I'm sorta, kinda, actually selfish...
But let me explain that.
 |
| No, I'm not sharing him. Don't. Ask. |
Until, I realized that under the right
circumstances, for example, being spoiled rotten by your mother's only brother,
then yes. In that one particular instance, that ex was kinda, sorta, absolutely
right. I'm selfish. I want, what I want, when I want it, and I honestly don't
feel any kind of way about anyone that feels any kinda way about it.
But it's not my fault.
See, when we were kids, that guy I was
talking about, my Uncle, kinda spoiled me (and my other six sisters) rotten. We're
expired. Past due. Moldy and moody. He used to bring us toys, gifts, cash, ice
cream, and laughs. Piggy back rides, and actual rides in his car. To pretty
much anywhere we wanted to go, when we were ready to go. He used to take us to
Cal Skate in Milpitas all the time. He always seemed to have people with him
besides us on those trips. Not people though, person actually. A girl. Okay, he
brought his girlfriend(s). Don't ask me their names. I remember some. There's
one you really shouldn't say around us. We couldn't stand that heffa. ugh.
Anyway, Cal Skate. Milpitas. Girlfriend.
We went skating all the time. This means we had to get in the car. There's a
driver's seat, a passenger seat and a back seat. So, I'll give you a second to
guess the seating assignments. And you've just won the jackpot if you said:
Uncle drove, Niece rode passenger, and Girlfriend in the back. I mean,
where else was I supposed to sit? And, it's not like he felt any kind of way
about it. I mean, I am his niece, right?
Only, I was his niece. Not a woman. Just
a kid. A little (girlie)gurl, who adored her
Uncle who happened to adore her. He used to tell us "no" all the
time, but we all knew it wasn't a "no"...it was more like, "No,
you didn't ask me that silly question when you know I'm going to do it." Like wax my car. It
took me a while to understand that "no" actually meant
"no"...sometimes. I get confused though, every now and then. My ex
told me "no" once, and I really, in my heart didn't actually believe
that was the answer. I was legitimately lost.
I'm a woman (kinda) now. And I kinda
see that it was a fcked up thing, you know. What me and my Uncle did. *shurgs* As a woman, I'd
never want to be in that situation. It kinda sucks. But in the moment, what do
you do? Yea, it's a spoiled ass kid around...but a kid nonetheless, and you're
like an outsider. There's no genetic relation, and if somebody gotta die, I
mean...genetics.
 |
| pretty much. |
When I made that realization above, I
thought, maybe I should mature my relationship with my Uncle. That same day my
car made a funny noise. I brought my keys to him. Told him my car was broken,
took the keys to his truck and left. On my way out, I told him to let me know
when my car was ready. He had to ask for it back. I drove his car across the
bridge going to Vallejo. I didn't have cash. He got a bill in the mail. When he
attempted to chastise me about it my response was, "it's not like I was being
irresponsible, I told you about it". And I was completely serious. I also
made him late to hang out with his friends. When I realized he wasn't going, I
got back in his car and left. I watch football games on his TV because it's
better than mine. When my hand is empty and in front of him, he puts money in
it. I mean, it's empty...jeez.
Then there was this one day. After long
nights in the office, I am finally home at a kinda sorta decent hour. The day
before Thanksgiving. The day when everyone is supposed to home hanging out and
cooking. Only, he's going out.
Me: Where you think you
going?
Unc: Salsa dancing. You
don't salsa.
Me: Are you crazy? I
speak Spanish. *latin 2 step*
Unc: -_-
Me: Oh, and I got the
perfect dress?! I'm going...
Unc: No, you're not going
with me.
Me: -_-
Unc: How do you think
you're getting there? I got people with me. You can follow me.
Me: Sure can. Follow you
to your car.
Unc: Where are the other
people going to sit?
Me: #FTW *shrugs* I
don't know. Sounds like they got a personal problem to me. In their cars,
maybe?
Unc: You are spoiled
rotten. You know that right?
Me: And how do you think
this happened?
Because sometimes a question is the
only way to answer a question.
What? I like to salsa dance. We both
knew, if I got my tail feather in that truck, his plan, is going to become my
plan. Then I thought about that epiphany I had. Not the song. The damn thought.
I was about to purposely do what I used to do accidentally all the damn time.
Some woman was going to have to wait for her drinks because he'd be at the bar
getting mine. And I was going to cause a mini scene at the bar because they inevitably
would not have the particular liquor I felt like drinking #peachciroc
#gingerale.
They'd have to eat Jack N The Box on the way home because apparently, that's
the only damn thing I want to eat after I've been out partying. They were going
to have to pause their conversations because I want tell my Uncle something
right in that moment - because it's funny...and time sensitive. And, right when
they were having the time of their lives, the night was going to be cut short,
because? Because I'm ready to go home. "I'm tired as hell, Uncle. I
worked all damn day!"
And we were going to go home. And the
next day we'd be watching football. Seeing my fantasy team in the league that
mattered the most to me, depress me. Talking statistics and poorly tailed suits
on hall of famers. Arguing over when players got drafted, what teams were going
to win or lose, and calling a draw when google tells us that we're both wrong.
It'll be like the night before didn't happen. Like Drew on 50 first dates.
Because we're going to live long enough to live it again.
I know, I know. I'm fcking selfish.
Well, at least I'm honest. #RedeemingQuality
...and I'm not finished. Because in
making one point, I realized another.
I'm supposed to be fcking selfish. Why
you ask? Because he's mine! He's MY Uncle. Not yours. Not hers, Not theirs.
He's my Uncle. He's supposed to adore me. To love me despite the fact I'm a
brat (of
his own design).
Honestly, my Uncle isn't any different than my Daddie.
They're the reason I don't take out
trash. Or willingly wash my car. Or have to read the manual to figure out how
to pump gas. Or feel safe as a safe in Fort Knox when we're driving through
unknown neighborhoods. They are the reason that in the midst of the most
horrible times personally, professionally or globally, I can smile...why?
Because around them, I ain't got no worries! (yes, I said "worries") Every day, they show
up and show out in this way. I know that I am completely loved...not (just) because of
genetics...but because they know the worst thing about me...that I have the
capacity to be a selfish brat…and they love me anyway. They know the proverbial
WORST thing about me, and they love me anyway.
Call me crazy, but...shouldn't a man who
loves you make you feel this way?
You didn't have to call me crazy. You
know that I'm right.
No comments:
Post a Comment