Why I Dont Miss Dreaming

If my parenting experience was a bottled beverage, it's brand would be "Simply Tired". It may not sound delicious but it's honest, no frills and with or without the pulp depending on the season. I am a working class mother. In the little time I do have away from my 4 year old, I'm piecing together resources to make family life a more seamless experience. I do a different kind of self-discovering from a single and curious young person with CEO dreams, where I figure out what's best for us and would improve my family's prospects. My 20's have been unglamorous by popular standard. I have to consider other people when I act so there's little room for looking agaze into the "what ifs". I don't get to dream and I'm fine with that. 

My father did not get to dream. He served as a marine and attended John Jay College with hopes of being a lawyer. He worked as a correction officer for the NYPD and was fired as a result of what he described as a being targeted by racist supervisors (early 80s). His career descended with out financial support but he could not just flee away from family because of dreams derailed. He didn't blame my mom or feel sorry for himself and worked as a city bus driver for 25 years after that. My dad stayed tight lipped and worked overtime to make sure we were in a better position than he ever could ever be. I am better because of him. He had other mild talents that could've estranged him away from us but that wasn't a thought. He's now retired with properties in his name and getting ready to open a general store in his hometown. He's a hero, and by no means do I devalue his hard work because he "wasted talent". 

Missing Solidarity

Daycare is expensive! I will be honest, when moving to a new area I forgot to consider this amongst the list of qualities to live comfortably with my 3 year old Kylie. I had a vague idea of how much a nice school would cost, but I could house Kylie in her own studio apartment with a month stock of groceries with some of these prices I've found. Do I settle for a mediocre school for now and do damage control when she's home or fork out the extra money? I have to decide. It's decisions like these that make me miss the solidarity that would comfort me as a mother. To just have some one with whom I could confer.

Missing something I never had.

I never had a tribe of people to fall back on when making decisions like these. I was raised with 3 sisters, the youngest and adopted. When I was pregnant I was happy and but harshly prejudged. I was regarded as naive. This was untrue. I felt complex feelings, enthusiasm and concern as any mother would at any age, younger or older. Even after having Kylie I received some gifts on occasion and complements but any glimmer or enthusiasm about my future seemed to dissipate from associates. It wasn't just my sisters judging me, but many non-mothers around me too. At 21 years old I had already experienced school while working and paying rent plus bills in an expensive city (NY). I knew I had the talent and skills to survive on my own and I was always the person encouraging others that they could anything the set out to do! It would have been great to feel support and enthusiasm but I just didn't get that a lot. So I became my own supporter.

How My Hair Became An Accidental Political Act

I was not trying to rebel, or to lead a counter culture of curly radicals by wearing my hair in its natural form but for some reason thats how some people receive me. To start, I would like to say I liked my hair straight when it appeared to be healthy, and yes I say 'appeared'. Deep conditioning could only fix so much heat and chemical damage. Getting trims routinely did help downsize my split ends but there was still something missing. I never felt like "myself" when styling my hair. I was curious about my unscathed hair texture.

My entire life until I was 22 I was told what to do with my hair. "You need a perm" was suggested to me by my mom or my hairstyling sister whenever my unprocessed roots would grow in. One day I decided to pick up a scissor and cut it all off. It was scary! I felt immediately free and sad. I admit I criticized myself somedays, dwelling on my previous hair length but remembering my goal kept me grounded. A miracle happen one day, I didn't care anymore! I'd receive tons of backhanded comments being the first in my family to try this. I was compared to celebrities with "wacky" hair styles and routinely stigmatized by strangers as a rebel, a feminist or "earthy". What is "earthy'? I don't know. I even had a white man say I reminded him of Erykah Badu. It was a reach. A comment from someone who favored Eurocentric beauty standards or someone who stereotyped me as an incense lover always opened a conversation about my hair. The who, what, and why was addressed and I wasn't afraid to set the record straight.  I didn't plan on having to teach and defend my decision but I have gained a lot from the curiosity of those brave enough to ask me about it. This in itself is a political act.

The Great Risk + The Best Of Atlanta

I knew at the beginning of 2013 that it would be a year for great risk taking. I wasn't happy with Kylie in NYC at the New Year. I felt like a mother consumed by the huge city that once enticed and raised me. Small details like the attitudes of people when I got on the train with a stroller made me second guess my staying. Kylie's dad was knee-deep in his career. She only saw him in between meetings, shows, recording and appearances. Then my dad retired, taking my mom and closest sister to Virginia. Should I go? I was alone.