the next, I have 299! Sick. What’s more, it goes back down the next day. Weird.

3. Yes, it’s my birthday on Thursday. Fun.

4. Memes that highlight the differences between men and women / Blacks, Whites, Asians, Latinos, etc. / rich and poor in a defensive and divisive way bore me to tears these days. I used to be enthralled by them when I was younger because I was able to contrast my unsophisticated observations about those differences and the ill-conceived notions of roles different people take in those stereotypes. While I agree that some stereotypes come from real research, I’m more ready to believe that those lists along with hack comedians and delusional, angry people make these lists up to reinforce divisions amongst the sexes, races, and classes when we’re really all people.

5. Cloverfield had an awesome preview, but it was an awesomely bad movie. Great effects, and snide social commentary that in some ways, I found interesting, but that ending was abrupt as all hell. Rather than make us think for a second, it made us think to leave. People in the audience laughed about as much as they were scared and grossed out. I wouldn’t watch it again, and I want some of my money back, but if you do watch, prepare for the worst.

6. Yesterday was my boy Omar’s birthday, and whenever we all get together, it’s just a mess of historic proportions. We went to Carmine’s, a popular Italian restaurant on the Upper West Side with family-style dining. Anyways, Kenny, one of the realest dudes and resident ALM (Angry Latino Man), Mike, my homegirl’s boyfriend, and Omar had a heated discussion (some in the restaurant might have called it an argument, but that’s besides the point). Every so often, I’ll interject with an off-beat joke here and there, but last night, I was more good for a hearty, body-aching laugh.

As I’m observing them, I notice that, on their side of the table, Kenny’s sitting on the left, Mike’s on the right, and Omar’s at front and center of the table, appropriate if not ironic. At first, it was pleasant enough, with each side making their points, but then it got really intense, curses being flung across the table and the rest of us caught in the crossfire. I’m all for political conversation, and all the participants brought up awesome points from their side. Yet, what struck me the most was how, after all of that, they’re still friends.

Of course, I was more on Kenny’s side of the argument, even if I was sitting on Mike and Omar’s side of the table. After all, how can anyone at the table argue against poor people when we were all the sons and daughters of immigrants or poor people? We were all the privileged offspring of people who had just enough of the essentials, and for many of our relatives and neighbors, they weren’t lucky or privileged enough to receive a college education and live on a a much better income than minimum wage. It’s easy to dismiss that when we’ve never had to experience that for ourselves.

Not to say that our fathers were anything like Phillip Banks (of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air fame), but we sometimes get the Carlton and Hillary effect, where the parents consciously protect their children from knowing about those struggles or the children live incongruously from that reality, concentrating solely on case study of self rather than percentage. Will, the hoodlum he is, often reminded them of the position they’re in and from whence they came, which is why Ashley, the most liberal of the three Banks offspring, turns out the way she does. She was still rich, but she got a better sense of what came before her, and that’s important.

But I’m a socialist by nature, so I’m inclined to this opinion, and I’ve already written my stance on all of those matters, but my opinion doesn’t dismiss their contributions to their families or their people. After all, we still shared our personal lives with each other, and ate from the same dishes. There’s still, inevitably, common threads of human decency that run through all of us at that table, and somewhere in between all of our arguments lied the solution: a huge plate of ice cream with all the fixings. We all sat there for a good 5 minutes, quietly letting the food settle. Mike ate the candle apparently, mistaking it for licorice. Omar and I laughed about stupid MySpace people. Kenny started hating on people. We left the restaurant and all went our separate ways, but we’d see each other again. As it should be.

jose, who can’t stop looking at his theme, and has Pearson and Aaron to thank for the inspiration …

{ 11 comments }

In Love With Two Women

by Jose on January 7, 2008 · 9 comments

in Uncategorized

Mother and SonA few weekends ago, I went to AnnMary’s crib, where I got to see Ray and my godson, Josiah. He’s a little browner now (as in more brown, people), and has got the ill forehead. It’s adorable how he’s got a big head like his father and his godfather. I told AnnMary that we might make this baby tri-lingual: English, Cantonese, and Spanish. He’d also learn merengue by at least pre-kindergarten from his own godfather ::ahem::, making him a certifiable ladykiller by 6 years old. At first, we laughed it off, but then she said something peculiar: “No, he’s not leaving me. I’ll always love him, and he doesn’t need any other women. Right Jo-Jo? You only need your mommy, yes you do.”

I can’t blame AnnMary; she’s the mom and that’s what moms usually say. Innocent mothers avoid that Oedipal complex as much as their sons do in their youth, but it’s rather unavoidable in its many forms. Our mothers are the first women we fall in love with. As gross as it sounds, it’s the first womb we come out of, and the first sexual encounter we have. Hence, it’s only right that mothers think of themselves as their sons’ first love. Yet, that mentality also creates a false sense of loyalty that inevitably puts most men in a dichotomous relationship between the “main woman” and the “other woman,” even if that “other woman” is not necessarily a romantic relationship.

It usually starts well past the aunts, female cousins, and friends’ moms because they usually pose no threat. He may look towards them sometimes and fancy whether they might make a better parent for them. They may even inspire visions of fornication in his youth, but usually the boy runs right back to his mother. The treat to the relationship between mother and son is that first girl that the boy likes. The mother’s there with her eagle eye, smiling with her full grin, but also shaping how the boy should think about the girl. Usually, the mother’s there giving sound advice on being a gentleman and just asking about his whereabouts, but implicitly letting him know that she’s the first woman, even when she doesn’t recognize it at first.

But the boy gets comfortable, and sees more than one woman, and that’s when the mother tries to pull in the reigns, which causes an equal and opposite reaction from the boy who starts to see his romantic life as a chance to cheat on his first relationship with his mother. That’s why most guys don’t give details of their whereabouts to their mother. The uncanny part is, the mother can pretty much tell all along what’s happening with his son; after all, taking residence in one’s womb for 9 months lets mothers psychologically hook up to the dude’s mental computer.

Once the boy gains some footing, and the mother realizes that her son’s grown up and out of that first relationship, they enter a new relationship where the mother’s still an adviser, but no longer the first woman. He has a relationship, which of course adds to the old axiom “You can tell how he’s going to treat you by how he treats his mother.” Yet, it’s the mother who he runs to for relationship advice, which of course explains, for some of you ladies, why your ex would come back to you and tell you their relationship problems. Even in the relationship, both women (whoever those two happen to be at the point) always make the man choose, and usually at the expense of the other.

Then of course comes the issue of cheating. All these conjectures I’ve made make me wonder if the idea of always having two women to be beholden to may contribute to the idea of cheating. We can always reason it all out by saying that a mother’s love is different from a girlfriend’s love, but indeed we learned the second by the first. We also think about how, after that mother’s love has changed during the growing phases, who fills in the role of the second woman? While we’ve all speculated the many ways a man would cheat, we never really speculate the myriad of reasons it happens.

And really, as a man, the only way to distract yourself from this onerous act of human behavior is to

1) immerse yourself in a non-human love (i.e. your artwork, poetry, etc.)
2) reasoning that the one you’re with is really the best option and there’s no need for anyone else
or
3) starting a family, knowing that the person you’re with might bear fruit to a daughter who will permanently fill in the role of the second lady. Not so much in a perverted way, but love nonetheless. And so begins the cycle of the Electra complex.

I’ve personally observed this with other men too often (not so much me, though I can see hints of this in my own life), and it’s eerie how they treat their girlfriends, and then treat their mothers after having seen them with their mothers over the years. At least their main women. Many dudes who treat their women like crap tend to have a frustrating relationship with their moms, while dudes who never had a mother around shut down so quickly after they get their heart broken.

Then again, little Jo-Jo doesn’t have to worry about that just yet. He can revel in random women pinching his cheeks and wanting to hold him in their bosoms while the men in the family laugh or get jealous at all that attention. And if anything, he knows he’s always got his mother’s love.

jose, who is sure to get a million and one questions, but this is strictly not a conjecture and not based on scientific research … unless someone has scientific research, then I welcome it, thanks …

p.s. – criticisms are welcome, too. i wrote this post over only a few hours of sleep ;-) …

{ 9 comments }

← Previous Entries