When Chickenheads Come Home to Roost_A Hip-Hop Feminist Breaks It Down by Joan Morgan

Author:Joan Morgan [Morgan, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Feminism, Music, Writing, politics
ISBN: 9781439127407
Google: 8bGnDAAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00AK78QL8
Goodreads: 30984350
Publisher: Simon Schuster
Published: 1999-03-10T00:00:00+00:00

I will not be an SBW.

I mean it. If I’m buggin’ ’cause my check is late, the mortgage is past due, and there are no groceries in the refrigerator, I’m gonna tell him the truth. If I need him to hold me at night ’cuz sometimes the past is too much and the future is too uncertain, I’m gonna tell him that too. Independence is one thing but fear is another. Fear will make ya front like Superwoman every time. Pretending to be totally self-sufficient is a helluva lot easier than handing your vulnerability over to a man who might drop the ball. But since carrying it on my own has damn sure worn me out, I’m gonna take a chance and TRUST somebody. What’s the worst that can happen? At this stage in the game, me and Heartache are close enough to know it might hurt like a motha but it damn sure won’t kill me. If some fool drops the ball, I’m just gonna pick my shit up, dust it off, and hand it to the man who can carry it.

I won’t deal with ENDANGEREDBLACKMEN (or any black man whose lack of productivity I find myself explaining away with sociological injustice, childhood trauma, or basic hard-luck stories).

’Cuz I mean really, what’s the point? A man who ain’t happy, can’t make you happy. And like Mary said, happy’s all I’m trying to be. I don’t care what the songs say—my black woman’s love (sweet as it is) can’t save an EBM from himself. I still got love for my endangered brethren, no doubt—politically, culturally, and socially speaking. But people who work with alcoholics and crackheads don’t give their unhealthy clients an open invitation into their bed, homes, and lives and I don’t see why I should either. I finally realized that it’s possible to love a brotha and encourage him to do better without handing out an all-access pass to my heart or the pooh. The next time some fine-ass EBM comes into my life and I’m even tempted to slide him some rhythm, my SBW in recovery ass is going to remember this: Kicking it with a man who has a ton of problems your love can’t possibly solve is a great way NOT to deal with your own.

I’m gonna make the S-word in my relationships “Standards” instead of “Settle”—and I will not feel guilty about it.

A while back I was kicking it with this really sweet white dude and my girl asked me the “Is it true that white men treat you better than brothers” question. I thought she was tripping until I realized why she asked. Out of all the guys that were in the mix at the time—and they were several—SeanI was the only white one and the only one I never complained about.

In truth, he was a darling. Fine. Charming as hell. Always called when he said he would. Exceptional home training. No games. Treated me like gold. Great job. Great family. Loads of ambition.

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