Never Satisfied: Do Men Know What They Want? (11 page)

About six months into my wonder years, my mother became pregnant. John wanted to get married, but my mother was dead set against it. The decision was made to keep the babies and address the issue of marriage at a later date. Oh yeah, I did say babies. My mother delivered twins, two girls. A year or so after the girls were born, my mother broke up with John. She said he was smothering her, but I knew this was only an excuse to get rid of him. Her mood turned gloomy, and her patience thinned. The whole situation exploded. My father was back in the doghouse and now John was right there with him. This was the point in my life where I specifically recall thinking of my mother as a bitch. Not in a disrespectful way, mind you, but she was giving these guys hell. And low and behold, guess who reappeared again, my mother’s nosy instigating girlfriends. I guess it’s true what they say, “Misery loves company.”

By the time I turned sixteen, my mother had become a ruthless gold digger. She was determined to get what she wanted no matter how many men she had to go through. When the basement needed remodeling, she dated a carpenter. When her car broke down and needed major repairs, the carpenter was dumped for a mechanic. And when she wanted to spend the rent money to get her hair and nails done, she dated the landlord. Meanwhile, I’m sitting back watching and listening to everything, the lies over the phone, the late night booty calls, and the negative comments about John and my dad. She may not have been sexually involved with all of them, but she was definitely having sex if she had to get what she wanted. Witnessing all these lies and games caused me to lose what little respect I had for my mother. Deep down inside, I thought of her as an irresponsible parent and materialistic whore.

The day of my 18th birthday was the most dramatic of all the negative sights I had seen of my mother’s loose behavior. I chose to spend the night at my father’s house for the weekend to celebrate. We went bowling, to the movies and out to dinner. My mother wasn’t expecting me back until Monday morning. But because of a power outage on Sunday night, our visit was cut short. I tried calling home to let my mother know I was on my way home, but there was no answer. When I arrived home at 7:30 p.m., I understood why no one could hear the phone ringing. There was a wild party going on. The music was loud and strange people were all over the house drinking and smoking marijuana. The only familiar face in the room was big Bertha. I tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention.

“What are you doing here!” she said with a shocked look on her face. “What do you mean, what am I doing here? I live here. Where is my mother and where are the twins?”

“Your sisters are with the next door neighbor.”

“And what about my mother?”

“I think she’s upstairs, I’ll go get her.”

“I don’t need you to play messenger,” I said with an attitude. “This is my house.”

“Wait Cedric, don’t go up there.”

When I made it to the top of the stairs, I could hear voices coming from my mother’s bedroom. When I knocked on the door, a strange man’s voice forcefully asked, “Who is it?” That’s when I put my broad shoulder to the door and pushed it open. What I saw was disgraceful. There, lying on the bed buck-naked was my mother. She had a joint in one hand and the man’s penis in the other. And no, this man was neither the carpenter, the plumber, nor the landlord. This was a guy I had never laid eyes on. My first reaction was to swing the door back shut. I just stood there in shock while my mother excused herself to put something on.

“I’ll be right back,” she told him.

“Who in the hell was that anyway?” he asked.

“My son.”

“Your son! You didn’t tell me you had a son.”

“She’s got two daughters too!” I yelled from the hallway.

“I guess she didn’t tell you that either.”

My mother came storming out of the bedroom and dragged me to my bedroom. But instead of explaining to me in a calm manner about what had just happened, she had the nerve to bawl me out as if I had done something wrong.

“Who do you think you are busting into my bedroom like some kind of mad man?”

“How was I supposed to know you would be in there fucking somebody?” I angrily replied.

Smack! She slapped me across the face and grabbed me by the shirt.

“I’m the adult in this damn house, you understand. “I pay the rent, I buy the food, and I put the clothes on your back. So don’t you get smart with me!”

I was so upset I couldn’t even bring myself to cry. I wanted to pop her up side the head, but that was still mom. So, I got myself under control and calmly began packing up my belongings. Things were getting too deep for me around there, and it was time to leave. Meanwhile, my mother was standing with her hands on her hips, as if she thought I was bluffing. Within fifteen minutes I had stuffed as much as possible into my bags. I pulled the car keys out of my pocket and headed for the door. Everyone in the party stopped what they were doing to watch the show.

“Where in the hell do you think you’re going?” my mother yelled as she followed me downstairs.

“To my father’s house!” I shouted. “I’m 18 years old and I can live wherever I choose.”

“You’re not taking my car.”

“Here,” I said as I flung the keys violently in her direction. “I’ll walk if I have to.”

“Calm down, Cedric,” Bertha said as she put her hand on my shoulder.

“Get your hands off me, you don’t even know me.”

I gave my mother a mean look, grabbed my bags, and walked out the door. When I made it to the corner, I called my father on my cell phone. He must have run every traffic light because he made a half-hour drive in less than twenty minutes. On the way back to his house, my mind flashed back to all the terrible things my mother had done throughout the years. First, I thought about how disrespectfully she treated my father. Then I remembered the cold-blooded way she dogged poor John. Finally, there were the disturbing memories of all the men she used and had been used by. I promised myself that day, never to allow a woman to get close enough to break my heart or take advantage of me the way she did so many men throughout her life. And to this day, I haven’t. So, for all the women reading this story, ask yourself are you creating your own problems by setting the wrong example as mothers. How many women would date the sons they are raising? Just saying.

The negative influences of what goes on inside the family are often compounded by what goes on outside in the streets, or in the hood. This is the space through which the gullible young boy must travel to get to and from school, the local store, and the concrete basketball courts. Here is where the hardcore lessons of life are administered, how to walk with an attitude, cock a baseball hat to the side, and how to perceive young girls as bitches and hos. These disrespectful classes are taught on the streets each and every day while the irresponsible adults are off somewhere drinking, partying, or screwing. The peer pressure in The Hood gradually becomes the most powerful force in molding the young man’s mind. Many desperate parents have packed up and moved to the suburbs hoping to shield their sons from these negative influences but those efforts are often in vain because bad examples exist everywhere. The educated businessman with a revolving door of women can be just as negative a role model as the pimp on the street corner. All images are potentially dangerous if left unchecked.

Television, better known as the idiot box, is also a contributing factor in male infidelity. This electronic entertainer, educator, baby sitter, and brainwasher has a great deal of influence over our everyday lives. It tells us what to buy, who’s hot, and bombards us with images of the rich and famous. But it also alters behavior and distorts reality. Consider this, males between the ages of 13-18 watches an average of 36 hours of television a week. That’s a little more than 5 hours per day. And what are they watching, Family Guy, vampire sitcoms, and reality TV shows. And with the addition of cable, they have access to literally hundreds of degrading or dumbed down programming twenty-four hours a day.

When I was a kid growing up in the 70s, we were lucky to get 7 channels. And that was only if you had a good VHF and UHF antenna. The examples of promiscuity were limited to the secret agents and street pimp characters. James Bond, In Like Flint, The Mack, and Superfly were among the most popular. But today, it is the Rap artist and reality TV stars that have been promoted to the status of role models. Young boys are drawn to these celebrities like hormonal magnets. With all of the butt slapping, titty grabbing, and dissing of women going on, who’s surprised? Even many adult men are glued to the television like zombies. And while some critics may argue that art simply imitates life, I say it also has the ability to define it. Now I don’t mean to sound like some old fart that opposes the freedom of Rap artists and Reality TV show characters to express themselves, but let’s get real. Some of that stuff is downright disgraceful and degrading, don’t even try justifying it! The bottom line is, parents must stand up and take responsibility for properly raising their sons. Otherwise the television, and the streets will do it for them.

I would be remiss if I concluded this chapter without exposing the adult cheating man who also receives support from his family. Despite the fact that his relatives know full well that he’s married or in a committed relationship, they provide the cheater with an alibi to get away from home. In some cases they actually allow him to invite his mistresses over to their homes to engage in sex. The men of the family, who are often cheaters themselves, sympathize with the horny relative and provide him with a warm bed and clean linen to do his dirty deed. As one 40-year-old uncle said, “We men must stick together in our time of need.” I guess he was referring to sexual needs.

But what was most surprising was how often the women in the family were adding to this problem. As a matter of fact, more men admitted to having used their mother’s, sister’s, and aunt’s home for sex than any other relatives. This is just another example of women working against one another. While wives and girlfriends all over the country are complaining about the no good cheating man, these shameless female relatives are conspiring with their brothers, sons, and nephews to work out weekly sex schedules to carry out their affairs. Close your mouths; you know who you are. Some of you do it because you don’t know how to tell him no. But often it’s simply a case of, “Why not?” After all, you probably don’t like his wife or girlfriend anyway. And who knows he might even return the favor someday, right? This type of mentality plays right into the hands of the cheating man who needs all of the support he can get to remain irresponsible. With an unsuspecting woman at home and a loving relative to “Watch his back,” he can go on like this forever. The surroundings are comfortable, familiar, and most importantly economical. One woman’s reaction concerning this issue was understandably bitter, “If my brother wants to lie up all day screwing his whores, his cheap ass will have to pay for a motel room.”

Unfortunately, there are far too may relatives who don’t share her values. They will continue to allow the cheating man to use their residences as a whorehouse as often as he wants. What they fail to realize, however, is that by supporting his sex habit, they are preventing the over-grown little boy from developing into a halfway decent man.

NO MORE MR. NICE GUY

“W
here are all of the good men?” women cry. The answer to that question is simple; you’ve probably already passed them by. And if you haven’t, you probably will. According to the so called “Nice Guys” whom I’ve interviewed, “A woman wouldn’t know a good man if he bit her on the ass.” Now, before you denounce this statement as just another angry reaction from a few frustrated unattractive losers, take your own survey. Ask your brothers, uncles, male co-workers and friends. See if they concur with this assessment of today’s woman. Are you surprised that ninety percent of them agree? Well, you shouldn’t be, and I’ll tell you why. It is a commonly held belief amongst men that women are not looking for good men but instead are searching for unrealistic images. The ideal man must look a certain way, be a certain height, earn X amount of dollars, perform acrobatic feats in the bedroom, be God-fearing, have a good relationship with his mother, be active in the community, a good role model for kids, be sensitive, and do whatever it takes to make the woman happy. Oh, and one last thing, he must be all those men and still present a challenge because no woman wants a man whom she can boss around. Whew! It’s enough to make your head spin!