Childhood remembrances are always a drag, if you're black

    childhood rememberances are always a drag
    if you're Black
    you always remember things like living in Woodlawn
    with no inside toilet
    and if you become famous or something
    they never talk about how happy you were to have
    your mother
    all to yourself and
    how good the water felt when you got your bath
    from one of those
    big tubs that folk in chicago barbeque in
    and somehow when you talk about home
    it never gets across how much you
    understood their feelings
    as the whole family attended meetings about Hollydale
    and even though you remember
    your biographers never understand
    your father's pain as he sells his stock
    and another dream goes
    And though your're poor it isn't poverty that
    concerns you
    and though they fought a lot
    it isn't your father's drinking that makes any difference
    but only that everybody is together and you
    and your sister have happy birthdays and very good
    and I really hope no white person ever has cause
    to write about me
    because they never understand
    Black love is Black wealth and they'll
    probably talk about my hard childhood
    and never understand that
    all the while I was quite happy
So I spent the day with my grandmother yesterday, and we just hung out. I cleaned, received an heirloom dresser, it's gorgeous. It all went well, but then my mom came over and my grandmother and her were having a general discussion about fathers and my grandmother says, "just like her {to me}, she knows nothing about her father it's just a shame", and I immediately was extremely upset, and I wonder if that's the story that she uses to describe my relationship with my father to others. That's not the wording I would ever use to describe my dealings with him. I could know my father. It's untrue for me to say that he's never reached out before. It's not true that I've never communicated with him, that he didn't act like he wanted further communication. He did. But, as I said in the post "He is Not My Father" I didn't want to get to know him for fear that he would ruin the good image of what a father should be that my grandfather gave me. 
I didn't say anything to her in that moment, but it's been on my mind since it happened. I honestly feel like when people tell your story, it never gets the nuance that it should, and it's my pet peeve. I really wish people wouldn't do that. Please don't ever try and tell my story.  I'm complicated. My story and my relationships even more so. I'm a loner, slow to warm-up, introvert. I'm happy in that. It's me. I would be unhappy if I was anything else. I also feel like it's one of the things that's kind of an issue with the blog, because I'm so open on here, people think that they know my story, the complete picture, or everything about me. There's no way that anyone could. I focus all my posts on a central issue or lesson I've learned. Things get left out. I purposely keep some of me to myself. My cup is full, and you're getting the run over. 

I just felt like I needed to say that.


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