The Measure of a Man?… by: Heather Kirkpatrick

  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  

The Measure Of a Man?

by: Heather Kirkpatrick

unhappy-black-man

What is the measure of a man?  What makes a mans man?  The kind of man that a woman REALLY needs?  A woman should not be wondering when, how, or who is going to take care of business in her home.  That shit should be done without asking.  If a man’s belly is full, his balls are empty, and his drawers are washed (without asking, of course), then what is the fucking problem?!  A part of courting (in my book, a dying tradition of this great country), is handling motha’ fuckin’ business without being asked.  If he knows your garage door is acting up (cough), trash is full, or tub is marinating in standing water, get on that shit!  Guess what-if he doesn’t, someone else will!  That’s a fact. Just like it’s a fact that if you don’t take care of your man in bed, another woman will, I promise you.  He should be watching, listening, and planning to have your needs met, as you for him.

Where are these men at, are they not being raised right?  Which parent isn’t doing their job?  I blame their mothers.  A mother should be setting the example for her son, demonstrating through the choice of her man.  If he’s laid up in prison, guess what; that’s his example.  If he’s freeloading, bottom feeding, or not working, that’s his example.  He yells, hits, or is disrespectful; another sorry excuse for your son.

One of my tenants, who rented a room from me, was just that.  A jackass.  A complete disrespectful fucking prick.  At first, I thought it was in my head.  I was maybe imagining things.  But to be an asshole to me in front of other tenants, NO SIR!  He did numerous moves to keep him locked in the dick category, and I gave him notice within about 45 days of moving in.  I met his dad twice.  The day he moved in and the day he moved out.  Both times I noticed characteristics I didn’t like.  It was clear he gets his sense of entitlement from his dad.  His own father showed him how to be a dick (on purpose) to women that he should have some sort of respect for.  It was pathetic, really.  An embarrassment to myself and any other woman he may encounter.

I’m sure my parents (although I’ve questioned motive of both parents) would pray/hope I’d turn out to be some sort of productive member in society, stay out of jail, pray, and seek them for guidance.  Over the years I’ve learned to stand up for myself and concentrate on others before self.  I’ve learned the art of humility and to be thankful for each day of life; wake up thankful I have one more day of life.  Why do I get 40 yrs when some don’t even get one.  Why is my purpose so much more or time consuming than others?  There is a purpose behind everything that happens, every person you meet, and every struggle (including men) you work through; lessons learned everyday.  It’s applying them, sharing yourself with others, and not making the same mistakes.  This leaves room for new mistakes (yes, men), new lessons, and new people.

Comments

comments

Leave a reply

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>