Wisps Posts Tagged as 'Family'
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White folks did not enslave my ass. All mother's doing. Oh fuck! I keep forgetting. My mother is white. Fuck!
My mother isn't to blame. She just wanted a white boy whose hair was easy to manage. 11-Jul-2021
The idea of sharing neighborly grief and sentimentality with food is a common tradition that our family never followed. Dished food was constantly being brought to our home with gestures of warmth and or greetings yet remained untasted. At funeral gatherings my mother would throw out the stranger's food and keep only the family's. When the strangers inquired about their food my mother showed them the empty dishes. "It was so good the people gobbled it up." There was always an excuse. She didn't like what they said, they appeared unclean, smelled, had cats, were old, of another race or white. Mrs. Brady would have no chance at delivering "other food" to our mouths.
Our mother turned eating out into shopping for a restaurant. She wanted to make sure it was clean and comfortable and that more than two people were eating there. She didn't want to appear uncool.
Before she died, my stepfather's mother made some of his favorite dishes. We drove to pick them up. They were neatly packed in containers and my stepfather was excited to bring the food home to share with us but mother smelled something foul in the car towards our way home. I smelled nothing. Is it coming from those containers?! Throw them out! Those containers are not coming inside my house! They're poison. Throw them out or you're not getting back in the car! My stepdad deflated as he dumped the last taste of home and I felt so bad for him. It's his mother's food and he's the only one obligated to eat it and if he wants to relive a fond memory, he should goddam be able to. Mother! Go into another room while he gobbles it down. I'll clean it up. I told her that and she yells at me "yeah, but you don't know these people." (Spells and shit.)
I've never held to her philosophy and as an adult enjoyed much food by hospitable strangers and neighbors and obviously never died. My mother was afraid someone else would usurp her talent. 01-May-2021
Fright of my sister and her constant abuse made me the best cowgirl licker on the planet. (Wasteful Jedi trick.) 23-Apr-2021
IN THE ORIGINAL STORY, PINOCCHIO KILLED JIMINY CRICKET
I was raised by Amazons. The women in my life were hierarchy. I was trained that all men are scum but they pay the rent so we have to put up with them. You may keep the ones that tickle the ivory longer than the ones that can pay the rent but that is an individual choice. I was going to be unique. I'd be raised as a boy with a female alpha mentality.
The only boyish thing I did was have sex with other boys/men. Ooh, that sounds girlish too. I did no boy things.
If we are allowed to accuse and punish we should be able to examine what weirds/drives them out. Changing what men hate should be a self realization and a compromise. I wanted out of girly world. I have a dick and I am nothing like them. I am not a girl. I wanted to be a boy like Pinocchio. (Scariest story ever because it's depraved and life has no happy ending and the "real" book made me hate it because it was my truth but it gave me hope. I will not be a schmuck puppet.) They never realized there was a boy underneath until the neighbors told them so. "Why isn't your boy married?" I became a lie that thrived but disappointed when I revealed the truth.
The men that popped up occasionally were full of drink, exhaustion, perversion and hate. The men bestowed me wisdoms about "you know who" and tips on how to sneak in extracurricular sex but then they disappeared or died. The parties were masquerades except when the tired broke free and exposed an ugly truth. The fairytale lasts as long as it takes a kid to fall asleep. Flirting, cheating and fights aplenty. The boys kept playing at Prince Charming while the women took credit for it. Somebody got laid, crowned, a new home and family whilst the other, got her rent paid. The kids were either in on the plan or out.
My mother and sister cured me of lying by aggressively harassing me. I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't. I told a lie and got beat up, I told the truth and got beat up. I decided to tell the truth so it could mean something.
My stepfather stopped talking after his heart attack. He can but won't. He is so afraid to misspeak or insinuate the wrong thing to offend female empowerment that he stopped talking to my mother and everyone in the family because he can't handle the stress. He is being raised by Amazons. The exact same ones as I. He is a dumb alpha ex-jock stuck in a girly world and it's his punishment for cheating with whores. (Yeah, but he paid the rent!)
Mary Richards is my favorite feminist. She didn't want to downgrade men, she wanted to join them. She liked men. Lou the alpha respected her and everybody else adored her. Female empowerment is not about being a "Queen." If you want to be a Queen move to England. All's fair in love and war. That doesn't sound equal to me. We must remember that when "he" declares it. 02-Apr-2021
I was under 25 living a fantasy gay lifestyle with my perfect partner in Brooklyn. I lived 20 blocks from my mother and my newly appointed stepfather. It was like living in a colorized version of "I Love Lucy." Yes, I was as corny as all of you once.
Mother calls hysterical. We had to come over. We were just there. What happened?
Rewind: my stepfather wanted to be more seductive for my mother so he called us for advice. My Russian advised him to get her flowers, lay them out, get a thong and strip for her. I agreed it might be fun for her. It was all the craze and my stepdad had the body.
FF: a family dinner was the event where he decided to put sexy daddy in motion. I was flabbergasted but I didn't want to embarrass him and or hear the wrath of mom. I watched as he stripped to a thong and ran her out into the kitchen. He automatically proceeded to dance and strip for my lover and I. Dude, my lover was getting into it. I slithered into the kitchen before my stepdaddy lap dance, checked on mom and she was furious. "That fuckin' maricon." Men don't do that shit. I'm humiliated. I apologized and told her it was my fault and that I thought it would be cute. I didn't know he was going to take it so seriously. She softened, laughed and whispered that "he used to be a bouncer at gay clubs. That's where he learnt the moves. (I didn't know bouncers had to bounce.) He says he never did anyone there but after today I'm not so sure." My mother accepted it as a joke, stepfather got dressed, we ate hardy, laughed ridiculously and went home.
Mother: Something's wrong with your stepfather, he's beating himself up,"como un loco." I think it's an army thing.
I was what? I returned to mother's and he was indeed beating himself to a pulp. He was punching himself and body slamming his head against the walls. We restrained my bloody step and stored him in a room away from my mother.
Step: your mother... (he couldn't speak)
Me: why were you punching yourself dad?
Step: (crying) because she pushed all my buttons and I wanted to hit her. I made a promise to myself that I would never hit another woman, ever, so instead of punching her, I punched myself.
Mother: pendejo. He really is an idiot isn't he? (She laughs. Ok. I laughed too.) I would rather he hit me and prove that he's a man instead of acting like this. (More laughter.) Your father knew how to corral a woman. I liked that. That's the kind of man I want. Not this. You have some of that too. (Ha!)
I asked he if she got off on it and she said yes. Out of the blue...she admits Osama Bin Laden gave her wet dreams. "There is something about that man. Don't you think?" (I was speechless. Why is she telling me this shit?)
I've taken her to countless hospitals with boyfriend injuries and interceded physically to save her life and she gets off on it? The hurt, the police, the pity, the crying, the worry, the danger, the attention, the fraud, the violence all for a tickle? 05-Mar-2021
My grandmother would babysit me on certain weekends so my mother could free herself from the drudgery of doing nothing. My grandmother acknowledged me with derision but in comparison to the others (cousins) I was useful. I could serve her, protect the child and gain the privilege of her hating me less. The favorite grandchild had curls spun from gold and the disposition of an angel. The prince came from nowhere. There is no evidence of a father. Mythologies passed on from cousin to cousin deduced my father, the rapist, was in the running, my aunt's pedo brother too and a made-up greek guy that no one's ever seen. No cousin/grandchild would ever receive such bountiful love from the adults in the family. I loved him too.
My grandmother once announced to her 15 grandchildren (ages 6 through 12) that they would not receive a Christmas present from her because she could only afford to give it to one and she was bestowing it to the most deserving. Seven of my cousins later became Jehovah's Witnesses and never celebrated anything ever again. The two year old prince doesn't remember that day but that's the day his life was destined. That Christmas he was granted grandma's glee, heart, exquisite presents and everyone's hate. We were so angry at her. She could have shared that gift with him at anytime. They lived together. Why did she choose to humiliate us by having us witness it? "Because she's a witch." "She hates us." "I hate her!" The family dynamic was set. Avenge the Sith.
We could see her coming. Through the windows. Before the elevator dings. "Here comes that demon mother of yours," she would say. It was almost a countdown on how many bad things my grandmother could state about my mother before she arrived to terrorize her. Ding!
My mother would make her account for every mistake (the cheating, the twins, the lying and the pastor) she ever made. It happened a lot. My grandmother would end up screaming, crying or both. It was horrible. I didn't really understand grandma's sins but I forgave her. My mother obviously could not.
My grandmother taught me how to live a successful miserable life and to always be wary of mother. 22-Jan-2021
GIF: they always find a way in.
My worst case scenario has come true. I have to relive the aspects of my life I was frightened to visit. I am a needy person. As such I need to acquiesce to the support (family) that saves, not the one of invention (gay.) I have faith now because how else could I survive. It is family prayer that gives me breath. But I don't believe. Stop the crap. This is why you suffer. Because you won't let him in. "But..." I give out benedictions and prayers to everyone as I crack inside. My mother cries that I never gave her a grandchild. I kiss God's lips for hearing me on that one. "Gay was a failure or you wouldn't have come crawling back." I didn't come crawling back. They tracked me down. I was made to believe gay would be beautiful, romantic and forever. I didn't know I was in a cesspool of perverts. My sexual predators are now bffs, the meanest people are my mentors and I keep asking what did I do so wrong? I wanted to die in peace. 27-Dec-2020
One of the most mystifying gifts my mother laid on me this year is for me to stop pretending to be black and just be white. She's never seen me as anything but, so it is so. Racism doesn't apply to me because she's always seen me as white. LOL. It was said in an advisory tone to offset future guilt. Head explosion. If I went outside right now and declared I was white they would shoot me. I'm not black because my hair don't kink, she says. (2 blunts.) My nephews and nieces are black because their fathers and mothers are really black. There are no black people in Puerto Rico. They're Indian. Body collapse. 25-Dec-2020
My sister and her brood are coercing my ailing mother and my heart replacement stepdad to enjoy Thanksgiving with her sons and their children, wives and friends. You know, like Oprah taught. There will be lots of hugging, plenty of food, loss of cognition, diaper twerking and a death right. They are immune because family love and God conquer all. Good job, Spanish news. Happy fucking Thanksgiving! (I'm mad!) 22-Nov-2020
I came out to my mother when I was 17 years old and no longer residing in her household. I didn't expect a good reaction so I called her on a public phone and announced it to her. She cried, became quiet and told me she suspected it but that she loved me, no matter what. I didn't have to lie to mother anymore. It was freeing. I visited her a few days later. She had time to absorb and ponder having a gay son. She cried again, I asked why and she said because being gay meant I was destined for a miserable life. That's impossible, it was such an overwhelming feeling to be me. I had to prove her wrong. She asserted conditions for my new identity: no meeting of "my men," I must continue to have a masculine presence, especially around family and don't get sick. I ignored her, introduced her to every one, told as much of the family as I could bear and kept my masculinity in check.
My mother recently confided to me that she used to receive dick pics from my croc daddy in the US mail while I was living with him. I thought, he might have done it as revenge for my unwillingness to absorb giant dick pain and or tricking him into being a gay bottom. When I took him to Gay Pride he cried because he thought I mistook him for one of those. He was straight. His shit was no joke but he was. A child molester was my educator and entrance into the gay world. I also figured my mother and I were even. Her boyfriend tried to brutally rape me. Mother's boyfriend was two years older than me, my croc daddy was 55. Our boyfriends shared the same culture, understood the nuances that make people vulnerable, and always seemed to be creepily plotting something sexual for us. Neither man represented our community. They were perverts sidling up to mommies so they could play with their children. (Now I know why she tried to cut him out of my photo albums.) I understand her comments and I realized her concern. My gay education came from perverts. The community hates itself more than the media loves it. Clicks work for a minute, the families we create are fake and we all die alone. We need less "Boys In The Band" depression and more gay reality awareness so we can come up with better coping mechanisms. Not smile at weirdos taking advantage of us because of politically correct etiquette.
I apologized to my mother. My croc stalked me, stole from us, used me, beat me up, tied me up and raped me. Afterwards, he thought of not releasing me because he was afraid I would kill him. You bet your life! But I had no choice, I begged for my life, stroked the psycho's ego and he loosened one arm while he Soniced out of the apt. I was stalked by my ex, my mother was stalked by her ex and I was stalked by both exes. I spent a lifetime trying to prove mother's sentiment wrong but in the end, she was right.
(Pic of my daddy croak included. Mother destroyed my croak dic picks but y'all can ask mother if she kept her copy.) 26-Oct-2020
When I finally blurted out to mother, the family members (sister/cousins/boyfriends) that sexually molested me as a child she contested with:
"They are family. What do we you want me to do? Stop talking to them?!" 03-Jul-2020
The stereotype we run from is our family. 24-Jun-2020
My grandfather was so devastated by grandmother's cheating and impregnation by the family pastor that when he moved to NY, he became a warlock. He was the most affluent and secured force in the family, with my god fearing mother his apprentice and I a witness. 24-Oct-2019
We're not allowed to complain about getting old. The new adults (any person not our age) are so adamant about excluding themselves from God's given fate that they will extricate you to locations that fossilize the brain until you can't remember Marvel movies. I'm scared, my gayby is a Nazi. 18-Oct-2019
Our mothers raise us to perpetuate macho proclivities whilst removing our power. 05-Oct-2019