The concept of “family” was about establishing lifelong bonds with other families through the union of love, marriage, and children who shared that love, commitment, and loyalty to one another.
I couldn’t lie and tell myself that the sharing of genetic information didn’t make that love, commitment, and loyalty a little stronger, but love was love, commitment was commitment, and loyalty was loyalty. Like old high school friends, you never lose the feelings that you have for someone who was there for you throughout the years, even if he was a stepfather.
Hell, I hadn’t even thought of that word much. Maybe because I never thought as strongly before about what I was about to question. Why not ask Denise to marry me? I had everything to gain: a woman who made her own money, two talented and respectful sons, and a family that could possibly love me as strongly as I loved them.
Sure, I knew that their fathers were back in the picture, for the meantime at least. But I was willing to be there full time and love their mother like she needed to be loved: unconditionally. You don’t have a child with a woman then walk away. I could never understand that mentality from brothers. I guess that was because too many of them were sleeping around with women who they knew they would never marry. Or, they were simply being “rolling stones” themselves. At the end of their lives, many of these men would be loved by no one but their mothers and their confused, so-called friends, who lived the same empty lifestyles.
If you sleep on a moving bed too long, eventually you’ll fall off and bust your ass. Any self-respecting family man would tell you to get where you were supposed to be in the first place, on a strong, stable bed.
So I was going to lead by example, stop thinking about it, and take action. I was going to go out, find myself a beautiful ring, take Denise out for a nice dinner, and ask her to marry me. My uncle William’s running out on me that night was a blessing in disguise. He reminded me of the kind of man that I did not want to become: a “rolling stone.”
Reconciliation
ENISE was apprehensive about me calling to invite her out for lunch. Nevertheless, I felt I had to. It was nothing too fancy, just a bite to eat at whatever nearby cafeteria would suit her. With both of us working in the downtown Chicago vicinity, I figured it would be a snap to arrange.
Denise had already decided not to take Walter’s junior high school to court over the incident inside of the schoolyard in September, and I agreed that it was the right decision to make. He didn’t need that kind of a black eye on his school records nor on his character profile. He also didn’t need the money, which was part of what I wanted to finally discuss with his mother.
I wanted to talk about our past relationship as well as our future as coparents. Since my attorney, John Ford, had explained to me that gaining full custody of my son would be a risky campaign that would require a lot of patience, I felt it was imperative, in the meantime, that I reestablish a respectful relationship with his mother. In the past, I hadn’t exactly been a respectful man to Denise, so Beverly and I both agreed that it was the right thing to do.
“And where would you want to meet?” Denise asked me.
It was slightly after ten on a Monday morning, two weeks before Christmas.
“It doesn’t matter,” I answered. “We could meet at any cafeteria downtown.”
“How about at the Presidential Tower?”
“Okay, that sounds fine with me,” I responded.
The Presidential Tower was at a central location downtown. I would have liked to have met her some place more private, where we could really talk, but I had no time for a tug-of-war, so I agreed to meet Denise at the cafeteria at one-thirty, and planned to take a longer lunch.
When I met Denise inside of the cafeteria at the Presidential Tower that afternoon, I actually had butterflies in my stomach. She was wearing a yellow suit, of all things. Since she worked for herself, I guess she had more freedom to wear what was really expressive of her. Her curves hadn’t simmered off in more than ten years, and I hadn’t once met her alone during that time. I had even sent her checks for my son through the mail, to avoid her as much as I could. I just couldn’t believe how immature I had been. Yet there I was, years later, still feeling nervous about the emotions involved in meeting her alone.
As soon as we sat down at a table with our food, Denise smiled at me. “Let’s handle ourselves like the two grown adults that we are,” she told me. I guess she could sense my tension. Believe it or not, some of it was actually sexual.
I took a deep breath and said, “Denise, I want to start off by saying that I’m sorry for all of the terrible and insensitive years that I dragged you through with my son.
“I was an extremely selfish and immature man, and I want to apologize for that. It just wasn’t right,” I told her. “And I would like to start over again as a respectful man to you and a committed father to my son.”
For the moment, I stopped there, and Denise just stared at me and nodded. She had selected a large cup of soup. I ordered a turkey salad that I probably wouldn’t eat. I wasn’t even hungry. My stomach was as tight as a coiled spring. I expected to have an all-out conversation with her, but maybe she didn’t have that same idea in mind.
“Well, you have nothing to say?” I asked her.
Her cool demeanor was making it worse on me. “I accept your apology,” she said. Then she sipped her water.
For whatever reason, I wasn’t satisfied with her response. “That’s it? You have nothing else to say about it?” I asked, pressing her for more conversation.
She smiled again and took a sip of her soup. She had this overwhelmingly smug attitude, as if everything in her life was going just fine. Better than fine. Splendid! And payback was a bitch!
When she spoke again, she was asking me how things were going with my wife.
“We’re fine. How about you?” I began to taste-test my salad for the hell of it.
She nodded. “I’m fine, too.”
The conversation was going absolutely nowhere. I got the feeling that Denise wanted it that way. She was in total control of the situation, and there was nothing I could do about it.
“Walter tells me that you’re going to be having a baby soon. Congratulations. I’m happy for you.”
When she said that, I didn’t even want to look at her. I just felt so damn guilty. I forgot I wasn’t hungry and began to eat more of my salad.
I nodded my head and mumbled, “Mmm hmm,” with a mouthful of food.
“Don’t choke yourself, Walter. That new baby will need you.”
By that time, I was beginning to get a little peeved. I looked up and finished my mouthful. Then I asked her, “Why are you doing this? I came here to apologize to you, and now you’re riding me into the dirt.”
She didn’t respond. She just stared at me again. It was the worst kind of torture that I could have gone through. At least a fired-up argument can get your juices flowing. With the way that Denise was acting, I didn’t know whether to swing for my life or put my bat away completely. It was plain nerve-racking.
I finally smiled and shook my head. I asked, “Are we here to play a game of charades, or are we really going to talk about things?” I wasn’t planning on having so much small talk. I was still waiting for us to pick up the pace of our conversation.
Denise took another sip of her soup and nodded to me. When she finished her spoonful, she said, “You invited me out to lunch, so what do you want to talk about? I’m listening.”
Either she was fishing for something specific, or she was being a plain smart-ass. Either way, I was fed up and ready to leave! “You know what, I don’t have to take this,” I told her. I wiped my mouth and stood up from my chair. If she didn’t want to talk, then I was definitely not planning on forcing her.
Denise shook her head and said, “Same old Walter.”
I was stuck in my tracks. She was proving to me that I was still a selfish man who had to have everything his way, even when apologizing. I immediately realized it
, but I still wanted to leave. I had to force myself to stay, and Denise wasn’t going to make it easy for me.
“You can go ahead and leave if you want to,” she told me. “I can enjoy my lunch alone. I’ve been doing it.”
She was eating me alive! I sat back down and pleaded with her. “Why are you doing this to me? I’m trying my best to start over with you, Denise. Why are you making this so difficult?”
The more I said, the more she dug her claws in me.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Walter. I forgot that things come so easy for you. They can be very hard for the rest of us in the world, but we all find a way, somehow, to make do.”
I asked, “Did you have this in mind when I told you I wanted to meet you for lunch today?”
She leveled with me. “Actually, no,” she answered. “But after you apologized, I had to stop and think about how much I’ve been through. And a simple-ass apology can’t even begin to express all of the pain that I’ve had to go through. So if you’re really sorry, then you deal with how I respond to your apology.”
She had a point, so I calmed down and conceded. Then she asked, “How are your parents doing?”
I immediately thought of my inheritance, and of Walter’s stake in my estate. How exactly was I planning to break the news to Denise? I also thought of my father’s nasty comments to my son at the house in Barrington. Maybe Walter had told his mother about the incident. Why wouldn’t he tell her? It was quite a traumatic experience for him, and she was his mother.
“They’re doing fine,” I answered. Then I took another deep breath and added, “There’s a lot that I never told you concerning my family. That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
She said, “I know. There’s plenty you haven’t told me. I was just trying to wait and see how long it would take you.”
She was fishing for something. She knows! I told myself. “Okay, so tell me what you know then,” I responded.
She took another sip of her water. “I know enough to make sure that I never have to pay for Walter’s college tuition. And if something were to happen to me, I’ve made sure that he’ll be set for the rest of his life.”
I was offended by her insinuation. “You think I wouldn’t continue to provide for my son? How dare you say that to me? I’ve been supporting him ever since he was born. You’ve never had to worry about Walter!”
“That still doesn’t mean that you’ve done the right thing. Because, see, I didn’t need your damn money for myself. But it’s just sad that you would try and hide shit from me, as if the truth would never come out.”
“Look, I didn’t know what you wanted from me,” I snapped. “It could have all been a setup from the very beginning.”
Denise gave me another intense stare and didn’t say a word. She was allowing me a chance to reflect on my own venom. I didn’t mean to say that to her. I shook my head and apologized again. “I’m sorry I said that,” I told her.
She nodded and said, “Mmm hmm, I understand. You didn’t want no black woman and child to get in your way. So now you’re all grown up and ready to start your real family, while you leave us on the side. And that kind of bullshit has never changed!” she snapped. “It’s just like the white man not wanting to pay for slavery, so he leaves his illegitimate black babies all over the country to find their own way. Then he puts the mothers and children on welfare and acts as if that’s a solution.”
I said, “Well, if you feel that way, Denise, then why don’t you give my son to me to raise?”
“Don’t even think about it,” she responded tartly. “I know that’s what you’ve been plotting lately. I know you! That’s why you took Walter back up to your parents’ house in Barrington. But it’s not going to work. Walter’s not that young of a child anymore. He can see what’s going on. And he knows where he belongs, too. And it’s not with people who want to use him as some kind of damn chess pawn!”
Suddenly, I looked around and was embarrassed. We were two black professionals talking loud about our personal business in a crowded public place. I had to calm myself down again.
I said, “Denise, whether you want to believe me or not, I truly love my son. And yes, I would like to be with him more than I’m able to now …”
“Why?” she cut me off and asked. “Why all of a sudden?”
I wanted to answer her, but I stopped myself. I wanted Walter because it would make me feel like more of a father if I could raise him every day, like Denise had gotten a chance to do. However, I realized that would have been a selfish answer. Everything was still for my own benefit, and I didn’t want to admit to it. The truth was, I couldn’t stand to have her in my way, second-guessing my every move with him. I wanted to be the sole parent.
Denise looked at me and said, “That’s exactly what I thought. You’re the same old damn Walter.”
I took a deep breath and was ready to leave again. I couldn’t stand that she could read me so well, and I was disappointed in myself for being so obvious.
“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” Denise asked me, rubbing salt into my wounds.
“My son will get all that he deserves,” I told her as I stood up from my chair. Then I added, “Maybe you need to be more concerned about Jimmy’s father.”
“Why, because you feel that you’re better than him? You’ve always felt that way, haven’t you? But at least J.D. didn’t have to go to the Million Man March before he started to care.”
I said, “Yeah, he just went to a couple of basketball games instead. My son told me all about it.”
I walked out of that cafeteria feeling more concerned about my future with my son than when I walked in. Denise seemed to be able to draw out my worst behavior. We could not even have a ten-minute conversation without fireworks of some sort. I headed back to my office and couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the day. I must have called my wife at least four times, and left two messages at her office to call me. She finally got back to me around four-thirty.
“So how did things go?” she asked me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you back earlier, but I’ve had a real busy day today. These students are always waiting until the last minute to do things. I mean, they wait right up until Christmas Day, practically, to pay their darn bills. And a lot of them are seniors!”
Immediately, I had to be thoughtful. If I dismissed how Beverly’s workday went to talk about my own rough day, then I would be proving Denise right again. So instead of falling into that trap, I joked and asked, “Is our baby still all right? Maybe we’ll have an action kid for sure with all of this activity he or she’s been getting.”
“She or he’s getting,” Beverly said, correcting me. “I told you, it’s a good thing for mothers to keep working. You wouldn’t want to come home after I’ve been sitting around the house all day anyway.”
“Oh, I believe you there,” I responded. “You don’t have to convince me of that.”
“Okay, so tell me. How did things go with you and Denise?”
I sighed. “Not too well. She’s more bitter than I thought she would be.”
Beverly paused. “Oh,” she said.
I wanted more of a response. I said, “What do you think about that?”
“Well, I’m not in her shoes, so I really can’t say. She didn’t accept your apology at all?”
“Yeah, she accepted it. Then she went on to beat me over the head about how hard it’s been for her. It couldn’t have been that hard. She still ended up becoming a successful woman.”
I shouldn’t have said that, but it was too late.
Beverly grunted. “Mmm. I hope you didn’t take that kind of attitude to lunch with you.”
Unfortunately, I guess that I had. I let out another long sigh. How much more did I have to learn about myself before I could become a man who really cared?
“Is there some kind of class I can take for male insensitivity?” I asked my wife.
“I can check around for you.”
She sounded
serious, so I asked her about it. “Are you serious? I was only kidding.”
Beverly said, “Yes, I’m serious. They have counseling for a lot of different things. All you have to do is look them up.”
Suddenly I felt like a nutcase. I tried to laugh it off. I said, “You don’t really believe that I need some kind of counseling, do you? Am I that close to my father? I thought I was getting better. What about some kind of counseling for angry single moms. Do they have any of those?”
“Isn’t Denise a member of a single mothers’ club or something?” Beverly asked me.
I had forgotten all about it. “Yeah, well, I don’t see what she’s learning there,” I responded. “I don’t think they’re trained professionals anyway.”
Suddenly, my wife went silent on me. I couldn’t seem to help myself. All I had to do was listen to my own words. How did Beverly even put up with me? Denise was right again. How in the hell was I doing with my wife? Really?
I said, “Beverly, I’m willing to do whatever I have to do to become a better man. So if you think that counseling will help me, then get me signed up.”
She said, “Stop sounding so down about it. I bet when you get into a program, you’ll find out that a lot of men felt the exact same way that you do about things. And it’ll be filled with men who really want to make a change. You should be proud of that.”
I sure didn’t feel proud. I felt imperfect, as if I had a nagging disease that only professional help could cure. I was checking myself in for selfish manhood.
After her futile attempts to cheer me up, I hung up the phone with my wife and began to gather my things. I wondered if my white counterparts at the bank ever took counseling on how to treat black people, or if such a thing even existed. Sexism, racism, and classism seemed to be three unbreakable chains, not only in America, but around the world. So even if I did succeed in becoming more sensitive, I wondered how that would play itself out in the long run, and if it could change my productivity at the job, for better or for worse. In arenas that called for limited amounts of mercy, too much sensitivity could ultimately lead to a man’s failure.