I used to be one of those African-American women in the 1990’s that drank the Cool-Aid of only needing a man as a sperm-donor. I beleived the hype about being the independent single-mom that could do it all by herself. During that time I was in my early 30’s and had almost eery self-help and motivational book you could think of at the time. The Oprah Winfrey Show was like religion to me. When I look back at my life and the poor choices I have made, there is a shame of shame covered by a dying sense of ego.
I tried to work things out with my boyfriend and childrens’ father, but he was a convicted felon and after carrying both him and my family financially, things did not work-out. It took a while for me to realize that the reason many of the hite women that chose to pursue the life-style of the independent woman, had a support system in place. They had friends, family, and even responsible men that stepped up to the plate and eventually supported them. I had nothing more than a professionally unmarketable black man with braids, frustration, and anger that looked good and had a terrific penis.
So, like some black women going into the new century, I decided to scrap my plans of following the social tradition of the black woman sticking by the black man just for historical and symbolic sake I chose to specifically find a white guy to give me the life-style me and my children deserved while shaming my ex into taking his place as an insignificant by-stander. I moved from Compton, California to South Florida after eeting a wealthy white investment fund manager. It was total bliss for the first three years with international travels, driving exotic cars I could only dream of and living in a 25,000 square-foot mansion. He embraced my family and extended family, assisting them financially. I ws a member of many of the social and civic organizations while gaining a good reputation among most of the white elites.
One day I took a friend of mine from Los Angeles to the country-club where I was a member and that is when I had my first reality check. We were not seated and the manager encouraged me to contact my husband. Before oing so I asked a few more questions to find out why we were not admitted. That is when I found out the truth, he did not trust me enough to make me a full member to this exclusive club, but as an associate member based on his approval each time I visited there. I drove home furious and confronted him. The conversation was completely unexpected and harsh. In no uncertain terms, he did not approve of me bringing “those people from the hood” into the fold. He made it clear that he had done me a favor and literally threw everything he had done for me and my children in my face.
Embarrassed by my girlfriend hearing the some of the conversation, I took her back to the hotel and gave her some money to help her out. She did not look at me once while driving her there and got out of the car without saying a word to me. I could not beleive that after all of the years of struggling an being so clode that our friendship was permanently severed. On my way home, I began to replay in my head some of the warning signs such as seeing other interrr\acial couples with the wealthier partners and spouses speaking to me while the minority partner turning away or deliberately avoiding me.
A few weeks after that, I was served divorced papers by one of his friends and never saw my husband again until court. He threw a few hundred thousand dollars to me like I was a hungry dog and on the day I had the movers get my things, he stood at the door-way with his new Filipina sweetheart. I took y kids and relocated to Las Vegas and since then, I have managed to see them graduate from high school. Now, I am in my 50’s alone and unfulsilled like that optimistic lady in her 30’s back in the 1990’s. I find comfort now in numbing myself to love and romance while allowing men that are interested in me to enjoy sex with no string-attached. My girlfriend now lives here in town, hppily married to a black man that makes a meager living, but loves her. Mabe, some where along the line, I should have considered the long-term issues and not used my kids as motivation to make the choices I did or my own selfish decisions to expose them to this world.
I can now own my mistakes and have no guilt or remorse when a man I meet on the Internet comes to Vegas to take care of my womanly needs. Somewhere in my head, I still think they deserve to be between my legs than the bastard I had my children with all those years ago.
Julia S. — Las Vegas, NV