Now it can never be said that TRJ is a man hater.
Chile, bye, in all actuality, I’ll chase a man down like a hound dog sprinting behind an innocent barn rabbit.
I ADORE MEN and I’m sure I grew into this person due to my relationship with my foster father, Big Jesse.
See, I was a non-apologetic Daddy’s girl who grew up in the loving bubble of a man who gave his love through big doses of all of the good stuff that guys have to offer us female folk.
My father was easy going whereas my mother was conservative and strict. I could ask him anything and he had an answer for me, if not an accurate answer, he had a response so filled with details and particulars that it took time for me to figure out that he was pulling my leg to see how much of a sucker I willing to be.
To this day I love a man with a story to tell.
During my early days of dancing, I would sit and bullshit with the men who frequented the bar I worked in. Most of them were older, working Joe’s who would come in for a beer and to blow steam. They’d get to telling long tales and I’d listen in, and then chime in with a hearty “I CALL BULLSHIT!” to the roar of the listening crowd.
With men, its okay to call them on their shit, it lets them know you’re not a chump. And they appreciate that.
A country boy from North Carolina, my Dad taught me all types of interesting things like; how to carve figures out of wood, how to make a sling shot, how to make home made wine, and how to throw a basketball in the hoop. I still got great aim if ever I need to bust you in the head with a handmade weapon from a distance, you know, like in the zombie movies.
I can still carve pretty good though these days I prefer to use ice or clay. I want to make homemade wine one day, but I never did get too good at basketball….
My Dad had a devilish sense of humor that would unleash a huge laugh and a set of specific body motions to go with it. I loved watching him chuckle while he watched Foghorn Leghorn cartoons on Sunday morning.
He refused to go to church with my mother, and after awhile I managed to stay home with him, and the time we spent watching television and talking is so much more valuable then anything I would have learned at church. I learned to appreciate my father’s efforts to keep us fed, clothed and housed. When I asked him why he chose not to go to church with my mother, he told me that he’s not going to thank a white statute for providing for his family when he gets up to work everyday in order to provide.
That made perfect sense to me. I’m more than happy to show my appreciation to a man whose willing to provide for me and make my life easier. Whether he’s sharing his Chinese chicken wings and french fries or use of his entire mansion.
While alone on some Sunday’s we’d fix things in the house. I was his helper and it was my very important job to hand him tools while he explained what we were doing and why.
He never…..ever….EVER….got tired of answering my endless streams of ‘Why?’ And for that, I’m so grateful. I’m now a woman who loves to ‘help’ a guy handle a project, I stick my face all into whatever it is and ask ‘why?’ so that I can learn something new.
I won’t date a man who can’t fix things or one who is unable to teach me anything. I can give my car a tune up, change a tire, replace fuses in cars and the house and I’m not too shabby with a screwdriver though my hands are too small so I just use a nail and hammer, same difference.
But I can put together Ikea furniture in my sleep. Guys like girls who can ‘do shit’.
My father loved music and entertaining. He was also a great cook who would take me with him along trips about town to collect certain ingredients for certain dishes he promised his friends he would prepare for the Christmas holidays. The holidays were a cause for people, music and noise. He and his friends would sit in the kitchen seated wherever there was room. He would brag and boast as he urged his guests to try a little of this, and don’t forget to grab a slice of that before its all gone.
Glasses of home made wine poured freely, and in time, the singing would begin. My mother would fuss about the noise and then storm off to bed. I would sneak back out of my room and have a dam ball watching them carry on until I would eventually be bribed with silver dollars to go to sleep.
I love having the people that I love in my home, feeding them, taking care of them, loving them. And I love a man who loves and enjoys having friends and family around.
My Dad, yeah, he showed me how to appreciate that about men, too.
I expect men to have friends, and a social life and a way to blow off steam. I love men who think its their job to grill, to cut the Thanksgiving Turkey, or a man who goes out of his way to cook something for me. It’s their way of showing love, and even though it might not be a Tiffany diamond encrusted bracelet, it means the same dam thing to me.
Sunday mornings were filled with talk radio and conversation. My Dad made these biscuits from scratch that would make you slap your Momma. Though I was usually the helper, Dad wouldn’t allow help with his Special Sunday Breakfast, this was something he was doing for his special ladies.
My mother wouldn’t indulge in biscuits and molasses, but Dad would serve mine just like his, buttered and smeared on a huge plate. Away from my mother’s disapproving stare, we would use the biscuits to ‘sop up’ the molasses smack our lips and lick our fingers at the kitchen table in silence. I sure did love fatback way back then.
He taught me that men are more than willing to indulge in your whims if you’ll allow them to.
The first kiss that set your body all tingly? That was a guy that did that, No?
The cool geeky guy that helped you get through high school chem class by giving you answers to test? Yup, that’s just a guy angel.
Little boy hugs and kisses, which don’t come as nearly as easily or as often as girl affection does, so you’re all the more sure to take in every little bit of guy sweetness while you can from little guys.
Guys…the people that are usually sexy firemen.
Guys…..your brothers, male cousins and uncles. You do adore them don’t you? As a teen I was totally into my one boy cousin, away from adults and his sister, we actually got along pretty good and he was no where near as obsessively hood Christian as his sister became.
Guys..the platonic ones that would occupy my stoop as a teen. The ones who told me I was cool, even though I hadn’t yet realized I was.
Guys…the ones who like you enough to tell you the truth about that wack dude your dating, and kind enough not to take your moment of weakness as an opportunity for him to slide in on some Superman Lover type shit.
Guys…the ones who carry furniture when you move.
Don’t get me started on looking at them…? *sigh* I mean how does one gaze upon men like this, and so, so, so many more and not just….
Old Tyrese circa Sweet Lady days
Ken Watanabe (Yes, Lawd)
Michael Phelp *blink*
Their voice. Capable of inflicting so many emotion simply by inflection.
The way they smell when they smell really good. I’ll have a random man pass me in a huge place like Grand Central Station and like a vampire sniffing human blood. I gets a little dizzy and flush in the face, if you catch my drift.
And what about the guys who make life easier?
Like your accountant who looks just like Doogie Howser. How do you not love a guy that saves and hides your money legally?
Not every man is meant for you to sleep with, or marry but I said all this to say…
Because if you’re here considering marriage or a relationship and don’t necessarily like men, then a lot more stands in your way besides racial disparities and dating, my dear.
Passive anger isn’t sexy, and judging from some of the comments found here and there on the interwebs, some of us may need to practice being good friends with men before we even attempt to be good partners for them.
That’s just my five cents…you can keep the change.