By E. Joyce Moore

ON BEING MARRIED TO A BLACK MAN

ON BESTFRIENDS

We women sometimes think that we can make a man into what we want him to be rather than either accepting him as he is or moving on. The key rule in any relationship is that you cannot change anyone but yourself, so if you don't like who s/he is, why are you with him or her? There is a huge difference between trying to change someone and supporting the person who has chosen to change. The difference is that the person has to voluntarily express a desire or willingness to grow or change in a given area. Your support comes in teaming with the person to generate the change, offer positive reinforcement, opinions when appropriate and asked for, and to set the example when it needs to be set. It may also mean that there will be times that you have to allow them to fall to rock bottom, no matter how painful that is, and make a decision from there as to the direction he or she plans to go. When setbacks occur -- and they will -- don't criticize; strategize and regroup. By the same token, if the setbacks are more consistent than the growth, do a reality check. You may be doing nothing more than enabling bad behavior that s/he has no real intention of changing.

If I were a strong black man, here is a list of what a good black woman could do for me:

Don't be so quick to criticize. I get enough verbal and non-verbal criticism on a daily basis just by being Black, male, and in America. Granted, I do dumb things sometimes, but I am human and not perfect. Please take the time to find out why I made those mistakes before you tell me how I should have done it.

If you and I disagree, let's keep it between us. Don't take our personal issues and weaknesses out into the street. It is hurtful to be made fun of and criticized in front of our family and friends. I will have a hard time trusting you with my thoughts and feelings if I believe that you will use them against me.

I am not your child, so don't treat me like one. We are partners and equals. Some of my weaknesses are your strengths, just as some of your weaknesses are my strengths.

Don't plan on changing me into what you want me to be once I am committed to you. I have taken the time to get to know you and let you get to know me, so you know that this is who I am. While I plan on continuing to grow, I won't let you re-define me

I need for you to need me without being needy. I need for you to be strong and independent, yet allow me to be supportive and encouraging.

Don't compare me with other men who have been in your life. I am not them. I am not your father. I am an individual with my own strengths and weaknesses. I don't want to be measured by anyone else's good or bad behavior.

If I treat you well, it's not a sign of weakness. Don't mistake my niceness for weakness and try to control or misuse me. Being good to you is part of who I am and what I do. If you've never had it, just trust that I believe that you deserve it.
I need for you to be confident in yourself, so that you can be confident of our relationship. Jealousy is a turn-off for me.

Don't use another human life to capture me. Getting pregnant will not make me love you if I don't and won't make me stay -- especially if you were deceptive about it.
As you grow, keep in mind that I want to grow with you, so don't shut me out. We can and should grow as individuals, and we can and should want to contribute our individual growth to our relationship without worry of competition, threat, or jealousy.

Sometimes I have to be by myself to work things out in my head before I can talk to you about them. Be supportive by giving me room to grow on my own.

Respect my need for individual space just as you would expect me to respect yours. It's important for both of us to maintain our individual interests and friends, sharing them when it makes sense and allowing room for them when it doesn't.

Sometimes I need for you to really listen to what I'm saying behind what I'm saying. To do this you would have to know me very well, so get to know me, not who you think I ought to be.

If I am disrespecting you, then I am disrespecting myself. If I am knowingly using words, actions or other people to abuse you or our relationship and I choose not to change, your staying will be good for neither of us.

I am trying to be a good man in the best way I know how. Don't try to change me into what you think I should be. I hope you knew who I was before we started this relationship, and if I am not what you need then don’t stay; you are doing both of us a disservice.

Don't try to control me, and definitely don't try to control me through sex. I would never trust you again.

Respect my decisions even if you don't agree with them. Don't go behind my back and fix it your way. I would never trust you again.

Be strong enough to stand your ground but soft enough to give a little when I fall.

Be generous with your time and your love for me.

Excerpt from "Gettin’ to the Good Wood"
E. Joyce Moore
Freelance Writer
Author, Gettin’ to the Good Wood"
Contributor, Chicken Soup for the
African American Soul
www.blackboardjournal.braveblog.com

I am a loner. Have been since childhood. Odd to say, given that I have five sisters and brothers and my Momma was the unofficial mother of the neighborhood back then. "Back then" is when most times you could leave your doors unlocked, when everyone knew everyone in the neighborhood and most knew "Miz' Moore. " She was one of the few stay-at-home mothers around. Yes, we were poor, but with six children someone better be around to raise them. As it turned out, she about raised the neighborhood. I wasn’t good at making friends at all; in fact, I simply shadowed my older sister through high school (she was only a half grade ahead since my mother let me go to school at age four). I claimed her friends as mine by default, since she couldn’t go to parties, ball games or basically anywhere unless I went as well, but that’s another story. I usually spent my free time lost in a library book. I would go to the library every four days to pick out the maximum number of books. I could lose myself in them, make the characters my friends and drown out the reality I existed in. My remedy for loneliness.

Betsy and Tacy, the five little Peppers, for whatever reason, I related to them. I never thought of my relationship to my books as odd until one hot summer day, I overheard my father asking my mother what was wrong with me, since I was never outside with the others…I just sat in my hot room reading until the sun lent the last of its light to the pages of my book.

Cheryl and Melda were my best friends in college. We were dubbed the three musketeers, because we never seemed to be apart. We knew almost everything about each other. The only time they were ever really mad at me was when I sneaked off campus to go to a Commodores concert in the next state with a friend who had a car and was only going to take the fellas. He made me swear not to leak it to anyone – even them – and I did so love the Commodores. But the anger melted after a couple of days and all was well. Cheryl was a tall, gangly country girl who actually loved country music and played really good basketball. Melda was a feisty Texan with a big heart and a tongue that didn’t mince words. Melda was the one who came and played Marvin Gaye records with me until one in the morning to spite my prejudiced roommate who went to bed every single night as soon as I got in the room. Cheryl always did the unusual things that made us all laugh, like the time she took a can of pop to the movies and when she popped it open – at just the right moment – it created a fountain that shot straight up in the air. We were always there for one another. When Cheryl was afraid to try out for varsity basketball, I tried out with her – even though I never played in my life. (Yeah, I looked like an idiot, but she was my friend.) Or the time Melda called me from her dorm screaming. I ran all the way there and found her covered with lumps that we later found out where hives. Melda never dealt with stress very well. I used to have to find her scissors and hide them when I knew she was having boyfriend problems. When she couldn’t control anything else, she cut her hair off. And she had great hair. Or when, years later, Cheryl’s husband – who we later found to be an abusive alcoholic – had her admitted to a psychiatric ward in Indiana while they were there visiting relatives. We both went to her side and spent hundreds of dollars on phone bills trying to find a legal way to get her out. I still remember that it was the day after my party that he got her committed. I lived in Chicago and had been looking forward to seeing her, since she seemed to have almost disappeared once they got married. When they finally got to my apartment, I remember how anxious she seemed and when I overheard her begging him to let her stay for a half-hour, I was furious. I had no idea that big, mild-mannered Ralph was the kind of guy you don’t see coming until it’s too late. He was mean, manipulative and maniacal, and we learned later, a drunk. Even after a child and divorce he stayed in control. California law wouldn’t allow you to take your child out of the state without the other parent’s consent. So she stayed. She still had the tendency to be the victim though. Even let some woman move into her house – at the behest of her minister – who then manipulated until her grown son was also in the house. It took a lot of talking to get her to kick them both out. Almost immediately she took a romantic interest in a doctor who was married. By then I was weary with the constant drama. Then, suddenly, she stopped taking my calls. I would always get the answering machine. Melda got the same. We discussed it and decided to give it time. I would call each week, and then it became each month. Finally, I got tired of calling and left a message letting her know that if I didn’t hear from her, that was the last time I was calling. I don’t think I called again. I never knew if she had gotten into another relationship jam or if she somehow let Ralph back into her life, after all the pain he’d caused her.

Melda and I remained close for a long time. We had planned to move to Atlanta together, then my job transfer fell through and she was stuck there by herself. So I would drive nine hours every month to go visit and party in Atlanta. When I was in pain over my chosen breakup with my first love – the one with the ever roving eye and betraying tongue – she helped me keep my dignity in tact when he showed up at my house during a party she happened to be in town for. It wasn’t all bad; she met her husband in Atlanta and I fell in love with the city that no one actually lived in. I was maid of honor in her wedding – complete with the ugly dresses selected at the last minute by her sisters, who could not understand why I was chosen over them. We had a brief and painful experience with the three’s-a-crowd affliction that comes when other relationships alter close friend relationships. Melda gave me her usual straightforward view of things and all was right with the universe again. What I loved about us is that no matter how long the time span between our conversations, we always got right back into the rhythm of our closeness whenever we spoke. But things changed when our common spiritual beliefs were no longer in common. Her husband became hostile towards me, though she attempted to maintain status quo. I think the corner was turned in our relationship when she called to say that they were coming into the town I was living in to bring their son to college and would call when they got a firm date. I waited anxiously for a call that never came, even after I had learned that they had come and gone. It’s been well over a year since I called Melda. I had tired of being the one who always called of late. It was the last time.

I am a believer in the concept that you should always marry your best friend. When I met him over the phone it was the most amazing experience. I had called about business; over two hours later, it was as though we’d known each other for years. In the weeks that followed, we learned absolutely everything about each other. It seemed impossible to grow so close without being in the same place at the same time. But we understood each other intimately. He was happy. Then a crisis occurred and we withstood the storm together. Even his mother liked me and often said that she was so happy that I was in his life. But then happiness was stilled by the proverbial "other woman". He had what he believed to be a platonic relationship with a married woman. After talking with her, I knew that in her world, she was having a platonic affair. Jealousy ultimately raged, and she won the war. Our conversations became stilted and controlled – by him. I was reminded of what Alice Walker said: "No person is your friend who demands your silence or denies your right to grow." I began to feel stifled and stilled by the invisible shadow cast over our relationship by the whisperings of another. I told him from the very beginning that I don’t compete; he never understood that there was a competition.

In all the lessons I’ve learned about friends and best friends, I discovered that relationships are like the tides of the ocean. They flow in with all the warmth of the sun, surrounding you like a comfortable blanket, but can ebb away, leaving you in the coolness of the evening breeze amidst the broken shards of memories that echo the mourning of friendship lost. I have learned to be more selective about the relationships I develop, as I stand atop the pinnacle of the second half of my life. I have learned that it’s perfectly fine to have many acquaintances, very few true friends. Friendships are like diamonds, one has to be very selective about the quality. All that sparkles is not necessarily of value. Time will tell as to whether I again find friends who fit the category of best friend. Although the relationships could not withstand the test that life, circumstance and people gave them, for the time I was there I knew what love, loyalty, trust, and true intimacy of the heart felt like. I know what it feels like to be complete free to grow and be just who I am, and be loved for it unconditionally. I now understand that trust isn’t an investment blindly made but, rather, is a natural response to another’s trustworthiness. Trust follows trustworthiness – not the other way around. So when that intimate relationship called best friends comes again, I will remember what it feels like and embrace it fully for as long as it lasts.

E. Joyce Moore
Freelance Writer
Author, Gettin’ to the Good Wood"
Contributor, Chicken Soup for the
African American Soul
www.blackboardjournal.braveblog.com

Contact Us

Guidelines