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21 more things = 42

The last post was the 21 things I KNOW at 42. At the end I said I'd consider writing 21 more things to make it 42 in total & then ...

Wednesday

Sorry Your Honor, I Object!


On my ride to work I tuned into one of our local morning radio shows instead of one of the syndicated options. My ride’s so short that it’s not really worth trying to submit to the mood of a playlist. Just when it gets good, it’ll be time to get out of the car.

So, the topic of the moment had something to do with fathers with full custody of their children complaining of the same issues as the mothers will full custody of the children. Apparently dead beat-isms don’t discriminate across genders. News? Not at all. There was one caller that stood out though.

This woman’s husband and her sister had a fling that resulted in a child being conceived. She and her husband had a child of their own, stayed together and took in the child born of the affair. This woman’s initial complaint was that her sister is trying to keep the child away from the father, since the child has been back with her-a child she allegedly didn’t want and gave up for the child’s first 7 years. The caller, when asked, went on to state that she had not brought the thunder to her sister for sleeping with her husband, that she kept him because her vows were for better or worse, and that she’s attempting to get custody of her nephew so that he can continue to be raised with his co-bro (cousin & brother).

The show’s hosts kept telling her what a good person she was for enduring this situation in the way that she has. At this point, I’m at work and parked but unable to get out of the car. I think I actually choked when they said she was a good person because I evidently don’t believe in what she’s doing. I was trying to figure out why the sister didn’t get served and why the sister is allegedly trying to cut ties with them instead of her cutting ties with her sister or, at the very least, setting some REAL STRICT parameters for any future interaction. Of course I wondered how, according to her, things were all good between she and her husband on the strength of him being remorseful and claiming it was a 1-time thing that would never happen again. I can’t fault her, after she’s kept the husband, for trying to keep the child, especially since she alleges the sister didn’t really want anything to do with mothering. But this story makes me itch right around the neckline of my Super Woman cape.

I know women do some wild isht in the name of love. We play roles we wouldn’t normally play, accept things we wouldn’t normally accept, do things we wouldn’t normally do. I AM such a woman, who has moved parts of me aside to accommodate parts of some Him to make the relationship work. In hindsight, that wonderful late-ass 20/20 gained perspective, I have realized that what was most necessary in those situations was for me to honor thyself and honor my deal breakers. I have taken enough heat, suffered enough heart ache and heart break supposedly for the greater good, recognizing WAY too late that He was the only beneficiary. This poor woman and her family are deeply entrenched in a situation(=drama) that will require the entire gang of them to seek and receive counseling. If she’d only honored some kind of deal breaker AND herself in the process, this mess might be headed in a different direction than it is now.

It’s times like these when I want to retire my Super Woman cape, or at least put it in the cleaners and misplace the ticket for a little while. We’re always overcompensating for someone else’s bullshit, and frankly I think it stinks. When I’ve thought deeper into it, I knew I couldn’t because that would leave me vulnerable to a different set of variables. At least with the cape, I can try to call on some semblance of strength when it’s necessary. My job is to proceed with caution or, rather, walk through life with my eyes open so that I can do a better job of surveying the landscape before I plant my flag and lay claim. I hope never to have to add this woman’s shoes to my outfit. I’m still busy trying to decipher my feelings on the matter and decide whether I think she’s stupid or…silly…or desperate. Either way, I’m VERY clear that those are not adjectives I ever want associated with my own name.

Watch me move [this aside and out of the way of my possibilities.]

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