True enough, my papa was a rolling stone. After my parents divorced when I was 7, I told him he could have any woman in the world. Hot damn if he aint take that to heart! Besides the fly-by-night women he dated who would try to weasel their way into a permanent spot in his life by wooing me, there were the others who bypassed the line. It seemed like if a woman had kids, it was an automatic VIP pass. He’d allow her to move her and all her kids in. Suddenly I’d have a “StepMother” and “Siblings.” We were expected to love each other as such.
While doing my daily random Googling, I stumbled on some recent information on one of my past “brothers.” There he was in all his bad ass glory. Orange jumpsuit, Side profile, Front portrait, a list of charges, a life sentence. I wondered if I should do the “sisterly” thing and write him. After all, we were once semi related. That thought led me to another thought. Where are my other “siblings?”
Just as fast as these women moved in and gave my father the instant family he always wanted, they vanished. Most took some of my clothing with them. Out of all the women he dated, I only got to say goodbye to one. Her two kids and I sat on the floor holding each other while crying like orphans about to be split up in the NYC foster care system. She kissed me on the forehead and told me she loved me but my dad was an asshole. She grabbed her kids, a few trash bags of clothes, and that’s pretty much the last time I ever saw them. Suddenly, I was an only child once more.
Deep down I miss these sisters and brothers I acquired over the years. I secretly wish they would suddenly pop up on a VH1 Special: Where Are They Now? I wonder how they turned out. Do they still think about me? I even think about their mothers. I wonder if they ever found love. I wish I knew if some missed me too. Sometimes I even wish my father knew how these broken relationships affected me. I’d give anything to get a hug from the little girl I raised til she was 4 – her mother was on crack & was more interested in drugs n parties than playing mom. What hurts the most is, I know she won’t even recognize me.
While Sister Paterson has all the child raising skills of a naive white woman (Yes, even timeout), these women were black women with black kids. They taught me how to clean. They showed me what a real ass whoopin was. Some taught me how to be a lady. Others taught me about men and sex. A few even taught me how to cook. I learned just as much from their kids as I did from them, maybe even more. They toughened me up & taught me how to fight. I learned how to play in the street and get into mischief like a regular kid. I learned about music. They took my ballerina ass and turned me into a hip hop dancer. I developed skills like standing my ground in an altercation. I learned about loyalty. I was taught how to keep those boys in line and be a lady pimp haha!
This is just more motivation for me to become wealthy. Once you get money, people start coming out of the wood works. Hopefully some of those people will be my “siblings.” I never got a chance to give them a good bye hug and say, Thank You.