Per usual, I’ve been surfing online while thinking. I know, in two states it is now legal. I’ve heard that Obama reduced the sentencing for those thinking in urban vernacular to match the sentencing guidelines of those thinking in redneck. Jokes. While surfing, I ran across this website here, and scrolling through it, I saw the blogtalk podcast player with the words,”Are Black Women Too Picky?”
I snickered my “Asylum is going to love this!” snicker.
Now, this snicker, this sense of knowing that I’m about to write something of volatile validity, is not just because we all should be tired of the stereotypes and clichesque handling of Black Women and dating in the media, but also because I’ve been ruminating my own preferences for a committed relationship. As I think about the many pet peeves that I harbor, as well as the myriad of degrees of power plays that I simply refuse to deal with in a situation I choose to be in, I realize…I am a picky>/i> bastard. The treatment that I have received from women outside of committed romantic relationships, coupled with the treatment received from ex-significant others(can’t a significant other also be like, I don’t know, one’s mother? Alright, later date, right?), I’ve simply developed a need for certain attitudes and behaviors to be available to me. Whether I am homeless, or wealthy, I demand particular personality expressions, talents, and thought processes from the woman that I am allowing into my mental space, that I am allowing to share my reputation with, and who I am investing my Life’s energy with. And I am not going to settle. And I’ll only remain celibate for as long as I choose to. I am not one of these brothers that believes that he can’t find sexual satisfaction from a woman on a whim. That is not even a serious consideration for settling with a woman to me. In my world, it is quite the laughable fancy.
So, as I’ve assessed my own needs and what I’m willing to compromise on, and what I’m not, I ask my Self,”why are we asking Black women to be any different?” What are we afraid of? Has the white supremacist “keep a nigga down” message of Black male inferiority crept so deeply into our psyche that we are afraid that we can’t measure up the standards that Black women might demand from us?
(Yes, I felt a “man up, nigga, man up” moment there)
Black women, as a collective being measured against another, have shown much more loyalty to Black men with regard to the ideas of endogamy in this country. I don’t want to see my ethnic grouping being eliminated genetically or culturally any more than any other group of people should. However, Black men do tend towards involvement with women outside of their ethnic grouping more than Black women. You even have “relationship counselors”, such as Tariq Nasheed, promoting interracial dating as he demeans Black women. I don’t mind a person that knows what they don’t want, just as much I enjoy the company of a person that knows what they want. I don’t understand the pressure, outside of global male hegemonic dispositions, to make Black women settle for any sort of man.
I don’t like dealing with women that are dating or have interests in men that represent for me a character antagonism. There are men that I just don’t like based on their style. I might actually like who they are, but what they are will eternally cause me to have acid reflux reactions while around them. Regardless of the reasons a woman would date completely opposite men, it is a security risk for me. Some men represent a security risk for Black women. I can appreciate a woman that has high enough standards to be what we deem as picky.
As I gain more maturity and understanding of my Self, and most importantly, develop a more applicable purpose, I find my Self repulsed by many of the women I meet. This is not something I can just place in the back of mind as, “well, let me get to know them better.” There are certain sorts of relationships that bear a considerable amount of “I’ve got to tolerate this”-ness. My exclusive bondings are simply not one of those. Even with the power plays that occur when two people interact in close quarters for a long time, there are limits to what one should allow to be accepted before that exchange is unhealthy. I’d rather be a eunuch than to be involved with a great many women I’ve encountered. I recant. At least with my penis intact, I can reasonably justify spending time with someone I know I would never commit to. Without that bit of anatomical weight, I might fall prey to my loneliness and make a grievious error of judgment. If I’m a man thinking like that in this society, I can only imagine what a Black woman is pondering about her options.
It stands to be noted, without much need for argument I would hope, that Black women are the bearers of our breathing futures. With the objective social reality being that most of these Black women will be caring and handling the responsibility of that Black breathing future, I would hope they be reasonable picky.