I Heart My Hood

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Back before Harlem was sexy (again) and fearless gays led the gentrification movement in many of the country's roughest neighborhoods, the "hood" was just that, rough. Having grown up there, I claim full rights to exposing it for what it was; dirty, scary, loud, captivating, empowering and memorable.

Knowing the hood intimately, I was stupified by the middle-aged woman standing next to me in line at the gas station store. As she ordered three different kinds of lottery tickets and joked with the cashier about her misfortune in the day's games, I noticed that her shirt read "I Love (heart) My Hood."

I was immediately the-opposite-of-nostalgic as I recalled growing up in the hood in my attempt to understand her shirt's sentiment. Even though I lived there, I had a sort of "imitation of life" relationship with the hood. During the day, I walked and talked the upper east side (as much as a visitor could), but at night I moonlighted as a street-aware achiever in a place where you avoided eye contact with the figures looming in dark doorways.

I remember dusky apartment fires and finding a human head in the dumpster. I remember coming home from school and finding what I learned was a bullethole in our front door. I remember looking down on and envying the children who played in the chaos and knew too little of the world outside of Edgecombe Ave. to realize that their lives pretty much sucked.

What I didn't recall was loving my hood; I was ashamed of and revolted by it. Save the cultural havens that attracted regular kids and down-to-earth famous do-gooders alike, my hood was a miserable stain on the city. The elderly residents who had built these streets and were now scared to walk them -- hostage to rent control and a lack of alternatives; the unbroken cycles of generations of unwilling and half-dead victims fed and led by the resourceful drug dealers, pimps, and murderers; it was easy (understatement!) to run from that scene and those memories and never look back.

I wondered if the woman genuinely loved her hood, or whether she had simply resigned herself to the dysfunction. For all I know, she could have been a senior executive for a Fortune 500 who was thankful to her hood for imparting on her the strength of heart and spirit to claw her way to success. Maybe I, too, should be paying homage to my roots. Or perhaps my grown-up version of the survival tactics I employed as a child justify my judgement of this woman -- I make her wrong and misguided so that I stay different and better.

Reflection. Self-judgement. Sympathy and empathy. Anger. Disappointment.

As she drove away in a beat-up Oldsmobile with the garbage bag rear windshield and the empty-eyed children in her back seat, I wondered if she had put a fraction of the thought I had put into her, into me. And if she had, had she seen something of herself in me? Staring into my disdain, was she forced to confront and acknowledge her failures? Wonder where she went wrong? Feel shame for giving into the dysfunction so much so that she peddled the notion that the hood is even remotely lovable?

Even as I write this, I feel like a sell-out.

Like somehow I sold out because I got out.

I didn't love my hood and I never will.

And frankly, I wanted to slap her for claiming to.

Cut to me getting my ass beat.

I got out before I learned to fight, before I had to.

And for that, I am thankful.

What We Teach Our Children About Race

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We live where we do because it's diverse; with a blend of colors and
cultures, incomes and interests, dynamics and options, we picked this
neighborhood because we wanted to live around people like us.

In our hood-adjacent or "transitional" neighborhood, open
conversations on topics like race are more common than in more
conservative homogenous environments. In our current struggle to
create school options for our children, Black and White, gay and
straight, Subaru and BMW drivers alike discuss what others might
consider sensitive issues.

At a recent fundraiser for the charter school, a White parent told us
that she and her husband teach their children not to see color. Too
univested to debate that notion, my Black husband and I dismissed it.
No sooner did we buckle up to drive home than we chuckled at that
concept.

The problem isn't with seeing color, it's with hating or subjugating
people because of their color. We teach our children to see color --
to appreciate the differences a multicultural society offers. As a
matter of fact, our daughter proudly refers to half of our family as
the "brown team." While this is most likely a concept foreign to non-
colored people, primarily because White people have been beaten into
simply ignoring race altogether versus having an opinion on it for
fear of being seen as racist, we don't discourage our children from
identifying with what makes people different.

I don't want to live in a world where we all walk around pretending to
be the same because we're not. We do come in different colors and from
different places. We've had different experiences and learned
different things about being. Teach your children that color is art, a
thing of beauty and not grounds on which to base an opinion of a
person, and they'll enjoy the benefits of diversity. Teach them to
ignore it and they'll suffer the sheltered, ignorant, and wretched
burdens of a person trapped in a world without beauty.

Don't Give Up Anything To Be In A Relationship That You'll Want Back If It Ends

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I see it happen often and I usually support people making compromises in order to coexist harmoniously in love situations. But, I'd say there's a difference between giving up something you claim(ed) to love and letting go of something you really don't need or care about.

It's not the same thing as a man having an ex-girlfriend-friend when he starts a new relationship and feeling like he should be able to still interact with her in the same capacity. There are potentially catastrophic elements to that scenario. It's not the same thing as being a pack-a-day smoker when he meets her and quitting because she hates it.

When you give up something, not because you want to or would have done it anyway (or because it's physically disgusting or dangerous), but because you feel like you have to in order to be with someone, you are being weak and you will lose.

I believe that the spiritual meaning of "love" is lowering yourself to do something(s) for someone else when you don't have to. But how can you determine if the someone truly loves you for who you really are if they systematically motivate you to give up the things you loved before you loved them?

The What-Not-To-Do List for Men: 7. Bow-Chicka-Bow-Bow

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7. Deny that you like porn.

Simply liking porn doesn't make you a sexual deviant. You're not creepy or dirty or a freak (the bad kind). You're a man and men like naked. Porn is about the fantasy. The fantasy of a hypersexual busty broad without scruples or any of the sexual hang-ups real women have. Some of us, at least.

Your women doesn't hate porn. Your woman hates the idea that you find someone sexier than her. She hates the idea that you get something from porn that you can't get from her.

Ways to make your guilty pleasure more okay with her?

Talk to her about it. Don't shut down, shut her out, or shut her up on the topic. Take three minutes and state the obvious: Sex turns me on.

Invite her to watch with you. Don't force her, but give her the option. If this completely ruins it for you, make a decision. Which do you value more? Openness and peace in your relationship or the excitement of video-strange?

I'm not suggesting that you have give up porn-watching as you know it; that it will suddenly become the bachelor bathroom overtaken by a floral shower curtain and tampons hidden under the sink. All I'm suggesting is that you give your relationship a chance to embark on a new kind of intimacy. Open sexual dialogue in a relationship is not only healthy, it's an incredible turn-on. And once you finish talking...

Oh and, by the way, women like porn too.

The What-Not-To-Do List for Men: 6. The Number One Rule for Cheaters

6. The Number One Rule for Cheaters

So wrong on so many levels, I don't even know where to start.

First, you have no business cheating. If you love and want to be in a relationship with her, why are you cheating? Just bad. You have choices. If you want to sleep with another woman, then end your relationship and sleep with another woman. Otherwise, you're just a bad person doing a bad thing. A shell of a man, even.

Second, if you are too spineless to respect your woman, you should at least be smart enough to hide it. The only thing worse than a cheater, is a stupid cheater. NEVER memorialize wrong-doings! Are you actually going to spend time flipping through photos of your debauchery? If you are, for what? To relive the moment when you cared so little for your woman that you chose naughty, albeit exciting wrong, over right? Get it together! Don't be that guy.

Know this -- she WILL find out. If you're lazy and sloppy enough to save the pictures on your phone or computer, she will find out. If you post the pictures to facebook, she will find out. If the silly broad you cheated with has a death wish and sends you pictures of your tryst, she (your woman) will find out. It may not happen immediately, but it will happen; and often when you least expect it.

What to do if this happens to you? Or rather, if you do this to yourself? DO NOT LIE ABOUT IT! The only thing worse than a stupid cheater is a stupid cheater who lies (redundant?).

When faced with an irresistible opportunity for an extra-relationship tangle, choose the head with the brain in it and pass. Jerk off. Watch porn. Call the one friend who will talk you out of it (saying it out loud will likely make it more real which will make it less appealing). Buy a new bedroom toy to use with your woman. Go to Starbuck's and fantasize about the barista with the huge boobs, but do not cheat. Hell, write me! I'll talk you back from the edge.

The What-Not-To-Do List for Men: 5. Reckless Eyeballin'

5. Pretend you didn't look at the hot chick in the sun dress with the shiny naked heels .

It is completely acceptable for men to look at attractive women. Yes, I said "attractive."

One day, when my husband and I were dating, I said something to him about his reckless eyeballing. We were walking through a store and I saw him see an attractive woman. I swear that happened at least two more times in that store, so finally I said, "Do you want me to get her number for you?" Strained chuckle. Smirk. Sarcasm. Please don't call my bluff!

The funny thing is that I wasn't really jealous, I just had this idea that he shouldn't be man-eyeing other women. And, especially not with me standing right there...right? You know what he told me?

"I like women. I like to look at them. That's what men do -- they look at women."

It made perfect sense. Men look at women. And, um, women look at men.

While your woman should be okay with you appreciating another woman's good looks, your job is to do the following:

1. Don't ever deny that you looked!
   
2. Don't disrespect your woman by looking. It's okay to look, but looking is not okay. Don't act like you don't know the difference.
   
3. Show and tell your woman that she is beautiful. A woman secure in her looks and your appreciation of her looks won't have a problem with other attractive women. In fact, she may even consider them a healthy challenge. You know, a reason to stay on her A-game.

When I met my husband, he was a man. When I dated my husband, he was a man. When I married my husband, he was a man. And men like to look at women.

Men, don't let your woman act like she isn't on the receiving end of a little innocent eyeballing every now and then! And that she likes it.

The What-Not-To-Do List for Men: 4. Press "Ignore"

4. Not answer your cell phone when you and your woman are beefing.

The phone is ringing. It seems logical to ignore her call because, either she's officially lost her shit or, you're much better at being a jerk than you are a concerned partner. I'd rethink that move. Ignoring her call will trigger a series of events more insufferable than if you'd just gone ahead and answered her call. Know this -- she WILL call again. And she'll likely call several times before she recognizes your obvious disregard for her feelings.

My advice? Man up, answer the call, and tell her the truth.

"I can't communicate with you when you're upset. I don't feel like you're really listening to me. I don't think I convey my thoughts and feelings well. You tend to talk over me a lot when you're upset and that really bothers me."

"I don't feel ready to talk about this."

"I'm fucking exhausted because you've been asking me the same questions, all-be-they worded differently, over and over again for the last three hours."

Or, "I'm a man. We don't process chaos the same way women do. You continuing to push this will not get us anywhere closer to okay. I won't acquiesce. I won't agree. I'll just be more pissed and more exhausted. Less the way you want and need me to be."

Easier said than done? If you're in the kind of relationship given to constant beef, you'll have plenty of opportunities to practice this skill. At first you'll be shaky, but you'll be dominating the ring with suave pragmatism in no time. Of course, if you are in this type of relationship, you've got bigger problems. We'll get to that later in the list.