Sometimes I feel like all I do is gripe and complain here and I promise that I otherwise have a very sunny disposition, but blogging had become cheap therapy for me and so I intend to pour out all my pain on this here blog today. Then I will have a lovely post about an award I won from my dear friend Joan-Marie and you can just skip the rest of this post if you want and move right on to the other one.

This week has been a trying one. I have gotten use to the fact that life is just going to be hard for a while. Raising kids alone is no picnic, hence the reason you should be married when you have kids, not that he still wouldn’t have been a rat and left us, but nonetheless. I am an advocate for single mothers everywhere and believe in the power of women immensely, but parenting should be done between two people.

Rewind to Monday. I was on my way to work, feeling good. I had a great night sleep and was ready to tackle the week. I left early enough for work to stop and treat myself to a cup of coffee and my very favorite song was playing on the radio when I slowed to make the exit for work. The guy in front of me slowed and then, I thought, moved on. I looked behind me to make sure no oncoming traffic was coming and I then proceeded to let off my brake and glide into the other lane. That is when I looked back to see that the truck that was suppose to be making it’s way up Pfeifer was still sitting there. I tried to slam on my brakes and I hit the gas pedal instead. Then I slammed my new beautiful red car that has only had two payments paid on it into the back of a huge black truck that had decided to stop in the merging lane. My head slammed against the windshield, my glasses flew from my face. I felt instant pain in my head and neck and it felt like someone had just twisted my arm out of it’s socket and beat me upside the head with it.

I kept my cool while the police were there. I was too worried about being even later for work to request a EMT. After we exchanged information, I made my way to work. That is when I heard it. It sounded like a 500 pound grizzly bear crawled up under my hood and got stuck. And now he was pissed. And growling. I made it the few short blocks to work and then I sat in the parking lot and cried like a child. I heaved and sobbed and maybe even yelled a little bit. And then I thanked my dear God that my girls were not in that car with me. I called my mom and I called my boyfriend and I made my way into work.

The entire day I sat at my desk with my door closed and tried my best to work through tears. Every time someone even said hello to me, I started bawling. Makes for a great impression on people. Try it, they will proceed to walk around looking at you like you may blow at any second.

When the day was finally over, I drove home loudly in my now, very banged up vehicle. I got the girls home safely and fed and in the bathtub and then to bed. Then I sat in the middle of my bed and proceeded to have a nervous breakdown. I called my boss and told her I would not be in on Tuesday as I had to get my car in the shop and at least get proof for my own stubbornness that the repairs would be far more than I could afford. Then I could proceed with the breakdown that I truly deserved.

The next day I woke up feeling like someone had screwed my head off and put it on backwards. I was barely able to move my neck, my head was pounding and my right arm was completely numb from the shoulder down.  I got in the shower for one more quick breakdown and to talk to God for a few minutes. I asked for the bravery and courage and empathy to contain my own emotions and be strong for my girls. I took Olivia to an 8 o’clock dentist appointment and then dropped her off to play hooky with my mom on her day off work.

On my way back home, I dropped my car at the body shop at the corner of town and began the 30+ block walk home. My boyfriend called and said to sit still and he would be by to scoop me up and take me home. We made it to my door step without a single tear and up the steps to my door when the boyfriend made the mistake of twisting me around and taking me in his arms and trying to hug the life out of me. The tears came and they came and they came and before long I felt too weak to stand and he laid me on the couch and he put my head in his lap and he stroked my hair and I felt the safest I have ever felt in my entire adult life.

I know some of you may think I am being entirely overdramatic over a vehicle, but I must give you some insight in the true life of a single mom for you to fully understand.

Not having a driveable vehicle means not getting back and forth to work. Which means no paycheck. Which means no paycheck, at all, in the household. Because I am it. I am the only source of money and wellbeing for myself and three children. Not getting back and forth to work means possibly getting fired. From my very good job. Which means possibly missing a house payment or two. Which would make us homeless. I, and thousands of others in this day and age are living paycheck to paycheck, quite literally. Even missing one paycheck would put me behind on bills and once that happens it is next to impossible to catch up. Not to mention the fact that there is no savings account to dip into when car repairs are needed. I cannot afford more than liability insurance and so the repairs must come from my pocket. My pockets that are so empty, they echo. I do not convey this for sympathy but for clarity. This is huge. This could put my entire life into a tailspin. And my kids. My poor kids. My sweet and innocent kids that already sacrifice so much for this mother they were given and this life they were dealt. All I could hear was my eight year old asking me if this year maybe we could get her new school clothes at the Walmart and not the thrift store. And how that would be next to impossible right now.

An hour or so later the boyfriend dropped me off at the car place so he could make his way to work and he waited outside patiently while I went in for the estimate. The guy behind the counter just shook his head when I walked in. He had that look on his face perfected by countless evening-drama doctors that have to tell families they did all they could, but their loved one could not be saved. “It’s bad” he said, “Real bad. Your frame is bent. Nothing I can do here. You will have to take it to a frame shop. You are looking at a couple thousand dollars probably.”

I walked back to my car in a stupor. A fog. I felt numb and shock. I had no earthly clue what I was going to do. I looked at that car I just got two months ago and thought about how beautiful it was to me. It was used, but the nicest car I had ever owned. I felt proud to drive it and my kids were proud to ride around in it. Now it was damaged. Just like my heart. Just like my spirit. I made it home and sat on my couch and just stared at the wall. I felt true despair and just fell to my knees and I cried and cried and begged God for mercy for me and these girls and I told him I believed that he would help us. I believed it and I knew it. And then God lifted me right out of the floor of my living room and he helped me create a productive day. I got laundry done, scrubbed floors, cooked a big dinner and for the first time in two days, I felt a sense of purpose. My boyfriend called at least 15 times throughout the day, each time talking softly as if the simple sound of his voice too loudly would cause me to crack and break.

I am just too tired to tell the rest of the story right now. I am going back to work today with a ride there from my mom and a ride home from the boyfriend. In the meantime calling on others to assist me with a ride to and from school and the sitter for the girls. My car is going in the shop on Sunday at a friend of a friend of a friend who is going to “knock it out enough to be safe enough to drive”.

My neck is better and the constant headache I am sure is from stress. I am waiting any day now for the shingles that I have had twice before to rear their stress-induced ugly heads.

I feel better just “talking” about it and all I can do now is pray. Pray and hope that someway, somehow this is all going to get better and I come out a stronger and better person.

I woke up feeling lovely today. I want today to be a good day. My oldest two daughter’s have dentist appointments today. Olivia is dealthly afraid of the dentist and today may just result in the loss of a finger on the part of the dentist, but I am trying to be optimistic. However, something has been on my heart for the last few days and when my boyfriend and I had yet another talk about it yesterday, I knew I must purge it from my system to move on. Did I mention my boyfriend is Dr. Phil? He is the only man I know that thinks we must discuss how I am feeling all the time.

To give a little backdrop and to hopefully avoid a little confusion, my boyfriend and I are very involved in an Innercity Youth Sports program. We have been doing it together for four years and it is our one true passion. Our summers are full of practices and games and car washes and standing in front of Kroger stores selling candy bars. When we are not outdoors we are usually on the phone begging people to give us money or support our team. They know me by name at the sports supply store in town and come November, one corner of my living room will be cluttered with boxes of trophies and plaques. We truly put our hearts and souls into this project of ours and we love these kids very much.

Simply because of the geographical location of our program, I am, on more occasions than not, the only white person around. I chose to volunteer in this program before I knew my boyfriend. My cousin was involved at the time and she encouraged me to come around. My children were getting older and I wanted to expose them to that side of their culture. I wanted them to see that not all black men are like their father and that they could truly gain a sense of themselves by relating to their black peers. Before long it became much more than that. These kids needed us. Not at all because I was white, but because they just needed someone. Someone to show them attention and love them and to get this program organized so it could be successful. That is when I met my boyfriend. My cousin volunteered me for Team Mom and we started working closely together. After four long years and lots of blood, sweat and tears, we now have a more organized and successful team. The boys have three uniforms a piece, trips are mostly covered my donations and fundraising and we are revered as the toughest youth football team in the city; winning the last two super bowls and numerous out-of-town tournament titles. We are like a well oiled machine. In four years we went from hollaring announcements to eachother at the field after practice, to making phone lists and structuring a network, to sending out professional fliers and brochures to all prospective parents. Our team has been used as a model around the city for other teams struggling with administrative tasks. I take alot of pride in that and I take alot of ownership with this team.

I also have a heart that beats full with love for these little boys. I cheer at their triumphs and cry at their losses. I take at least 500 pictures at every awards banquet and I have baked cupcakes for more birthdays than I can remember. I can look at any team picture for the last four years and tell you each and every one of those little boys names and what position they play. For most of them I could probably recite their siblings and parents names as well. I have more pictures of the team on my entertainment center than I do of my own children. I feel my calling is to be surrounded with children and to be a light and I am so blessed to know these kids. For four years I have watched them grow from four year old little babies to the eight year old young men they are now. I melt every time they run to me yelling Miss Maaaaannnnndy.

Children are innocent and sweet and they know when someone truly cares for them. Parents, however, can have preconceived notions and deep rooted resentments that can sometimes be catastraphically wrong, and overwhelmingly destructive.

When we first started this four years ago you could come to practice and the parents that actually stuck around to watch, would be spread about the field in their lawn chairs and on cell phones, staying to themselves. Now, mothers have gotten to know one another and appreciate eachother. Children are being swapped on Friday nights between single moms, just wanting to get out for a little while on their own. Bags of clothes and shoes are distributed among those with kids of the same age and size. Mothers bring covered dishes and coolers on long practice days and on more than one occasion, card tables are set up in the parking lot. In the summer months, you can find us congregating until the sun sets, long after practice is over. Kids are running around squirting eachother with water guns and playing kickball in the field. Little girls are squealing or chasing boys and some mothers use this time to put braids in beads in their daughter’s hair.

My kids always have the best time when these occasions roll around and they beg me to go to practice and stay as long as I will allow them. My girls have made fast friends with many of the other little girls there and will sometimes play on the playground for hours on end without once looking up to notice me watching them from a distance. They get sunshine and fresh air and they stay out of my hair and let me enjoy a little conversation and comaraderie with women close to my own age. Many a little girl have come home with us from the park for sleepovers.

Through all the time and the work together and the grillouts and out-of-town trips the relationships have grown so strong that a stranger to our practices may assume they have stumbled upon a family reunion. They can scan the crowd and see the laughing and talking going on and then inevitably they slow their gaze for a moment to see…wait…what is that. That looks like something that doesn’t belong, doesn’t quite fit in. What is that pink face in a sea of brown?

Well, it’s me.

See, the women in the flock don’t exactly accept me wholeheartedly. They are friendly and civil and they don’t necessarily make me feel out of place, but they don’t include me either. I always feel like I am let out of the inside jokes, and I have not forged one true blue friendship with any of them. When they form outings to the movies or the bowling alley after games, I am not invited. Just last week one of the young couples got married. I was the only woman from the football team that wasn’t asked to attend. I don’t get asked to come to parties and I don’t get phone calls from any of them. For the most part, I try not to let it bother me, sometimes even convincing myself that maybe they don’t ask because they don’t know if I would want to come. Last weekend the lack of inclusion on their part was so obvious, my boyfriend met me at the park last night so we could talk about it. He explained to me what I guess in my heart I always knew, but was too naive to accept. It is because I am white. And because, over all the black women he could have, my boyfriend has chosen me - a white woman.

We had an impromptu get-together at the park after practice on Sunday. Someone had went home to get their grill and people were showing up left and right with coolers full of pop and lil hugs for the kids. The children were running around the playground and playing basketball. The men were standing around talking about the impending NCAA basketball championship and the woman were gathered at the picnic tables playing cards and talking. I arrived a little late after stopping at the store and when I walked up I noticed an immediate awkwardness. It seemed everyone just stopped talking. When I asked my boyfriend under my breath what the deal was, he told me we would talk about it later. For the rest of the day I stayed by his side. Every time I tried to talk to one of the mothers they would give me quick short answers and then turn their head. I felt like I was the butt of some kind of joke. Like I missed something. It was like that all day.

I finally just packed up the kids and we headed for home. I was confused and hurt. But most importantly I thought about my kids and how I hoped that one day people would see them for their heart and not refuse to accept them because of their white mother.

Last night as we sat at the park and watched the kids on the swings, my boyfriend started to tell me the story of what went on the day prior. He said as soon as he arrived at the park and walked over to say hello, all the mothers seemed to jump on him about me. They told him he acted differently when I am around and that he is always “up my butt”. Once one started, they all jumped in agreeing and although he said they were being lighthearted about it and joking, the next comment hit me directly in the gut. He said that one of the moms said to him that now that he has this white girlfriend he must think he is too good for them now. This continued until I pulled up, hence the awkward silence when I got there.

My boyfriend is the type of person that is always true to himself. He tends to not care what other people think, but in a respectable way. He explained to me how much he loved to have me around and that he doesn’t care what everybody else thinks and that I shouldn’t either. He told me that those women don’t know my heart and I should just get in where I fit in.

I just smiled and changed the subject to something else. I didn’t want to get upset and I knew I couldn’t truly explain to him how I felt without doing so, so I dropped it.

What I really wanted to explain to him was how bad it hurt. How my heart was breaking. I was overcome with confusion. I didn’t know why they could not accept me for me as a person. Why they could not see how genuine I am when it comes to what we are all suppose to be in this for anyway: the kids. Their kids. Not mine. I don’t even have a son. These are their kids I love and support with my whole heart. I wasn’t trying to come in and change things and take over. I just wanted to be a part of the team. I didn’t want to admit it, but I just wanted them to like me. Don’t get me wrong, these women are not mean to me. They don’t say hurtful things to my face or downright refuse to talk to me. But I know when they are nice and chatting with me, that it is fake. I know they have no interest in getting to really know me.

I understand that racism is real. I understand that black people in this country have been unfairly discrimated against for all time and that even in this politically correct world, stereotypes mold the way people think. I understand they don’t see me for Mandy, but as a white person and all that that means to them. But racism hurts all involved. White people judge me for having black kids and a black boyfriend and black people judge me for having black kids and a black boyfriend.

I long for the people that judge me for having a good heart and being a good person.

And then invite me to go bowling.

Originally posted on MSN Spaces on May 19, 2006

I just spoke to my friend Tasha and little Malik has hit a rough patch.  They transferred him to Children’s Hopital at 3am and he had to have surgery this morning for a twisted bowel.  He was baptized and the chaplain was called and all assumed his frail little heart would not endure the surgery.  I am happy to report he is still with us and according to his very proud mommy he looks like a new little boy.. his skin is less pale and he is breathing with less effort.  He is peeing like a trooper and so kindey function is working well. Tasha sounds tired, worried. Her husband has to go to work tomorrow and so i told her i would come to visit.  I keep trying to imagine his little body.  He needs a miracle. Say a little prayer if you would.