The days of my father and I going to the movies almost every weekend and being close friends hit a big snag as I started growing up. As I approached puberty, my interests began to change. Instead of wanting to be with dad, I wanted to spend my weekends with friends, by myself, whatever. Hanging with dad started to become very uncool and embarrassing in my eyes. My father has been a big man all my life and being seen with him in public, for the first time, became an irrationally bad reflection on me all of a sudden. I started liking baseball more than anything my dad wanted to do with me. I stopped sleeping on my half of the double beds my father had in his apartment and turned the living room in my bedroom in part because he snored like a treecutting beast, but mostly because I wanted the privacy that all teenagers start to want. And girls held my attention a lot more than papa did!
: )
These changes bothered my father because his buddy was slipping away from him. Instead wanting his company, his buddy wanted his allowance to do other things. Dad was no longer as relevant to his son and it hurt him as a person. At the same time, my father was undergoing his own transformation. No longer drinking, dad picked up the next time natural thing--smoking. From smoking, he became a passionate reader of books, newspapers and magazines and this led into my father becoming more socially active in the black progressive movement within Harlem. Growing up in the Jim Crow south, my father already seen and had all the racism he would ever need exposure to. Jim Crow and meager job prospects in North Carolina eventually brought him north, only to find over the years, more racism in the Big Apple. With alcoholism in his past, my dad wanted to feel like he was doing something to effect change in the way people saw life as it was.
And more than anything, he wanted his young black son to understand how racism works and manifested itself, and to be prepared for it.
However, there would be major clashes between my father's educational desires and my actual life experience with people. I didn't grow up during Jim Crow, but in New York City in the 80s and 90s. More to the point, between attending a school that essentially taught its students the value of critical thinking about everything and a mother who preached (and showed) the importance of judging all people on a character basis, I had long developed my own means of viewing people. This allowed me to have friends from all walks of life regardless of race and I preferred the diversity. My father saw this as me being being ignorant of racial issues, or more often, as me being a 'sellout' for having genuine friends of other races.
(BTW, I clearly had and continue to have black friends. I met my best friend to this day back in 8th grade. He's black and grew up one block block down from me in Harlem).
The difference between our ideals ate away at our connection. I rooted for the Mets largely because I taught Darryl Strawberry and particularly Dwight Gooden were the greatest baseball players on earth, but my father always accused me of likely the team because they have more white players than the Yankees. When it came to women, my father also got into his head that like a black male sellout, I only had eyes for white girls with flowing blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. In truth, I didn't (and still don't) discriminate. I had (and still do have) an eye for all kinds of women of every shade. Even now, my father will feign resignation that he will be grandfather and father-in-law to some white woman he will have to grow to love.
It got so bad that I actually lied to my father as a high school senior about the color of a young lady (who is one of my best friends today) just to get him off my back...and like all juicy lies, it blew up in my face when he came to pick me up in Jersey and saw my "black" female friend with her father.
By the time I was making choices about colleges, I knew I wanted to be away from my father. Oddly enough, despite the distance that developed between my father and me, a part of me wanted to finally please my father with a decision I made. Going to Morehouse College, a well-known all-male black college in Atlanta, famous for graduates such as Spike Lee, Samuel L. Jackson and Martin Luther King, Jr., became the solution to ideally cover the wants of both father and son.
To be continued...
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Writer's Corner...sorta
One of the many ideas I had for doing the blog is to force myself to return actively to wiritng--an endeavor I believe is a part of my destiny in life I've simply neglected for too many years.
Let's say on every other Sunday, I will post some of my writing for the world to read. And remember, positive feedback will only boost my ego which, in turn, will compel me to write more for my adoring fans! : )
So for this Sunday, how about I post some poetry? It's been awhile since I've written any poetry. I write poetry when I'm sad as hell or euphorically happy. I would post what I consider the best and most accurate depiction of my heart's emotional path throughout my life. The poem is called The Loner's Words and it died with my macintosh many years ago. The only part I remember verbatim are the first two lines:
Wish I never lost that one. I liked that one a lot.
Anyway, there's a decent stand-in for the greatest poem I feel I've ever written to date. Relax, it's only four lines at a point in my life when I felt this was my unchanging truth.
Four Lines
So there's the humble start to what will become an important part to my blog. More to come for sure...and I'll likely break my own every other sunday schedule to post more frequently.
Let's say on every other Sunday, I will post some of my writing for the world to read. And remember, positive feedback will only boost my ego which, in turn, will compel me to write more for my adoring fans! : )
So for this Sunday, how about I post some poetry? It's been awhile since I've written any poetry. I write poetry when I'm sad as hell or euphorically happy. I would post what I consider the best and most accurate depiction of my heart's emotional path throughout my life. The poem is called The Loner's Words and it died with my macintosh many years ago. The only part I remember verbatim are the first two lines:
Perhaps I take the wrong first step
My heart is the brave one
Wish I never lost that one. I liked that one a lot.
Anyway, there's a decent stand-in for the greatest poem I feel I've ever written to date. Relax, it's only four lines at a point in my life when I felt this was my unchanging truth.
Four Lines
I have fought my battles without hands.
The heart has been a warrior and slain hero.
In the war of life and love,
It has not been the victor.
So there's the humble start to what will become an important part to my blog. More to come for sure...and I'll likely break my own every other sunday schedule to post more frequently.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
The Story of Me and My Dad (Part 1)
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I've started this blog essentially by throwing people into my world with current snapshots of my immediate past situations and my current progressions. I'm sure this has given people an image of me, but if my blog is to be all about me, I have to flesh out the components of myself that comprise who I am.
There are many avenues to take with this (and I plan to do periodically for edification and entertainment), but I figure starting with the relationship between my father and I is a good place to begin to reveal more of myself in true context, so here we go...
I cannot tell you the first memories I had of my dad really, but from childhood, my father and I have had a relationship to one another that clearly reflects a friendship between willful human beings in addition to our familial connection. This bond has proven over time to be one of great importance for both of us, and one that has endured its fair share of tribulation into adulthood.
One of those tribulations was my father's battle with alcohol. Before I came on the scene, my parents partied and drank as social adults do, but while my mother seemed to have a firm control on her intake, my father lost his ability to control his drinking and alcohol slowly began to control him. By the time I was born in 1976, my father was an alcoholic well into his downward spiral. Roughly around 6 or 7 years old, my mom decided my dad had to move out of the house because his problem became too big for us to deal with any longer. Nevertheless, my mother wasn't cold and she allowed me to be with my father (provided he came to get me sober) and this is where my father and I got close.
With an alcohol problem, my dad pieced jobs together to make a living, so he didn't have a great deal of money. But that didn't stand in the way of me wanting to be with my father. Oftentimes, my father would pick me up and guiltily apologize for not having enough money to entertain me or buy me toys, and I would tell him that all we had to do was go to the park, watch TV, or ride on the subway because I got a kick out of sitting with my knees in the seat as I watched the trains 'race' in the tunnels. As long as I was with my father it was okay--even when he got drunk shortly after picking me up.
(BTW, the subway experience is a major reason why I still have a unusually high fondness and knowledge of New York City Subways)
It took a while for my father to rebuild his life onto a steady path, so that meant he lived in a number of places before he got his own. With roommates in a makeshift boarding house...on a friend's living room floor...the Y on 135th Street in Harlem. Regardless, wherever my father was, on the weekends, so was I. That's the extent of a child's innocent interpretation and real love. To this day and for the rest of his life, my father will always remember with heartfelt emotion "his buddy" hanging tough with him during those times with few complaints.
Eventually, Melvin Sr., with the help of AA, regained control of himself over alcohol. When things started to get better for him, we got into a habit of going to the movies (or renting movies) almost every weekend--another beginning of one of my life-long passions. After our usual weekend movie outings (which also included my father giving heavily into my own video game addiction at the old arcade Playland or any place with some video game machines in it), I would accompany him to AA meetings; eating cookies and drinking tea while strangers opened their souls to other strangers in a similiar boat in the hope of finding another reason to stay sober.
I was there for my father during times when others turned their backs on him, writing him off as a loser. I believe that this a huge reason my father has sacrificed so much for me over the years. I am convinced his efforts have, and continue to, exceed the duties of a father to his son. Long ago, it entered the place where people do extraordinary things for others because they respect what was done for them at some point.
Then I became a teenager.
To be continued...
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Even Buddhists get angry.
Okay...so the well-known part of being a buddhist is the dedication buddhists give to the idea of being peaceful beings trying to spread peace. Given the internal turmoil I have allowed to eat at me over the years, trying to more at peace with the ways of life has been a mighty fine and well-timed decision on my part...
But today at work, I simply got fed up with several situations I view as utter BS on the part of other people being paid to do a job.
I'll be the first to admit that I have traditionally been a lazy dude in my dealings on my own time, but a light bulb has always turned on when I am being compensated for my effort (meaning, when I have a freakin' job). I foolishly assume that this is a general principle held among the working public to varying degrees. However, truth is, people can fall in love with laziness and choke off their own thinking with fear of reprisal in a workplace. In my opinion, this leads to a lack of cooperation and ineffectiveness.
I really dislike this in a work environment. In fact, it burns me to virtually no end because I pride myself on thinking ahead more often than not, and going the extra mile to see a task through while I'm on the clock. Why can't others embrace this concept for the time they are working? It would make life so much simpler and less stressful. The lack of this energy and will in co-workers just disappoints me.
In the hours since I've left the office, I have calmed down a great deal, chanted in front of my Gohonzon, and started to do what an adult should do: Consider ways to bring about the ideal action in the real. And on a higher, personal level, be able to accept the realities of what's before me without allowing it to alter my spirit of effort or knowledge of something better.
I'll see how this plays out tomorrow on the job.
End of vent/revelation.
But today at work, I simply got fed up with several situations I view as utter BS on the part of other people being paid to do a job.
I'll be the first to admit that I have traditionally been a lazy dude in my dealings on my own time, but a light bulb has always turned on when I am being compensated for my effort (meaning, when I have a freakin' job). I foolishly assume that this is a general principle held among the working public to varying degrees. However, truth is, people can fall in love with laziness and choke off their own thinking with fear of reprisal in a workplace. In my opinion, this leads to a lack of cooperation and ineffectiveness.
I really dislike this in a work environment. In fact, it burns me to virtually no end because I pride myself on thinking ahead more often than not, and going the extra mile to see a task through while I'm on the clock. Why can't others embrace this concept for the time they are working? It would make life so much simpler and less stressful. The lack of this energy and will in co-workers just disappoints me.
In the hours since I've left the office, I have calmed down a great deal, chanted in front of my Gohonzon, and started to do what an adult should do: Consider ways to bring about the ideal action in the real. And on a higher, personal level, be able to accept the realities of what's before me without allowing it to alter my spirit of effort or knowledge of something better.
I'll see how this plays out tomorrow on the job.
End of vent/revelation.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Reading is Fundamental
I’ve gotten back into reading this year, which also means getting great value out of my library card once again. I just finished Blonde Faith by Walter Mosley. It was the second book from Mosley I’ve read so far this year (third overall) and like the other one, it was a real good read. His characters are so alive in the place he puts them-mentally, physically and spiritually, you begin to feel a part of yourself being revealed as you turn the pages. A few major reasons I enjoy Walter Mosley’s writing is his ability to create black characters (especially the male characters) that are intelligent and exposed to more than ‘the hood’, but are still genuinely intertwined into the fabric of the neighborhood. And after reading these last two novels, I’ve also grown to appreciate the emotional honesty Mosley charges his protagonists with. It’s raw emotion, human frailty and real-life redemption wrapped into one.
Not all novels have that power nor do all authors have that skill.
Reading Mosley is a latent decision I made well after my father suggested him to me years ago in an attempt to integrate more black authors onto my reading list. As I have done with several things my father (and life in general) has offered me, I delayed action out of lack of interest, willful exclusion and honestly, out of spite.
I guess I just laid the groundwork for a near-future entry on the blog here, didn't I?
As it turns out, it took me seeing Laurence Fishburne star in Always Outnumbered, Always Outgunned to trigger my memory that my father purchased that book for me as a gift that I hadn’t read up to that point. The movie was good, but the book was better as I’m sure my father already knew.
I have some catching up to do and a mini-goal for the rest of the year: Read all of Walter Mosley's books from the Easy Rawlins series (at least).
Friday, February 22, 2008
The weekend that was.
What's today's date? How long has it been since I last posted? That should explain my situation just about right. Busy, busy, busy!
And I officially know, for a fact, that I'm no longer a spring chicken. The delusion of me being able to function properly with only four or five hours of sleep is over
The week preceding the three-day weekend--a rarity in my life with work, unexpectedly greeted me with staying awake til 2 or 3am in the morning. Between cleaning, reading, shopping, meditation class, preparing for the weekend, and the biggest culprit, my rediscovered zest for talking at length on the phone (and my chat partner knows exactly what I'm referring to), I was lucky to sleep more than 4 hours any night.
Then came the weekend.
Back in December, a group of friends from my kickball experience decided we needed a mid-winter break from the city and brought up the idea of going to the Poconos for a little winter outdoor activity and a guaranteed crazy, wild time with one another. Before you knew it, getaway day was here and I couldn't wait to bolt out of the city!
15 strong shared food, DRINK, space and good times in a house fit for kings and queens in the Poconos. We sang, we danced, we mosh-pitted, we bowled, we keg-stand (yes, all of us 25-35ish age-ranged folks did that). Some of us twice (including me). Some skied, some snow-shoed, some played ultimate foosball (guilty again) and more.
I believe the only thing we didn't get a chance to do was snowtube (damn the weather! Damn it to hell!)
Oh, and did I mention that we drank? Holy smoke! It's a miracle I didn't get sick from the many "socials" that took place over the weekend, especially with me tempting my alcoholic nemesis, Tequila. How many shots of T I did? Couldn't tell you, but as my friend Martin says, "Tequila make shit happen!"
As a New York City resident, you must get away from the hustle and bustle of it every once in a while, and this trip was right on the money. I didn't want to pay to hike through snow at first. It sounded like an unguided rip-off, but the experience was as beautiful and serene as it was introspective and challenging. It required some patience to get comfortable in those snow paddles and faith in the process of doing something and letting the value of it come to you in order to enjoy the moment.
It was life as it is, in a nutshell...which leads me to this.
For all the anticipation around this weekend, there was a touch of trepidation for me. Frankly speaking, the potential for "drama" and/or hurt feelings was very real thanks to events of the past I involved myself in within this social group. Despite the best, good and necessary efforts to assuage those issues beforehand, one can never truly predict what will happen when people get away from their everyday lives and let things loose. It was a test to see if people could return to place of friendship in a real, palpable sense and to see if I could handle that answer, whatever it is turned out to be. Traditionally, when I've been hurt by someone or a meaningful connection has been broken, I don't react in a manner that promotes healing or forward progress. I do a very unmanly thing and sulk about the situation.
So what happened?
I suspect there was (and maybe still is?) tension, distance and/or sippiness at times while I was in the Poconos directed towards me, and I'm certain I wasn't buddha-like at every instance. However, I didn't allow that awkwardness or lack of easy comfort that I used to have to disrupt a great time. If I was displeased with a person's tone or treatment, I simply went in another direction to do another fun thing. I took time to get to know other people within the group better than I did before the trip. I kept my mouth shut (not a typical action for me in this type of situation). I took different approach to a potentially uncomfortable, sadly familiar situation and overall, I'm proud of the result because despite my concern, I didn't allow that to stand in the way of my fun.
And of course, I chanted in case my fellow buddhists are wondering.
All in all, it was good times with good people that I feel even more comfortable with. It is was a experience I pleasantly won't soon forget.
Mel.
BTW, No compelling reason to update you on this week because it was a wash thanks to the Poconos! I paid for my good time for sure!
Time for a nap.
And I officially know, for a fact, that I'm no longer a spring chicken. The delusion of me being able to function properly with only four or five hours of sleep is over
The week preceding the three-day weekend--a rarity in my life with work, unexpectedly greeted me with staying awake til 2 or 3am in the morning. Between cleaning, reading, shopping, meditation class, preparing for the weekend, and the biggest culprit, my rediscovered zest for talking at length on the phone (and my chat partner knows exactly what I'm referring to), I was lucky to sleep more than 4 hours any night.
Then came the weekend.
Back in December, a group of friends from my kickball experience decided we needed a mid-winter break from the city and brought up the idea of going to the Poconos for a little winter outdoor activity and a guaranteed crazy, wild time with one another. Before you knew it, getaway day was here and I couldn't wait to bolt out of the city!
15 strong shared food, DRINK, space and good times in a house fit for kings and queens in the Poconos. We sang, we danced, we mosh-pitted, we bowled, we keg-stand (yes, all of us 25-35ish age-ranged folks did that). Some of us twice (including me). Some skied, some snow-shoed, some played ultimate foosball (guilty again) and more.
I believe the only thing we didn't get a chance to do was snowtube (damn the weather! Damn it to hell!)
Oh, and did I mention that we drank? Holy smoke! It's a miracle I didn't get sick from the many "socials" that took place over the weekend, especially with me tempting my alcoholic nemesis, Tequila. How many shots of T I did? Couldn't tell you, but as my friend Martin says, "Tequila make shit happen!"
As a New York City resident, you must get away from the hustle and bustle of it every once in a while, and this trip was right on the money. I didn't want to pay to hike through snow at first. It sounded like an unguided rip-off, but the experience was as beautiful and serene as it was introspective and challenging. It required some patience to get comfortable in those snow paddles and faith in the process of doing something and letting the value of it come to you in order to enjoy the moment.
It was life as it is, in a nutshell...which leads me to this.
For all the anticipation around this weekend, there was a touch of trepidation for me. Frankly speaking, the potential for "drama" and/or hurt feelings was very real thanks to events of the past I involved myself in within this social group. Despite the best, good and necessary efforts to assuage those issues beforehand, one can never truly predict what will happen when people get away from their everyday lives and let things loose. It was a test to see if people could return to place of friendship in a real, palpable sense and to see if I could handle that answer, whatever it is turned out to be. Traditionally, when I've been hurt by someone or a meaningful connection has been broken, I don't react in a manner that promotes healing or forward progress. I do a very unmanly thing and sulk about the situation.
So what happened?
I suspect there was (and maybe still is?) tension, distance and/or sippiness at times while I was in the Poconos directed towards me, and I'm certain I wasn't buddha-like at every instance. However, I didn't allow that awkwardness or lack of easy comfort that I used to have to disrupt a great time. If I was displeased with a person's tone or treatment, I simply went in another direction to do another fun thing. I took time to get to know other people within the group better than I did before the trip. I kept my mouth shut (not a typical action for me in this type of situation). I took different approach to a potentially uncomfortable, sadly familiar situation and overall, I'm proud of the result because despite my concern, I didn't allow that to stand in the way of my fun.
And of course, I chanted in case my fellow buddhists are wondering.
All in all, it was good times with good people that I feel even more comfortable with. It is was a experience I pleasantly won't soon forget.
Mel.
BTW, No compelling reason to update you on this week because it was a wash thanks to the Poconos! I paid for my good time for sure!
Time for a nap.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Changes? What Changes?
So I alluded to making changes in my life for the new year. Technically speaking, I started with these some changes in the latter part of 2007. Perhaps the biggest change/shift I have already made came about on December 23rd when I embraced Nichiren Daishonin Buddhism as a guidepoint for my life, after attending a meeting with a practicing buddhist friend who has inspired me with his countenance for some time. I'm not one of those "on-fire" types who goes gaga over the new thing they're following/listening to, but I've been steadfast in my efforts and it has been worth it.
Several people who know me and hear of me changing the core of who I am become VERY concerned, partly because it all seems to be coming about in a flood just as I was in the midst of a troubling time. Rest assured, folks. Most of the changes were events/ideas that had been mulling around in my head for years, in some cases.
How about a laundry list?
1. I have a tattoo on my right arm. It's chinese characters meaning "warrior" or "warrior hero".
2. Became a Buddhist. For most of my adult life, I had a feeling that priniciples found in Buddhist teachings had a destiny in my life path. So here I am, stepping out bold on that belief. So far, quite good and effective!
3. Challenged myself to be a better housekeeper. In public, I am well-kept for the most part, but at home? I am nasty bastard. So nasty, in fact, that I have prevented willing female company from coming over! Yeah, that disgusting! At 31 years of age, that's a damn shame. No excuses.
4. Started taking a Qi-Gong class every Tuesday. Qi-Gong is a chinese/Taoist meditation practice that's centered on your breathing as a means to heal one's self and to attain relaxation. This is another long-time aspiration of mine because I never felt I breathe properly, odd as that sounds.
5. Exercise. I can't get taller (thanks mom and dad), but I can work-out what I have, and watch what I eat to improve myself. I've neglected this for way too long and the image I've seen in pictures hasn't matched up with my own mental image of myself for years. General fitness is essential for anyone with a heartbeat, and I look good slimmer and with muscles, so it's time to cut the bullshit in this area.
6. Progressively removing aspects of my character that undercut/diminishes my masculinity. Without question, the most difficult, on-going alteration for me. For years, I thought I was doing the right things to win affection, love, and respect by being the nice guy, who was a cut above the jerks and man-whores that woman seem to complain about. The real story is (I believe, at least) inside those so-called jerks, man-whores and assholes is undeniable evidence of a MAN, not a guy or a boy. A lot of what I brought/bring to the table was/is good, but wasn't good enough in almost all my intimate dealings with the opposite sex. Not taking away the idea that some of my pursuits were bad pairings/poor choices/bad timing (very true as well), but I am convinced what a lot of women have/are communicating to me without saying it blatantly to my face is, I'm not a real man in their eyes. In some way(s), I forfeit my manhood with my behavior and actions (or lack thereof).
After years of observing, I find the adage is true: Nice guys DO finish last because somehow they let everyone know that they don't have any balls to sustain a woman's interest or their own. Good guys, however, do NOT finish last. They try to handle their business, be who they are regardless, are genuine and do for themselves in life...to mention a few. I refuse to become a jerk or asshole for someone else's favor if I can help it (and I can!), so being a good guy is my evolving objective. What I have been in the past and the results I have garnered, simply make me sick. I deserve much better and I'm trying to do things to get it in every aspect of my life. You can't blame the world or other people (nice guys do that all the time). It starts with the individual. Me.
These are my changes. I could go on, but it's past 2:30am and I should have been sleep hours ago. Plus, I'm certain I'll have more to share on this topic as time passes by.
Good morning : )
BTW, thanks to the people posting comments on my project here. Can't believe you were my first post Shasta! Blast from the past!
Several people who know me and hear of me changing the core of who I am become VERY concerned, partly because it all seems to be coming about in a flood just as I was in the midst of a troubling time. Rest assured, folks. Most of the changes were events/ideas that had been mulling around in my head for years, in some cases.
How about a laundry list?
1. I have a tattoo on my right arm. It's chinese characters meaning "warrior" or "warrior hero".
2. Became a Buddhist. For most of my adult life, I had a feeling that priniciples found in Buddhist teachings had a destiny in my life path. So here I am, stepping out bold on that belief. So far, quite good and effective!
3. Challenged myself to be a better housekeeper. In public, I am well-kept for the most part, but at home? I am nasty bastard. So nasty, in fact, that I have prevented willing female company from coming over! Yeah, that disgusting! At 31 years of age, that's a damn shame. No excuses.
4. Started taking a Qi-Gong class every Tuesday. Qi-Gong is a chinese/Taoist meditation practice that's centered on your breathing as a means to heal one's self and to attain relaxation. This is another long-time aspiration of mine because I never felt I breathe properly, odd as that sounds.
5. Exercise. I can't get taller (thanks mom and dad), but I can work-out what I have, and watch what I eat to improve myself. I've neglected this for way too long and the image I've seen in pictures hasn't matched up with my own mental image of myself for years. General fitness is essential for anyone with a heartbeat, and I look good slimmer and with muscles, so it's time to cut the bullshit in this area.
6. Progressively removing aspects of my character that undercut/diminishes my masculinity. Without question, the most difficult, on-going alteration for me. For years, I thought I was doing the right things to win affection, love, and respect by being the nice guy, who was a cut above the jerks and man-whores that woman seem to complain about. The real story is (I believe, at least) inside those so-called jerks, man-whores and assholes is undeniable evidence of a MAN, not a guy or a boy. A lot of what I brought/bring to the table was/is good, but wasn't good enough in almost all my intimate dealings with the opposite sex. Not taking away the idea that some of my pursuits were bad pairings/poor choices/bad timing (very true as well), but I am convinced what a lot of women have/are communicating to me without saying it blatantly to my face is, I'm not a real man in their eyes. In some way(s), I forfeit my manhood with my behavior and actions (or lack thereof).
After years of observing, I find the adage is true: Nice guys DO finish last because somehow they let everyone know that they don't have any balls to sustain a woman's interest or their own. Good guys, however, do NOT finish last. They try to handle their business, be who they are regardless, are genuine and do for themselves in life...to mention a few. I refuse to become a jerk or asshole for someone else's favor if I can help it (and I can!), so being a good guy is my evolving objective. What I have been in the past and the results I have garnered, simply make me sick. I deserve much better and I'm trying to do things to get it in every aspect of my life. You can't blame the world or other people (nice guys do that all the time). It starts with the individual. Me.
These are my changes. I could go on, but it's past 2:30am and I should have been sleep hours ago. Plus, I'm certain I'll have more to share on this topic as time passes by.
Good morning : )
BTW, thanks to the people posting comments on my project here. Can't believe you were my first post Shasta! Blast from the past!
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