But I wish I had the kind of mother who sent me cards in the mail. The kind who never broke promises, at least not to her children, at least not to her only daughter. I wish she knew the name of the man I was in love with, or at least why we weren't together. I wish she paid my phone bill instead of vice versa, or I at least wish she said thank you for raising her sons.
I wish she had not become her mother, and I wish I was not becoming her. I wish I felt comfortable dating casually because I could tell the difference between using a man, and discovering what worked best for my life, because those two things are very different. I wish men did not notice me as often, or talk to me as much. I wish my whole day was not filled with responding to text messages from boys that I genuinely care about, because I feel like I am two-timing when they are not the only name I adore in my phonebook. I wish my day was filled with fewer "you are so beautiful"s from men I barely know as I serve them coffee, and more from the woman who tells me she is proud only when a celebrity tweets something I wrote.
I wish my family was not the kind to dwindle. I wish the names of the people in my life had not whittled from many siblings to mostly just two. I wish I had two solid parents, instead of sometimes one, sometimes none.
I like to say that "it is the little things," but sometimes, it just isn't. Sometimes the little things that I appreciate could be so trumped by the big things: do not think I don't envy people with money, with grand vacation plans, and expensive cameras, and wardrobes worth sharing with the world. I am a relatively humble human being, but I am just that: a human being.
I wish rich white men were not rich white men, and I can only hope this is their first life and in the next one, they will be nicer to other human beings because they will remember that life is dealt unevenly, and it is not always everyone's fault.
I wish I could imagine myself married with kids, because I think families are cute, and I think I would be a good mother, and a better wife, but I hate those titles, and I hate that women lose themselves in the needs of their berry stained children's faces, and I hate that men get to work and chase their dreams and it is harder for the woman when kids are involved because that "I only want my mother" stage lasts from something like birth to twenty-five years old at least.
And I wish I wasn't so selfish, but I am, and I want to talk about boys, and drink every night, and go to the bar where everybody knows my name, and have questionable relationships with all of the men in my life. And I want to fall asleep drunk on the couch with my girlfriends who I desperately hope not to lose to a man one day, even though it happens more and more all the time.
|She would NOT do this like I wanted her to do it.|
I wish I loved going on dates with boys that muster courage for months upon months to ask me out, but I cannot help that I would rather sit at a table in a familiar place with familiar tequila and warm chips and just-okay-salsa with people who are so easy to talk in front of, openly, without hesitations or potentially hurt feelings because if I say I don't believe in god in front of this Christian, he knows that I am smart, and still a good person, and I know he is too, and I think it is nicer to already know people than to have to get to know them, and I don't know if that makes me weird or socially inept or a prude, but I don't need the potential of a man holding me at night to make me feel good about myself because I have these conversations instead. I love being kissed, but if I don't see myself loving you, your lips will never be near mine and neither will your penis, and I would rather be this girl than the one who falls into the bed or the altar with however-many-men to feel momentary pleasure and acceptance. Patriarchal bullshit.
I wish I could blame all of the things in my head on either my mommy or daddy issues, but I cannot even keep track of where they come from at this point.
I wish I was simple and could date casually, and could love openly, and I wish I didn't chase complications and I wish I didn't like 'em unattainable and I wish men did not open up to me and rely on me and use me because they know I will let them when I become too involved because I love being the "only person who knows" the thing that fucked them up, and I wish I wasn't such a fucking cliché.
I wish I never worked Sunday mornings, because those are for mimosas and the funny papers.
I appreciate my mother's strength, and I am glad she passed it on to me and accidentally multiplied it by like a million.
I appreciate that I have two brothers that make up my spine and my heart and the few brain cells I have to claim. I appreciate having an older brother so that I have never slept with men who don't care about me, or really slept with men at all because I am too good to be that vulnerable with pretty much anyone I've met because I will always have at least one man who treats me with more respect than any other woman receives in the wide world.
I am so happy I really do think it is the little things, because when I am having a bad day, sometimes someone brings me flowers, and neither of those young men are my boyfriend, but they are both much more than that stupid title.
I appreciate the rich white men who fight the stereotype and learn from their surroundings, who push themselves to realize that because someone is Black, or on welfare, or without a home, or all of the above, all of our hearts beat the same, and all of our blood is red when exposed, and all of us have our stories, some are just more comfortable wearing them on their proverbial sleeves.
I appreciate knowing women who make great mothers, and who still read articles about race and politics and not just recipes to trick their kids into eating beets or whatever kids are supposed to eat these days.
And I appreciate my girlfriends who have husbands who make time for their girlfriends.
I appreciate the men who ask me out, because every man has balls, but not every man uses them. Hypothetically speaking.
I love Sunday mornings at my job, even though I dream of trekking out the door to the Ranch Room for bloody marys and conversation instead, but sometimes the backroom of your coffee shop is comparable to lounging on your couch, because sure there is work to be done, but there are also the moments when your dear friend brings in a paleo treat, you greedily try to eat it with an unstable fork to no avail, so your barista soulmate scoops it up off the ground and eats it no hesitations, claiming the "ten second rule," which actually doesn't apply to pudding on a tile floor, and all of that is much funnier than a comic strip in a newspaper.
Plus, we sell the paper, and mimosas are just as good at noon.