Tag Archives: emotions

Cutting the Umbilical Cord (sorta)

My brothers and I grew up separately; they lived in Southern California while I lived in Texas with my mother and her family. Four kids three mamas one sperm donor. To be fair, one of my brothers, RR, is my step brother. He escaped the emotional roller coaster that is Too Too Bing. But then again perhaps he didn’t escape because he was old enough to understand what was going on between he and my baby brother’s mother and Too Too.

It’s unfortunate enough as it is to be a product of a divorced couple. But when there are other mamas and kids involved it makes it harder. The explanations between why one parent isn’t around as much can get rather convoluted and crass. The amount of sugar coating is ridiculous and after a while, the level of respect for either parent goes completely out the window. At least it did for me.

At this point in our lives, my brothers and I all share the same love hate relationship for our mothers’ sperm donor. We love the bastard because he’s half the reason we even here. We can’t stand him because he was absent for most of our lives. Well lemme rephrase that… He was absent for the majority of my life but saw the boys a bit more often. Up until maybe a few and I use the term few loosely cuz I’m not certain years ago, my baby brother was on the bandwagon to get me to be on team “maybe we should give the old man a chance.”

It’s obvious it didn’t work because I never really gave him a chance. My father figure passed away when I was twelve. By the time I actually met Too Too Bing, I was already over the notion of being his daughter and he being something more than just my mother’s sperm donor. Harsh as it may sound, he’s just my mama’s baby daddy. Hell all our mamas’ baby daddy. Nothing more and certainly can’t get any less than that.

Imagine my surprise when my oldest brother told me that Too Too Bing called him out of the blue, while he was at work, and preceded to curse him the fuck out. Now when Too Too is on that bullshit which could be anything really he’s even dumber than he is sober. He said some thangs that pissed my brother smooth the fuck off. And of course my brother being MY brother, he said some thangs that I know hurt him to the very core of his being because I know my brother genuinely wants us all to be a “family.”

It’s understandable actually. My oldest brother and I grew up sorta the same way. Single mom and very low income. I don’t think we ever had to want for anything because our moms had families that loved us immensely. We also had grandfathers who treated us like we were their own. So we were lucky in that regard. But at the same time, that doesn’t make up for not having our actual biological father in our lives. That’s normal right?!

By the end of the conversation, my brother’s temper level was at a damn 150 when he needed to be at a 19. How he managed to stay at work is beyond me because I’m pretty sure I woulda needed a drank or a doobie I don’t smoke but hearing about the conversation certainly warranted something that strong right then and there. Wouldn’t even thank twice yo!

What hurt me was Too Too telling my brother to basically take a hike outta his life. My mouth dropped to the damn flo! I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know how to respond. Again, he was on that bullshit and I’m pretty sure he had no clue what the fuck he was saying but still. Too Too actually told my brother you ain’t gotta call or communicate with me ever again. Like he was getting rid of the trash in his life. Like he could even afford to because my brother was the only one of his fucking children that actually gave two fucks about his old ass. Yet he doesn’t want to hear from him anymore.

But ok old man. You’re 62 fucking years old and you’re still acting like a damn child. Okay. No problem. I didn’t give a shit about you before but I won’t even thank twice about you from now on.

So why am I worried shitless about him? Maybe it’s because I have his initials. Or because he’s half the reason why my brothers and I are on this earth. Perhaps my Granny’s spirit won’t let me be eternally mad at him even though I want to be. I hate him for all he’s never been to my brothers and I but I love the bastard because he’s my biological parent. mutha fucking emotions are getting the best of me now

Whatever the reason may be, it rocks the very core of my soul. I was okay with only one of us having contact with he old fucker because I at least knew by way of my brother he was okay. At least Too Too had one of his kids in his corner. But now the umbilical cord has been severed and burned to bits for probably forever. My brother said he deleted Too Too’s phone number and unfriended him on Facebook.

So that’s it. My brothers and I may never have the relationship we deserve with the man who helped bring us into the world and it’ll be his loss not ours.

Thanks for reading…

The Southern Yankee

Happy 60th Birthday Mom!

Today, I just want to wish my mother a very happy and joyful milestone birthday. How I wish things were different between us. How I wish that I had enough balls to put aside my childish emotional grudges and go to her as my heart so desires. Yes I know I could easily change the situation. I’m grown enough to admit that. I’m grown enough to know that I need to let go of the past and forgive her and the rest of the family for everything said, done and not done the year my daughter was born. I know this.

But it’s hard. It’s sooooo incredibly hard to distinguish between doing what’s right and the emotions that have been with me for more than fourteen years. It’s hard to fight back the tears that burn down my cheeks when I think too much about my mother, my daughter and my mother’s family. It’s hard not hearing my mother’s voice on days like this when my heart is so full and heavy. It’s hard to distinguish between my childish heart and my adult mind.

I love my mother. Despite everything I’ve been through with my mother and her family, I love her to infinity and beyond. Boo doesn’t understand how I can still feel this way or how I can forgive them [my family] so easily. But what Boo doesn’t understand is that it hasn’t been easy to forgive. It isn’t easy to look at pictures of my mother and not cry or get angry or want to hurl objects around the room. The majority of the emotional roller coaster that is my heart stems from my family. It stems from not being able to speak my mind and be the strong outspoken LOUD woman I know myself to be today.

It. Ain’t. Easy. Yo!

The way I talk to you guys thanks for always listening btw is not how I talk to my family. I’m not The Southern Yankee, Lady Deathstrike, Angry Black Girl, or even my government name. I’m just a timid and quiet only child in a family full of adults.

Sigh… One day right?!

If you ever read this mommy, I love you! I love you so very much words cannot even describe. Yes I know we have our differences and yes we often have not seen eye to eye on almost everything. But you are my mom and my dad. You raised me by yourself and somehow made things happen when I’m sure you thought you couldn’t. Happy happy happy happy birthday! I hope this birthday and every other birthday brings you so much joy and laughter. That you are in good health and that God has blessed you beyond your years of life! ❤ your daughter

Thanks for reading…

The Southern Yankee


I don’t live in the best of locations. When I originally moved to where I am living now, there weren’t that many people living down our street. Over the years, the “neighborhood” has grown a little bit.

There are some ratchet as kids who in summer would run up and down the street without parental supervision. Every time I’d see them, I wanted to whoop that ass for playing in the street that at any given time has a dumb fuck driving faster than 20 mph.

At one point, there were a pair of shoes hanging on the electrical lines at the beginning of the neighborhood street. Lawd only knows how they got up there or who the fuck threw them up there but they’re no longer there which is good if the theory about hanging shoes on power lines is indeed true.

The worst part of my neighborhood is that there are ALWAYS random ass vehicles driving up and down the road at all hours of the day and night. Normally, I wouldn’t care who drives up and down the street. The vehicles don’t belong to anyone I know personally and no one I care to know personally. What makes me suspicious is the fact that seven out of ten times one of these vehicles will creep ever so slowly by my house and boo’s brother’s house next door. As if the drivers and/or passengers are casing our shit.

To make matters worse, boo’s sister in law’s vehicle was broken into a few weeks ago. I wanna say the robbery occurred either the week before or the week after Halloween. I should mention that boo’s brother and his wife are a pair of stupid asses because not only was the vehicle unlocked but they haphazardly left bank cards, social security cards, and other important personal information in the vehicle. Class A stupid huh? Yeah I thought so too. Yes, when we first moved to our house, we could leave the front door and the vehicles unlocked and no one would mess with us. Now… Now I don’t even trust leaving my truck open for five minutes after getting home.

This is no way to live folks. We should be able to peacefully and safely live our lives without feeling scared to sleep too long. Without thinking what are the dogs barking at so ferociously. Without feeling that someone is going to come outta no fucking where and bum rush you faster than JJ Watt and Brian Cushing. Go Texans!

Sigh i just pray the “neighborhood” doesn’t completely go to shit for my nephews and their soon to be born baby sister’s sake.


Thanks for reading…


The Southern Yankee

I. Feel. Nothing.


My family and I have an estranged type of relationship. The only person I really communicate with is my mother. She’s the only one I really care about anyway with the exception of my beautiful almost teenage daughter. So imagine the unsettling feeling I had when I receiving the above email from my mother yesterday about my grandmother (her mother). A very small part of me wants to go visit her in the hospital.

But a bigger more like 99.5% of me feels absolutely nothing. I wish I could explain why this woman who had a large hand in raising me means nothing to me other than she’s my mother’s mother. I wish I could consciously feel the emotions I know I have toward this woman. I wish things could have been different between us because she is after all my grandmother. She gave birth to the woman who gave birth to me. But yet i. feel. nothing!

The last few years have literally been out of sight out of mind. Is that bad to say? Is it bad that I know I should feel something towards her since she’s family but I. Just. Can’t.

When I think of her, I don’t think of the good times that’s because I don’t remember any! we had together. I just get angry. Angry beyond what I can even explain right now. You would think that I would have let all that bullshit go but I haven’t. I find myself wondering if Papa were alive when I was a teenager or if I had not have been so damn emotional about everything she said could we have actually developed some sort of relationship.

Sigh I suppose it is too late for coulda woulda shoulda. All I can do is pray right now for her well being and peace of mind.

Thanks for reading…

The Southern Yankee

A Two for One Post Special: Day 25 & 26

Since Day 25: “The Reason You Believe You’re Still Alive Today” and Day 26: “Have You Ever Thought About Giving Up on Life? If so, when and why?” seem to coincide with each other, I decided to give my readers a two for one post special. And it finally catches me up to the day I’m supposed to be on!! Yaaaaaay ME!

You know, God is a funny person. He so funny that he puts stuff in your path and life that make you stop and think about all the shit filled times that could have been your last. All the times when life in general just wasn’t bearable anymore. The times you wanted to off yourself but nothing in this world could convince you of otherwise. So you come to the conclusion of this… The reason why I’m still alive is because God is not finished with me yet. I mean what other reason could there be???

I’ve had an emotionally rough life. My emotions seemed to spiral out of control when my grandfather passed away towards the end of my sixth grade year. Up to that point in my life, I never really thought about life without Papa. I just figured he would be with me for a really long time or at least until I was old enough to understand what it meant emotionally to lose someone. I spent the majority of my sixth grade year in trouble with my family because my grades were slipping. Well shit I was sleepy all the time because I was going with them to the hospital. I sometimes had to spend the night in my grandfather’s hospital room because my mother was working nights. A year of that shit takes a toll on a twelve year old. Instead of comforting me or even understanding what was going on, I got cussed out. My nosy ass snitch of a grandmother would tell my mother’s youngest sister who for some reason assumed the role of head of the family and she would call and proceed to belittle and cuss me out while my grandmother just say there and fiddled with her thumbs. I think that was about the time I started crying myself to sleep at night because I just couldn’t handle grandma and my aunt’s constant nick picking. My mother was no help because she never defended me against them. And I couldn’t talk to her about anything because she always answered with some sort of biblical reference. I didn’t want to hear that. I wanted my mother to somehow make things better but she didn’t.

In high school, the shit hit the fan so hard, the fan and I both broke. Like most kids, I was trying to figure out my place in the world. I enjoyed high school. I was involved in various after school activities and my grades were off the chain. But for my grandmother, nothing I did was good enough especially after she found out I lost my virginity the summer of my junior year to a white boy preacher’s kid. From that point on, she deemed me the devil’s spawn and I needed saving. I should probably mention that she hated the fact I was dating a white boy and had no qualms about saying how she disliked me having friends who were not black. It was just one fucking thing after another. I should also mention that after finding out I lost my virginity that grandma thought I was sleeping with every male friend and/or guy I came across. It didn’t matter that nothing she said about me was true. So as long as long as she believed it to be true it was true.

I think that was the beginning stages of my depression. I felt powerless. My voice wasn’t getting me anywhere. My protests to my mother about grandma and her antics were falling upon death ears. To this day, I still cry when I think about all the nasty shit she used to say to me. I just don’t understand how anyone can belittle and break a person to the point of wanting to take drastic measures to make sure this doesn’t happen again. There were times when I would pray so hard for God to take me away. To bring back my grandfather and take me instead. I remember saying I don’t want to be here anymore. I can’t handle this. Thankfully I never really got to the point of actually offing myself. Thankfully God blessed me with friends who would rescue me from my hell on a regular basis.

To add to my already up and down bouts of depression, when I found out I was pregnant, I completely lost it! My emotions went every which way but the correct way. I didn’t want to keep her because I was still in school and part of me thought my family would not help me. My baby’s daddy wasn’t any help either. He never went to visit me nor did he go to the hospital when she was born. After my aunt and uncle took my daughter home with them, I sunk in a much deeper depression because that was the beginning of my estranged relationship with my mother and her family. I lost more than my daughter and a large part of myself that day in the hospital when I signed my parental rights away.

Fast forward to 2005, when Granny (my paternal grandmother) passed away. She was the only person in my family that accepted me for me. Flaws and all. How I miss her so very much because I could talk to her about everything. It didn’t matter what I said or how I said she understood I just needed someone to be there. And she was. I wholeheartedly believe she was God’s way of saving my life. She encouraged me to be me. She gave me the confidence to be whoever I wanted so as long as I was happy.

So there you have it. Thanks for reading…

The Southern Yankee