She was loved yall...

I recently submitted an SA Speaks for our regional student affairs conference. What’s that? Well it’s a like a 10 minute speech/conversation/talk that offers presenters and participants an innovative look at important topics and a means  to spread ideas about how we can change the student affairs profession and transform learning in higher education…because professional development. I’m still waiting to hear back about it.

What’s the topic? Glad you wondered. It’s about my last day as a student affairs professional. I know what you’re thinking, you quit? Nah, I haven’t. But I have thought it over, and over, and over…but there is no other way I could imagine my professional life – at this point at least.

When I first decided, intentionally, that I would become a Student Affairs Professional, I had all the hope in the world. All of it. I mean, before Barack Obama was like a thing we all terribly miss now, I believed it would be me who would inspire a man/woman like him. That something I did, via all this housing and residence life work, would help some young person (of color) achieve something so great that it would be a first…like the first black president. I told myself that I would be a difference maker in the ways that people like Pops made a difference for me. Crazy, right?

My first words were words of hope. They were dreams for the generation to come. My words these days? I hope you do come into this office talkin’ crazy, I *hand clap* Hope *hand clap* You *hand clap* Do... Because all hope is gone. Why have you forsaken us Lord? After 10+ years, I have almost perfected the what I’m gonna say on my last day, so much so, I’ve submitted an SA Speaks.

My last words are hopeful. But not in the ways my first words were.

A few months ago my Daddie called me. Out of the blue. Well, out of love, but you know what I mean. Probably one of the most random calls I have gotten accustomed to getting because my Daddie was awesome about calling just because. He had a mission though. He wanted to tell me about my life.

He said one day, he was leaving the house. I, just figuring out how to run in my little legs chased after him to the door. He told me that I couldn’t go with him, because my hair wasn’t combed and I wasn’t dressed. Because, clearly as a child I didn’t understand stay ready so you don’t have to get ready…Lord bless me in my ignorance. At that point, I eagerly went over to my mother so she could do my hair and dress me up. She hooked a playa up. New fit. New hair. I was outchea in these streets shining. Yeah.

Only, this was their clever plot to distract me while he left to the store. How could you leave me Daddie? And your accomplice? I should have known that I couldn’t trust her. Because, birth! I was fine in her uterus, but she persisted and pushed.

Anyway, payback is a BIH because I cried the entire time. At the door. Looking for him. He said I wailed something awful because, well, he heard it when he returned.

It broke his heart. So he made me a promise, before God, the Angels, and that turncoat I call a mother… I’ll never be the reason you cry again. I will never make you cry again.

Daddie pretty much kept his word. The next time he left me somewhere was UCLA in 1990 and 8. I thought the world ended when he told me he wasn’t staying in the triple room with me and my roommates in Hedrick Hall. HOW CAN YOU LEAVE ME LIKE THIS?! DON’T YOU LOVE ME?! I’m so dramatic. I have lived my life in his footsteps. In 1990 and 3 he was moving back to Texas for reasons I never care to know or understand. It was shortly after a major surgery. He told me that he was leaving. I replied,  I’m coming with you. I left every earthly thing I kid could leave. I never thought twice about it. Daddie had to purchase my plane ticket at the airport counter in San Francisco. Remember when that was a thing? The summer before the 8^th grade, I moved to CST.

I started to tear up on the other side of the phone, PST. I almost lost all composure. He knew it was more than I could handle – because he knows my silence, so he quickly got off the phone, as he would expertly do. I love you, I’m out. I called my best friend. My best friend told me to go see my father.  

While those weren’t his first words to me, they carried the sentiment of his very first words to me. He attempted to explain just how much he loved me, the second he saw me, he says. We were in a hospital. Those were also his first words to the township of Hooks, Texas at the time of my birth. Yall, the man drove around the town announcing it. Aside from the fact it’s a small country town, we are literally related to like half the people – everybody pretty much already knew…but announcement. I’m not exaggerating. This actually happened. In real life.   

Daddie’s first words to me were his very last words. The man is so detailed he even had the nerve to speak them from a hospital. He was always particular and specific that way. Daddie told me that I would never understand just how much he loved me. And because the man is like waaaayyy smarter than me and knows soooo much more than me, he is absolutely right. It was a Friday night. I had a plane ticket to CST that Sunday evening *red eye*… We had daddie/daughter shenanigans planned for that Tuesday.

I’ll see you in Fort Worth! You darn right! Is Mommie coming with you? Nah, I told her I was babysitting the granddaughter. She ain’t gonna wanna come for that. I’ll see the baby on Monday, and come on Tuesday. Wait, so you just gonna leave Mommie? You seriously told her that? *laughing hysterically* You darn right…if I can get away with it!

I can’t fathom how, in almost 4 decades, he feels the exact same way he felt on that first day. I can’t figure it out. I’ve been in a profession I love for more than 10 years and I got some feelings I don’t think they would understand. They’re hopeful feelings too…but not exactly in the same way they first were. And I actually do love the work I do. But, feelings yo…the feels.

I wonder what it must have been like… To live a life, where the happiest you thought you could be, the loveliest ways you thought you could feel, would be the exact happy and lovely you would feel at the end of it. This is what I am talking about! I honestly believed it was improbable and impossible to be loved this way. After all, I’ve been told I was loved, but that changed. Every. Single. Time.

Save, one. Daddie was genius, yall.

If you will allow me to pray for you, I will pray exactly this thing. That a person will love you something like the one perfect way I was loved. Because it was complete. The beginning and ending of it was perfect, though the man was not.

He seemed it though. #perfect

January 20, 2015 #PartII

Memory. I remember that first half marathon experience so many ways. All of the emotion of running my first half marathon ever. Being in one of the lowest points of my (love) life and not really celebrating all I accomplished, because I couldn’t see myself. But the beginning was what I remember most about it.

From ending…to inception…

for. the. win! yasssssssss!

I tend to make lots of phone calls while I’m in the Dollar Tree. I mean this place is perfect for a student affairs professional. You need a basket? Bubbles? Gift Bag? Party Favors? It’s a no brainer – they’re all $1.00. Plus, I don’t do regular foil anymore, I prefer my Reyonlds Wrap pre-cut sheets – so I go to Dollar Tree. Walking around “high on ResLife” and “high on running” I called my best friend. That’s also a no brainer. If there is a random thought running through my head, he’ll indulge me. But this wasn’t exactly a random thought – this was a competition. See, before Charlie Sheen was #WINNING, we were already all over that. We aren’t the super competitive types that won’t speak to each other; we’re the perfectionist competitive types that are really concerned with doing our very best. He doesn’t care that I’m not a professional athlete – if we’re doing a 40-yard dash, I better be in it to win it… I don’t care that he’s never taken an Organic Chemistry class, he better be all over those protons, neutrons and electrons.

The Challenge. Strip. The Strip. The Strip – At Night. 13.1 most awesomely fantastical miles down the Las Vegas Strip. It’s on. It took me maybe 30 seconds to convince him to do this with me. The deal was done. The conversation was over. My bougie foil was paid for.

     

We spoke irregularly about the race in between infrequent text messages. I was heading to Las Vegas soon, so we’d really get these details together when I got there, kiss my 2 god-daughters, and finally – FINALLY meet his significant other. I was excited to meet the girls and nervous to meet her. Not for anything that she’s done (or not done), but because it’s me. The Female. The Female Best Friend. What in the world has he told her about me? Blamed on me to get out of something? (because we’ve all done this to our very best friends at one point – don’t you dare lie) What he hasn’t told her about me? You just don’t know…and a woman, walking into another woman’s space can be a recipe for disaster.

     

I’m back in Vegas baby!!! Not on the strip just yet… Hanging out on the outskirts meeting his just about whole family. They were gorgeous. Though I was so uncomfortable for the most part, I was so happy to see my friend. The man who knows me better than any other man alive. There is this overwhelming sense of peace and calm that envelops me when I am with him. I’m less worried, less anxious, less everything that I don’t need to be.

     

We sat on that couch, my family, chatting about random things. Which of course lead the discussion of how I was going to leave him in my tracks when I crossed the finish-line. The conversation was as unassembled like a 1000 piece puzzle. We talked about what I was going to wear, how long the race was, the training plan for it, the dance I was going to do at the finish line, and how it would be hella cool to run, stop by a casino, and get a drink every few miles. I could not have been happier. To do a half marathon, in Las Vegas, in the evening, with my best friend in the whole wide world running with me (part of the way…yea, we definitely were not going to be able to keep the same pace, he’s a professional athlete and my chest is the size of a small child).

     

Then she spoke. As innocently has his daughter speaks to him. Well, maybe not exclusively innocence, like 80% innocence, 20% message. That damn 20%. So it seems (things he conveniently didn’t tell me) that his significant other has always wanted to do a marathon and/or running type event with him. She didn’t seem to have as much luck with getting him on board with the idea as I had. Like I was then going to say anything about the 30 seconds it took me to get a verbal agreement from him. Nope, just like a man, unsure of how he got to this point in the relationship where he obviously did and/or said something wrong, I shut up.  

The conversation ended amicably… After all, to her, I was still more or less company, and she wasn’t going to show her spots about this – at least not yet or to me. It wasn’t my fault, or was it? I gave him the “how dare you put in the middle of that” side eye. And then, just like Chrisette, I had my epiphany. It was clear – crystal clear to me. And before I could speak the truth in my storm, I had to let my best friend have it for his.

     

There is no problem with a man and a woman being best friends. I realize this thought strikes many people as odd, if so, this means, this isn’t for them. You can’t do it. If you think it’s odd, then you have doubt, and you can’t enter into a relationship like this doubting. I’m not going to say something silly like, “to me, he is just a guy” or anything like that. My best friend is super fine – if I met a man like him on the streets that wasn’t him, that fool could get it. He’s a great guy, he has a good heart, he’s smart, he makes me laugh, and he really gets me. These are all great qualities for a mate. But they are also perfect qualities for a friend. And that is what he is to me. It wasn’t meant for us to be together – and while I don’t say that to test God, I just say that to say, today, we aren’t that.

     

But herein lies the rub. I can get him to do just about anything with me. And much like my father’s love, I dare not abuse that. We like to compete – so if one of us lays down a challenge, the other is accepting, bottom line. It’s more than our pride though. We’ve seen each other through some really amazing times, and we’ve had to stand beside each other all by ourselves. We know things about each other we’ve only told each other, things we have entrusted to each other that we’ve never spoken aloud. We have a very special connection. Something many people may not ever really understand. And we really don’t care. We are who we are.

     

It was crystal clear! She doesn’t hate me. She can’t hate me; she doesn’t know me. And the reality is, it’s a rare person that actually “hates” me. Who doesn’t love a Leo? But what she will hate, or dislike, or what will always give her pause, is that there is a woman (no matter the relationship) that can convince her man to do something, to go somewhere, to get something, to say something…there is this woman who is connected to her man in a way that she will never be – because he has a female for a best friend.

Memory. He didn’t run that race with me officially that day. But I would not have finished without out him convincing me to start. And every time I thought about quitting, I thought about him. It was literally the only thing that kept me going. Not the music, the water, the gu, or the thought of a hot shower. It was him. I’d like to think that I ran that first half marathon for myself. It sure started out that way – as something for me. But it was all for him. It was a gift to him. A sign that I was on my way to finding myself again.

And he loved it.

I went back to Vegas in 2013 and did it for myself.

And he loved that even more.

January 20, 2015

Memory. For many years, my best friend in the whole wide world never remembered my birthday. He was always doing something football related. The day would come. Someone would eventually remind me that it was my birthday. I would spend the rest of the day (not) celebrating. And the day would end. Like clockwork, two days later he’d call and wish me a happy birthday as if I in fact, was born on the 20^th of my birth month. Funny. He was born on this day, the 20^th, the first month of the year.

Now that we’re older and grown(er), he calls on my birthday. I hear my beautiful goddaughters with their Happy Birthday GodMother! shouts. Then he gets on the phone and we talk. He usually has some inappropriate birthday wish for me. I chuckle uncontrollably. Then we end the conversation. Without saying it, we thank the Lord for another year we’ve been blessed with, and being able to be the same old us.

Memory. You know, I started this blogging ish because of something I wrote. It wasn’t on purpose at all. I did not get that medal in Las Vegas after I finished my first half marathon. So, I wrote the Competitor Group a letter. I shared it with Alicia maKeykey. She could not believe it. I added it to that thing I called a book. Then she made me read it aloud to people like Carrie Bradshaw. And, it became my very first blog post on these here internets.

But when you read about it, or see it mentioned in my hashtags, it just seems like all the other races. The good, the bad breathing while running, the AWESOME playlist, the crazy runners around me, the finish…everything except the medal. And mostly, that’s true. But this race was unlike any other race for a couple of reasons:

It was my very first half marathon.

My best friend was with me the whole time.

Memory. I remember this race experience so many different ways. This race experience will always be that way, because he was part of it. From ending…

The first man I ever said “I love you” to was my father. He gave me life, and I repaid him with love. And because we love each other, we never take advantage of everything it means. We speak our truths and our “I love you’s.”

The second man I ever said “I love you” to was my best friend. It was not planned. I wasn’t exactly the emotional type back then, so it surprised me when I said it. I was probably more shocked that after I said it, I didn’t even think about taking it back. Hold up... I meant it? Well damn, I sure did. I didn’t feel uneasy, or awkward. I felt free. Like I finally repaid that $10 I didn’t want to borrow, or returned that book I used last quarter. He looked up at me and told me he loved me too. We exchanged love like Monday Night Football highlights. We got each other up to speed on the catches and missed tackles, then went on to the next discussion topic.

We never talk about that day. We don’t ever need too. We know what we are to each other, and that is enough. I was there to make sure he believed in love, so until he finds love, he has me. And he was there to share my life with – and until I find someone to share it with, he’ll be the one at the finish line in all my competitions. And he was.

In 2011 I ran (or something like it) a half marathon in Las Vegas. On the strip. At night. Strip At Night. I was too busy drowning in my sorrows to see how proud of me he was. To see me being all the things he knew me to be, when all I could see was what I wasn’t. Those damn “nots” – they are so binding. That’s the thing about him. How he sees me. I’m not the sum of my “nots”…as I tend to see myself. If you were to ask me what I was, I’d tell you all that I wasn’t. Ask him though… To him I’m not a sum of my nots… He doesn’t see what I lack, for all that I am. I’m intelligent. A great cook. An artist. A prolific writer. A loving person. I’m going to be a great mother, he says. I’m an awesome sister. I make my parents proud. Oh, I’m brave, confident, fearless.

He didn’t deserve what he took for me, on my behalf that day, and I don’t deserve him still. He walked with me step by step as my corral migrated to the front smiling the entire time, he celebrated my finish before I could even see my start, he watched me jump the road blocks as my corral left me while I was waiting for the bathroom, and most importantly he photographed me at the completion of 13.1 medal-less miles so I would never forget how incredibly defeated and depleted I looked at the end. I stood – barely – in the lobby of the MGM Grand and thought about my life and the decisions I made which led me to that place that particular day. I would have cried, but losing any more liquid in the moment would have literally ended me. And when I couldn’t take another step, he made footprints for the both of us.

Crossing the finish line I still didn’t see it. How many people do I actually know, run in distance races, let alone half marathons? Oh man, he was sick (and tired) of what I became, but he never showed his frustration, not once. He made me sit, in the car, the passenger seat, at McCarran Airport and hear about this really wonderful person he knew. She was intelligent, one of the smartest people he knew, kind, pretty, and dammit, one hell of a woman. He said she would find what she was looking for, but she had to start being person she was supposed to be. I could tell he wanted to be frustrated; I think becoming a father helped teach him how not to be. Tab played professional football, and he had not competed the way I did. I did something athletic that he would probably never do, and that was amazing to him. That made him proud, and he couldn’t understand how I could make it so small, so tiny, so forgettable.

Memory. I always remember his birthday. It’s today. He’s a year older, wiser, braver, and funnier. I’m a year luckier.

There are so many wishes that I have for my best friend on his birthday. But I dare not speak them. I do, however, pray that I am everything I need to be for him when he walks into them all. He's going to have everything I ever did hope for him...and then some.

Happy Birthday.