Tag Archives: Family

Spouse, Parents…or Kids: Who Should Rank “First?”

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Decisions, Decisions

While teasing a few Patriots fans on Facebook yesterday (Even though it may be blasphemous for me to admit this as a Steeler fan, I dislike the Pats more than I dislike the Ravens. To repeat something I said on Twitter a couple weeks ago, if the Ravens are beets — a food I thoroughly dislike, but respect — the Pats are beets…covered in sh*t), I saw something in my news feed that caught my eye.

I happen to be friends with Anslem of Naked With Socks On fame, and if you’re familiar with him at all you probably know that he’s recently married and just launched a joint blog with his wife — who’s also a writer. Anyway, the thing that caught my eye was a new post on their blog titled “My Mama or My Wife: Who’s the No. 1 Woman in a Man’s Life?” — a piece where Anslem wonders exactly how his marriage has affected the decades-old dynamic he has with his mother.

It’s funny how there are certain questions in life that you never think about until you have to. I found myself faced with one of those questions the other day: Who do I love more my mama or my wife?

At any other point in my life if I were posed with a question that pitted my mother against any other person, place or thing in the world and the woman who gave me life would win hands down every time. No questions asked. None needed. But recently my ability to answer such a question with absolute and immediate conviction began to waver a bit. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother unconditionally and with all my heart but I can say similar things about my wife. Unlike the latter, though, the Mrs. is someone I chose to love. Somehow that makes this different.

Hmmm.

Now, because the loves are so drastically different, attempting to categorize the love one has for a husband or wife and the love one has for parents doesn’t seem to be possible. It’s like asking someone “Which do you need more? Water or your heart?” — both extremely vital, but both serving completely different functions.

But, the more you think about, the more you realize your answer has to be your spouse. They’re the ones you’re choosing to start a life with, the ones you vow to be with until death, the “top spot on any beneficiary form.” Basically, if your spouse doesn’t supersede all, you shouldn’t be getting married. Everything and everyone else should become secondary…including your children.

I imagine that most of you all were with me until those last three words. “Yeah, Champ. You’re right. As much as I love Mom Dukes, my wife has to be number one. Really, what’s the point of marrying someone if they don’t automatically get that number one spot, and…what? Wait? What? Kids? My wife should take priority over the people we bring into this Earth??? Can’t roll with you on this one, man”

Lemme explain.

I think that the best families operate through a hierarchical matrix that goes something like this:

Parents, as a collective unit and as individual people, should value their kids lives over their own. Their primary duty as parents is to protect and provide for the people they’ve created, and if they were forced to make a choice between their lives — individually or as a collective parental unit — or their children’s lives, it should be a no-brainer.

But, the parents as individuals should love and value each other more than they do their children.

You know I can’t make a point without including some contrived analogy that actually ends up confusing more than it clarifies, so…

Let’s imagine a four person family (two parents, two kids) was on the Titanic. The ship is sinking, and there’s only room on the lifeboat for two people. In this situation, the parents should definitely put the kids in the lifeboat — sacrificing their collective lives for the lives of their children.

Now, let’s say you’re on that same sinking ship, and you were knocked off the boat, but the sea current miraculously led you to the shore. Once you get out the water, you glance off the shore and see that your spouse and your young child are in the water behind you, struggling to stay afloat. You can only save one, though. In this situation, as heart-wrenching and devastating as this decision may be, you reach down and save your spouse…even if your spouse doesn’t want to be the one to be saved.

The (somewhat morbid) rationale behind this? If you believe your spouse was put on Earth to be your spouse, they’re irreplaceable. (And, if you don’t believe this, you probably shouldn’t be getting married…but that’s another topic for another day.) Your kids, as precious as they are, aren’t as irreplaceable. (I hate the way that sentence sounds, but there’s really no other way to put it.)

Heh. I just had a vision that, years (YEARS, I TELL YOU. YEARS!!!¹) from now, some precocious little big-headed boy that (hopefully) looks more like his mother than me will be googling his daddy’s name, searching for any information he can find on me. He’ll come across this article, read the entire thing (because he’s a smart motherf*cker just like his dad), frown, find me sitting on the couch, and ask “Is it true that you’d let me die.”

Me: “Ummm…well…ummm”

Champ Jr (CJ): “That’s ok Dad. I understand. That’s what you’re supposed to do. When I get a wife someday, I’ll let you die too.”

Me: “I taught you well and sh*t, son. I taught you well and sh*t.” 

¹Knocking on wood

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

Is Parenthood Losing Its Luster?

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In the past couple of months, I’ve spoken on a panel, attended two parties in DC, participated in two photoshoots, and contributed to a relationship roundtable discussion. I’ve also attended numerous events in the Pittsburgh-area — happy hours, mixers, meetings, brunches, house parties, game nights; you name it, I’ve been there. In that time, I’ve probably met and/or talked to at least 150 to 200 different people in the 25 to 35 age range. Mostly African-American, mostly educated, and mostly well-adjusted.

And, in these dozens upon dozens of conversations, one overarching theme always seemed to repeat itself.

No one, I repeat, NO ONE wants to have kids

I realize that I’m being (a little) hyperbolic. I know that the people I talked to were mainly comprised of never-married-before grad students and young professionals — people who’d probably be less likely to have kids and less likely to want them than the general populace. Also, I did not discuss child raising and child bearing with each of these people I met and/ or talked to. In fact, the last time I met and/or talked to a large group of people — last Saturday at Reminisce (the monthly 90′s party VSB helps throw at Liv Nightclub in D.C.) — the main topics of discussion were “Do you want a shot?“, “Why is she in the men’s bathroom?“, “What’s your name?“, and “Wait…I can’t hear you. The music is too loud. WHAT’S YOUR NAME????”

But, whenever having children and families did happen to be brought up, ambivalence was easily the most popular answer. It’s not that they definitely don’t want kids, it’s just that they’re definitely not sure about it and it doesn’t seem like it would be the end of their world’s if they never had them. Surprisingly, this mindset isn’t held about marriage. While people definitely have their doubts about the institution of marriage, lifelong monogamy, and actually being married, we still generally do envision ourselves walking down the alter eventually. Kids just seem to muck things up.

I’ve been wondering why so many seem to feel this way. Having children is, frankly, the reason why we’re here. Why is it that so many of us are apathetic towards what should be the most natural human instinct? Since I couldn’t track down each of these people to ask them why, I figured I’d just ask a guy I have access to, a person who feels just as (if not more) “Eh” about having children: Me.

Champ: So Champ, tell me: Why don’t you want to have children?

Champ: Good question. Before I begin, I just wanted to say that I think you’re an awesome writer. You’re a f*cking rock star, man.

Champ: Thanks.

Champ: No problem. Anyway, it’s not that I don’t want to have kids. I love kids. What man hasn’t fantasized about having a Mini-Me following him around, mimicking him, and generally just always thinking that he’s biggest and best person on Earth? I’m also curious about what type of parent I’d be and what type of person I’d mold. I mean, all parents love their kids, but would I actually like mine?

Most importantly, since I probably wouldn’t have a child out of wedlock (knocking on wood), this tiny person would be a physical manifestation of the love his/her mother and I share. I imagine us (my wife and I) sitting on the couch and watching our kid do kid things while we give ourselves a look that says “Look at what we did!”

Thing is, each of the last couple of paragraphs represent gravy to me. They’re non-essentials, gift bags for the soul. I don’t need to be a father to feel fulfilled, to feel purposeful, to feel loved, and I don’t feel any earthly duty to procreate.

Perhaps this mindset — which seems to be more and more popular — is proof of our burgeoning egoism and self-involvement. We don’t want to have kids because those little motherf*ckers will slow us down. Maybe it’s evolution. We’re lucky enough to live in a place and a time where it’s no longer necessary to have children to help you plow the fields and milk the cows and sh*t.

Also, I wouldn’t discount the effect the internet has had on us. Historically, our drive to have children has always been tied to legacy. Basically, since we can’t live forever, we leave a piece of ourselves behind so a part of us does. But, with the advent of social media and everyone being able to carve out their own little niche in the universe, perhaps this fills that legacy need.

Champ: Wow. That was a great freakin answer. I’m officially in awe.

Champ: Yea. Sometimes I even impress myself. Hmm. Perhaps I should reconsider this child having thing to see if I can create something even awesomer than me.

Champ: Perhaps you should

So, you have the Champ’s answer. People of VSB, what’s yours? Do you find that more and more people seem to be “Eh” about having children? Why do you think that is? Also, how do you personally feel about being a parent?

—The Champ

Grainy Pictures: Me, My Dad, and Measuring Up To “Maturity”

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Last weekend, a few relatives and I gathered at my great aunt’s house to eat dinner and spend seven hours telling the exact same stories we told the last time we saw each other. As the youngest person in the room, my job was to do what any youngest person in a room full of loved and respected elders is usually supposed to do: listen, fetch cans of Pepsi, fact check in the most non-condescending way possible, and get teased for my reliance on my phone.

Anyway, midway through one of my dad’s inappropriately (but intentionally) hilarious recollections about New Castle, Pa (where most of my dad’s side of the family is from), something dawned on me:

“I’ve finally been here more than half as long as he has.”

You see, my last birthday officially made me more than half of my dad’s current age. Why is this important? Well, this means that I’m now officially older than he was when he had me, and this realization was quite jarring. Now, when I look at those grainy photo albums where my afro-clad dad is holding a three-day-old me in his arms, I’m looking at a man a few months younger than me. The man who looked so big, so proud, and so, well, so how a man is supposed to look hadn’t been on the planet as long as I have now, but I don’t think I measure up.

This particular brand of age-related angst is far from unique, though. In the last two weeks, both the Wall Street Journal — Kay S. Hymowitz’s “Where Have The Good Men Gone?” — and Slate — Mark Regnerus’s “Sex Is Cheap: Why young men have the upper hand in bed, even when they’re failing in life” — published widely read and discussed pieces that each contained the same latent premise: Men just aren’t growing up the way they used to.

From “The Extended Adolescence of (Some) American Men” –  Sister Toldja’s examination of “Where Have The Good Men Gone”:

…I think Hymowitz’s examples of the boyish cultural tastes of pre-adult males, the “Animal House”, extended college lifestyle and dating behaviors (using women as “estrogen play things”) make a stronger statement. The longer these young men extend their boyhoods, the less prepared they will be when they do choose to enter adult romances, marriages and when they become parents.

Although I don’t possess most of the characteristics each of these articles cite as synonymous with “extended adolescence,” I do believe my singleness (“singleness” in the census sense, at least) and childlessness contributes to my feeling, well, less manly than I think I’m supposed to, and there’s no remedy waiting for me over the horizon. I still consider marriage and fatherhood to be the most prominent markers of adulthood, but “professional and creative success” remains at the top of my personal needs hierarchy.

I know this isn’t an “either or” proposition. It’s quite possible to have both the traditional “grown” marker and the contemporary ideal at the same time. But while I’d like to eventually have a family, it just isn’t a deep-rooted need for me in the same way it was for my father, my grandfather, and other men like them.

Actually, let me rephrase that. I don’t know what was going through my dad’s head the day before he found out my mom was pregnant with me. In fact, I don’t even know what was in his head the day he took those grainy pictures. While I’ve assigned a certain nobility, a certain maturity to him, this is a presumptuous act. For all I know, he could have been experiencing the same age-related angst; wondering if he was ready to be an adult and doubting whether he’ll ever be able to be grown in the same way his father was. Who knows?

I do know, though, that I’ve been more places on Earth at this point in my life than my dad had when he took those grainy pictures. I have more experiences. More memories. More embarrassments. More anecdotes. More stories. More pains. More time. And, while I’m not taller (My dad and I are the exact same height), when you add weight to the equation, I’m definitely bigger than he was.

But, I just don’t feel as grown as he looked, and I’m beginning to wonder if I ever will.

—The Champ

wanted: black marriage public relations specialist

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***whether its dating advice, wisdom, levity, or orgasms, we at verysmartbrothas.com will provide any service necessary to keep the peace and help to create a happier populace. with this, as well as the unstable economy in mind, we realize that luvvie and ms. sula can’t be prostitutes forever so we’ve decided to alert you to relevant job postings as well.

here’s one i found on craigslist this weekend.***

wanted:

black marriage public relations specialist

job description:

smartbroinc, a newly developed and uncommonly sexxy non-profit is searching for an extremely skillful pr person to lead their “marriage and sh*t is a good thing…really. no, seriously. no bullsh*t. word is bond” urban campaign, an attempt to reverse the increasingly negative and pessimistic sentiment held towards marriage and monogamy in the black community

job duties:

**successfully convince the 7 to 35 year old black population that marriage is a viable, positive, relevant, and essential institution.

**create and communicate detailed analysis of pro-marriage factual data, including (but not limited to) information about how married people and children generated by married couples are generally happier, healthier, wealthier, and less likely to stab your sister in the forehead with a kitchen knife because of a man than the general populace

**effectively explain exactly why the overwhelming prevalence of single-parent families, not racism, poverty, lack of quality education, gentrification, or kim kardashian is the single most pressing issue facing the black community today.

**find, synthesize, and communicate historical data that shows how successful marriages, and the dual incomes potentially generated by each household, have been a key ingredient in the ascension of every prominent racial and cultural community on earth in the past half dozen or so centuries.

**if questioned and challenged on the importance and/or historical relevancy of marriage, be equipped to explain each of the following points of information:

1.  throughout history, slave-traders and slave-masters intentionally separated married couples because they understood that this was the most vital step when attempting to completely breakdown a community

2.  up until 900 or so years ago, catholic priests were allowed to marry and have children. the vatican eventually disallowed this practice, though, when realizing that their vast wealth would eventually dwindle when the money and properties amassed by individual priests were passed on to their wives and children. even then, powerful and intelligent people knew that the best way for people to get and stay wealthy was through marriage.

**successfully debunk young blacks who use the 50 percent marriage failure rate as their sole argument against marriage by pointing out its inherent faultiness. (possible retort: “well, if you believe so strongly in statistics, why did you even bother going to college if only 23 percent of us have college degrees?.”)

**successfully debunk young blacks who use the laughably faulty and inane “monogamy is unnatural. no other animals practice it” argument as their case against marriage, by showing how truly idiotic it is to compare a rational and reasoning human being with a cheetah or chipmunk

if interested, please contact the champ at contact@verysmartbrothas.com.

hmmm. sounds interesting. any takers?

—the champ



blast from the past: her two cents, revisited

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***admin note***

because of a technical difficulty (read: “really, you don’t wanna know. trust me”) last night, the champ is re-posting an entry from may, with a few ridiculous edits.

***end of admin note***

forget everything else you’ve heard.

disregard every other theory you’ve read.

ignore anything you’ve heard from any other relationship pundit.

fellas, you need to know that it’s all about money.

that’s it.

it’s not about sex, or, more specifically, which sexual acts she’s willing to do for you. she swallowed? so what. get in line. take a number. you doo-scooped her in one of the men’s dressing rooms at the banana republic? sh-t, so did clinton portis and sting in 2002. get over yourself.

it’s not about time either. women will spend time with a guy they have no intentions on ever doing anything remotely physical with, sans the hunchback hug (the teasingly platonic hug where women hunch their backs forward and stick their behind out, insuring there won’t be any type of crotch-area contact) at the end of the night when you drop her off at her f-buddy’s efficiency at her apartment.

she let you meet her girlfriends? who cares. she just wanted to prove to them that she found someone worse in spades than gem and ivy she is. plus, 45 percent of them aren’t going to be around this time next week year anyway.

she let you meet her family? so what. she’s just tired of hearing the “when are you getting married?” chorus at every family outing, and figures that being seen with your delusional ass might buy her a good 6 months of question quelling.

you’re on her top 4 on myspace? great. so is ringo starr. and tom.

she told you she loved you? love schmove. when she said it she was probably under the influence of dgp (”damn good pipe”), and that “confession” definitely ain’t admissible in any court. if you remember, that night she also called you “bucketman” repeatedly, even though your name is nate.

no, their only true tell, the one sign that’ll make you absolutely certain that a woman is definitely, without any questions, into you is if she’s willing to give you money.

not borrow. not loan. give. give, with absolutely no plans to ever get it back. this is the ultimate test…the relationship wonderlic exam. if she’s willing, she adores you…if she’s not, she doesn’t. it’s that simple

you could even make the argument that (***editors note***. the champ isn’t making this argument, just stating that the argument can be made. carry on) money is a woman’s most valuable possession which is why they’re usually terrible tippers. i’m not implying that all women are bronze excavators (”gold-diggers” is a bit too cliched for my taste), but let’s just say that, for reasons that have to do with biology and centuries of socialization, it’s much, much, much easier to separate a man interested in a woman from miscellaneous cash than vice versa, and for her to be willing to actually do this for a guy she’s seeing is the most concrete proof on the planet that she is invested in him.

you don’t believe me?

okay. tomorrow, ask a woman how many people she’s had any type of sexual relationship with. (***editors note***. don’t do this, unless you plan on getting smack repeatedly. wait, on second thought, do this and report the results)

then, ask her how many of those guys she would have given 500 dollars to if they needed it. i’d bet my obama sponsored reparations check that at least 70 percent of the time, those numbers won’t even be close to matching up.

let’s break it down again:

you met her stepmom? so what. she hates her stepmom, and she just brought you around because she knows she’ll be allergic to your cologne. she’s actually secretly hoping that it kills her

she let you make a tape? hmmm…obviously you haven’t checked the homegrown thread at bgol the contents of that shoebox underneath her bed. you’re just this month’s co-star.

your checking account is a bit short this month because you had to help pay for your aunt’s funeral, and your girl gave you $550 to help out with your mortgage? she’s already picked the names of your first three grandchildren.

so, people of vsb.com, i know i’m right, but, for the sake of discussion, i need to ask am i right…or am i right?

—the champ