AfroerotiK

Erotic provocateur, racially-influenced humanist, relentless champion for the oppressed, and facilitator for social change, Scottie Lowe is the brain child, creative genius and the blood, sweat, and tears behind AfroerotiK. Intended to be part academic, part educational, and part sensual, she, yes SHE gave birth to the website to provide people of African descent a place to escape the narrow-mined, stereotypical, limiting and oft-times degrading beliefs that abound about our sexuality. No, not all Black men are driven by lust by white flesh or to create babies and walk away. No, not all Black women are promiscuous welfare queens. And as hard as it may be to believe, no, not all gay Black men are feminine, down low, or HIV positive. Scottie is putting everything on the table to discuss, debate, and dismantle stereotypes in a healthy exchange of ideas. She hopes to provide a more holistic, informed, and enlightened discussion of Black sexuality and dreams of helping couples be more open, honest, and adventurous in their relationships.

Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts

Monday, August 10, 2015

A Letter to My Daughter



A friend of mine asked me to write a letter he could give to his young adult daughter to let her know how much he loves her, what he wants for her.  I wanted to share the letter in the hopes that there might be other men who will use it as an opportunity to express their love to their daughters.  I only wish I had a father who had loved me enough to say these things to me. 

My beloved baby girl,

It’s almost that time when my responsibility as your father is over.  I will always be your Dad, I will love you until I take my last breath and beyond.  But my job, the time for me to actually do the work of parenting is almost done.  It was my job to protect you, to give you structure and guidance, to discipline you when your behavior was detrimental or destructive, and to love you unconditionally.  Sometimes, I let myself down in parenting.  I’m not perfect and I’m probably a harsher critic of myself than anyone.  But when I look at the woman you have become, I know I must have done a little something right because I’m in awe of the fact that the little girl that I once knew is now a really amazing adult.   You are a woman now.  I’m so proud of you.  I’m proud of your accomplishments, your talents, and your beauty, both inside and out. 

To be a woman in this society, in this time, is challenging.  I don’t understand everything about it, I probably don’t understand enough of the demands, complications, and pressures young women your age face.  I do know that we exist in a society that perpetuates rape culture, that tells males that it is their right to take what doesn’t belong to them from women.  I worry.  I pray every day for your safety and that you will never know such pain and violation.  I will not shame, blame, or put the responsibility on you for the evil actions of my gender.  I will, however, ask that you try to be safe.  Know your worth, not just as an attractive woman, but as a human being.  Don’t let the need to feel attractive or desired put you in a situation where you fear for your safety.  You don’t have to prove to anyone that you are sexy or hot.  Our society tells young girls that being attractive is their only value, their only worth.  You are so much more than just the package you come in.  Know this.  Know this always.  If you feel you need to wear less to be attractive, if you feel you need to show off your body or that you the number of boys who like you somehow validates your attractiveness, please remember that your real beauty, your real value is being strong, independent, intelligent, and outspoken.  Know that your femininity is not found in the backside of your jeans nor is it enhanced by your hair, make-up, clothes, or shoes.  

As much as it pains me to admit, I know that I’m not going to be the most important man in your life any more.  I know I must accept that reality.   I want the men you share your life with to be men of integrity.  Don’t let me have to go out here and bust some young brotha in his head because he has hurt you.  Choose wisely in your mates.  Set your standards high and don’t compromise them.  Make sure he treats you with respect and that he’s honest with you, that he is invested in being in a relationship with you and he knows what an honor and a privilege it is to be with you.  You deserve the absolute best.  The best doesn’t mean how much money he has or what kind of car he drives.  The best means someone who will do the right thing, even when it’s hard, someone who will put your needs and the needs of the relationship above his own.  If you make a commitment to be honest to each other, and he then lies or he cheats, kick his ass to the curb and don’t look back.   If he hits you, pray that I can dispose of the body without leaving any trace DNA.  But in any relationship, you must make sure that you keep your promises too, that you are a woman of integrity as well.  And while I don’t want you to compromise on your standards, the traits you require in a man, I do want you to know that a truly heathy, loving relationship is based on communication, compromise, and working together.  Love does not hurt.  Love should not make you sad or cry.  Love should give you the added strength to go out and conquer the world like I know you are going to do.    I wish for you profound, unending, enduring, true love.   Don’t ever forget that.  You are my pride and joy.  I will always be here for you.  

Love,
Dad


Saturday, April 06, 2013

Handicapping our Sons





There are certain things one needs in life in order to grow up emotionally healthy.  Because our culture has this deep seated hatred for Black men and, at the same time, an irrational worship of Black masculinity, we, meaning Black society, raise our little boys in ways that dishonor their proper maturation process.  We set the stage for them to be horrible fathers and husbands in childhood with practices and patterns that are nothing more than diseased remnants of slave teachings.  Because, however, these practices are accepted as standard, and touted as healthy, we, in essence, manufacture, disabled Black men.  All of our patterns and behaviors begin in childhood.  We go through our entire lives mirroring the “truths” we learn before we are 10 years old.  So to get to the origins of some of the pervasive and debilitating issues surrounding Black men, which are many of the issued Black men possess in staggering numbers, let’s take an in depth look at the life of a typical Black little boy, let’s call him Damon. 

Damon is a beautiful, brown little boy with all the potential in the world.  He, like almost every black child, is being parented by his single mother.  He was the “byproduct” of a four month fling in which his mother, a very pretty, light-skinned women got pregnant and her “boyfriend” did a Maury Povich and said, “It ain’t mine.”  Turns out he was and the father has to pay court ordered child support and has scheduled visitation.  Damon’s grandparents are “high yellow” and they often criticize their daughter for getting pregnant by such a “Black” man, right in front of Damon.  His mother wasn’t emotionally prepared to have a child, because she, like most Black women, hadn’t dealt with her own issues.  Oh, she is excellent at repeating clichés like, “I’m a strong black woman, I don’t need a man, and, I can be the mother and the father.”  But those are just empty and irrational sayings that have no meaning because any mature adult knows that a child is best reared by two parents in a loving environment and it’s not even emotionally possible for a mother to teach her son how to be a man because she has no clue what it means to be a man.  She might be capable of raising him to be a good person, IF she had cleaned up the mess of her own emotional life first, but she didn’t and she beats the crap out of her son for every minor, perceived, or imagined infraction, every chance she can get, saying that she’s teaching him discipline when all she’s really doing is reinforcing violence and hatred. 

In order to be a trusting adult, you need to have reliable, dependable people in your life, you need stability.  Damon is 8 years old and he’s lived in four apartments already.  He and his mother move frequently to avoid getting evicted for failure to pay the rent.  His mom works a steady job but she spends her money carelessly, opting to buy clothes and shoes, and getting her hair done in order to be attractive to men rather than budget her money and provide a stable home for her child.  She thinks that Damon is the reason she can’t get a man, an although, to her credit, she doesn’t come out and say it, she shows it in her behavior, quick to leave him at various “auntie’s” houses any and every chance she can get to go out on a date.  Damon’s absentee father breaks promises all the time in order to get out of his parenting responsibilities so he can run the streets with all his women.  Poor Damon.  He learns very early that father’s are never present and that women put men first.  The only thing that is constant in his life, the only thing that he can truly trust, is that there is going to be change and disappointments.  He has to make new friends every time they move and he never really feels a sense of permanence or feels like he has a home because he knows at any moment, his mother could say, “Start packing, it’s time to go.”  Damon grows up and he doesn’t let people get close to him because believes relationships are temporary and he’s never had anyone provide stability, consistency, security, or even a sense of being loved in his life.

Little Damon learned early on that he wasn’t good enough, that there was something inherently wrong with him.  His mother would come home from work, frustrated and angry from the job and yell and scream at him.  It was usually her chance to get out all her frustration with the world.  “Damon, you stupid little nigga, you are just like your father, that no good son of a bitch.  I hate him.  You are an evil, hateful child.”  Sweet innocent Damon hears that and learns that he was born no good, that he isn’t good enough as is, so he has to become something else, someone else.  He wears the mask that grins and lies.  Adult Damon adapts his behavior to what he learns as a child by being untrustworthy, never really being his authentic self with anyone, shaping and morphing his personality to fit people’s needs, and ultimately, he can’t keep up the façade and lets them down when the game gets too demanding.  It becomes too tiresome to keep up the image of being something and someone he really isn’t, of pretending to be someone he’s not, so he doesn’t keep his promises, he doesn’t follow through, he doesn’t live up to his word.  But the real authentic Damon, the one inside is looking for validation.  He’s never gotten it, he’s not even sure it exists, so all he knows is to keep lying, keep pretending to be something he’s not to prove to the world that he is worthy.  When he let’s the people around him down, his subconscious mind validates his mother’s words, that he really is no good.

Little Damon learned to lie at an early age.  His mom would always make him responsible for her happiness.  She would call him “her little man” and tell him that he was the only man in her life.  He felt responsible for making his mommy happy.  He hated seeing his mommy mad at him, and she would fly off into a rage when he did something bad, so when she confronted him, he would lie to make his mommy proud of him, to make sure she loved him.  Damon would never get a spanking when he lied, but he would get a beating every time he told the truth.  Mommy, desperate to make Damon the man in her life, never held little Damon accountable when he lied to others.  She coddled him and defended him against anyone who would dare accuse him of anything wrong because she thought any implied imperfections of her son were a reflection on her poor mothering skills.  If his mom sanctioned his lying by telling her own lies then lying couldn’t be all that bad.  Lying got him out of trouble, made people happy, didn’t make people mad at him.  It became first nature for Big Damon to lie, to deny, to deceive, and to lie some more.  Adult Damon lies so much, he doesn’t even realize what the truth is.  He can look a person in the eye and lie without so much as blinking an eye and he has no concept that he’s wrong for it. 

“Little boys don’t cry.”  Little Damon heard it over and over again.  “Be a man, don’t be a sissy, real men don’t cry.”  Okay, so little Damon holds in his tears as best he can.  He wants to be a man, right?  All the men in his life are playboys.  All the men in his life use women for sex.  Every message he gets, from TV to friends to that same absentee dad who blows him off for his dates is that men fuck women to prove their manhood.  When he has sex for the first time, usually at an exceptionally young age, he “feels” this great sensation.  It’s more than physical, it’s a moment of release where he can be himself.  He loves that feeling.  He isn’t able to articulate it because  . . . well because he’s never ever been taught to express his feelings because that’s not something boys do.   He associates sex with feeling good but never with intimacy and connection because those are terms he doesn’t even understand.  Everything in society tells him that his big, black dick makes him a man.  Not once is he told that a being a man means having integrity, keeping your promises, being honest when it means you won’t get what you want.  Big Damon uses women for sex left and right, craving the sensation of closeness, craving the opportunity to let down his guard but completely unaware of how to go about it with a partner.  He knows pornos and women who yell and scream at him for being emotionally unavailable but he doesn’t have a clue as to what they are talking about so he moves on to the next woman to fuck and see if he can’t get that feeling again. 

Damon is every Black man.  His experience isn’t identical to every Black man but in far far too many instances it’s damn close.  Now, the triggers can be different.  I could tell the same story with Damon and he could have lived in the same home all his life, with a dad and a mom who were super rigid and super strict, he could have waited until he was a grown man until he had sex but the messages he learned were the same:  that people are untrustworthy, that there’s something inherently bad about him that needs to be suppressed and that lying makes life easier and that sex soothes his weary soul.  Damon has grown up to be an emotionally immature man who uses women for sex without remorse, who lies constantly, who feels justification for never trusting anyone and who changes his persona to fit every relationship in his life.  The saddest part is that Damon doesn’t see anything wrong with the way he is because it’s been his programming since before he had memories and it’s his natural state of existence.  I’m not saying that the reason black relationships are failing is because of Black men, but I’m saying that until men can break their patterns and as long as society tells them that they are justified in whatever they do, we are fucked as a race. 

If Black men can figure out that the messages they got as children, the bad programming, figure out what happened to give them the blueprint for their life were fucked up, they can start the healing process.  I pray that I can somehow get Black men to see that their blueprint wasn’t designed well but that doesn’t mean that they are bad people and it doesn’t mean that the foundation for their lives is right, we can start heal Black relationships. 

Copyright 2006 Scottie Lowe

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Who’s Your Daddy?

I had a guy friend once who had two small daughters. He would take his daughters to work with him, he would pick them up from school, they loved their daddy and it showed every time they would see him. I was mesmerized by their relationship because he took such pride in knowing that his daughters could count on him for anything they wanted or needed. If they were having problems with children at school, they knew that their daddy would be there to resolve the conflict. If a man said something inappropriate to them, they knew that they could run to their daddy and he would defend and protect them at all costs.

I’m 40 years old and I’ve never known what it’s like to have a daddy. I’ve never had a daddy, I have a father I met when I was 16. The only interaction I have with him is him giving me a check on my birthday and Christmas and sending a few emails a couple times a year. I’m no expert but I know that parenting has to go much further than that. I’m not real sure I know all the intricacies of what having a daddy involves but I’m sure that it’s more than giving $400 a year and an email that says, “Hey kiddo.”

I have to wonder how my life would be different if I’d known the safety and security of a father’s love in my life. I have to imagine that my choices in men would have been vastly different if I’d had a daddy to help shape my perceptions. They say you can’t miss what you never had but that’s bullshit, complete and utter bullshit. I’ve missed out on what it is to know that there is a man that loves me unconditionally. I’ve missed out on what it is to know that there is a man in the world whose primary responsibility is to protect me and provide for me. If I’d had a man to love me, I sure as hell wouldn’t have begged undeserving men to love me and spent so many years of my life trying to convince them that I was worthy of love.

My father isn’t some ex-con deadbeat. He’s a genius whose worked at the same high paying job for over 40 years and who is a daddy to two other daughters other than me. When I was growing up, the concept of “daddy” was something that set my mother off on a rampage so I dared not even bring up the subject. Now I realize how detrimental that was to me.

All too many fathers only want to be a daddy to their sons. Daughters are expendable, disposable and only sons have value in far too many men’s eyes. I know my mother resented me for not being a tiny replica of her and I grew up trying to compensate for being a constant disappointment to her. It’s only now that I’m realizing that I have been compensating for feeling unlovable to the men in my life because I never knew a father’s love. We as women have to start coming to terms with the fact that we’ve been handicapped emotionally by never knowing a father’s love. Moreover, we need to start ensuring that our daughters know a father’s love. This whole, “I can raise my child by myself, I can be the mommy and the daddy,” is noble, but it’s fucked up. Men need to be daddies to their girl children. Maybe then, when we let go of the dysfunctional beliefs that are so prevalent, that so many people want to justify, then we can have a community of women who, when some undeserving man who wants to use and manipulate us for sex asks, “Who’s your daddy,” we can know with assuredness to whom we belong.

Copyright 2007 Scottie Lowe

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Who’s Your Daddy?

I had a guy friend once who had two small daughters. He would take his daughters to work with him, he would pick them up from school, they loved their daddy and it showed every time they would see him. I was mesmerized by their relationship because he took such pride in knowing that his daughters could count on him for anything they wanted or needed. If they were having problems with children at school, they knew that their daddy would be there to resolve the conflict. If a man said something inappropriate to them, they knew that they could run to their daddy and he would defend and protect them at all costs.

I’m 40 years old and I’ve never known what it’s like to have a daddy. I’ve never had a daddy, I have a father I met when I was 16. The only interaction I have with him is him giving me a check on my birthday and Christmas and sending a few emails a couple times a year. I’m no expert but I know that parenting has to go much further than that. I’m not real sure I know all the intricacies of what having a daddy involves but I’m sure that it’s more than giving $400 a year and an email that says, “Hey kiddo.”

I have to wonder how my life would be different if I’d known the safety and security of a father’s love in my life. I have to imagine that my choices in men would have been vastly different if I’d had a daddy to help shape my perceptions. They say you can’t miss what you never had but that’s bullshit, complete and utter bullshit. I’ve missed out on what it is to know that there is a man that loves me unconditionally. I’ve missed out on what it is to know that there is a man in the world whose primary responsibility is to protect me and provide for me. If I’d had a man to love me, I sure as hell wouldn’t have begged EB to love me and spent so many years of my life trying to convince him that I was worthy of love.

My father isn’t some ex-con deadbeat. He’s a genius whose worked at the same high paying job for over 40 years and who is a daddy to two other daughters other than me. When I was growing up, the concept of “daddy” was something that set my mother off on a rampage so I dare not even bring up the subject. Now I realize how detrimental that was to me.

All too many fathers only want to be a daddy to their sons. Daughters are expendable, disposable and only sons have value in far too many men’s eyes. I know my mother resented me for not being a tiny replica of her and I grew up trying to compensate for being a constant disappointment to her. It’s only now that I’m realizing that I have been compensating for feeling unlovable to the men in my life because I never knew a father’s love. We as women have to start coming to terms with the fact that we’ve been handicapped emotionally by never knowing a father’s love. Moreover, we need to start ensuring that our daughters know a father’s love. This whole, “I can raise my child by myself, I can be the mommy and the daddy,” is noble, but it’s fucked up. Men need to be daddies to their girl children. Maybe then, when we let go of the fucked up beliefs that are so prevalent, that so many people want to justify, then we can have a community of women who, when some undeserving man who wants to use and manipulate us for sex asks, “Who’s your daddy,” we can know with assuredness to whom we belong.