Now, Tell Me Who Is Your Daddy?

Now, Tell Me Who Is Your Daddy? They say that good things sometimes happen because of a bad experience. They also say that to have loved in the first place, is always better than to never have loved at all. Although I might agree with some of these sayings, I tend to have my own opinion on the matter of love. My belief is to love thyself like no other, and the other great love will come to you willingly. In all the years that I have been on this earth, from my sixteen years spent growing up in the Jamaica, to the twenty odd years spent in the Canada, I have found one thing that is constant. No one rule is correct. Love, I know, is something that makes you act crazy, irrational, and wacky, and yet without love in your life you are almost dead, without purpose or meaning. Over the years, I have loved many times and lost many times. Each time truly believing that this is the one, perhaps my Knight in shining armor. The one to make me melt forever, love forever, fight for forever and bear his children; forever. Would he be the one to know that he has to fix my car when it breaks down by the side of the road without me asking? Would he just instinctively know that I should not have to come out of my pocket when we are on a date, at least the first 5 times? Would he just know that I should never cry and he be okay with it, that he should do whatever he can to not see me hurt? The major question though is how did I develop such a desire for my Mr. Right? Throughout all my tribulations and errors, have I now become somewhat of a player or playette, as someone referred to me recently? “Sandy, you know that I mentioned your name to a buddy of mine and mi tell him how much mi like you and want to ask you out,” an associate of mine said to me recently. “But him tell mi seh that you is a player and not to get involved with you.” At first, of course I was shocked and a little bit hurt at being described as a player, because unbeknownst to many, if there was a candidate for re-virgination, I would be the perfect specimen in my opinion, as my lovers are few and far in between. After the initial shock of that statement, I began to examine what was actually being said, and why. I searched deep within to try to comprehend my friend’s logic. “Think like a lady but act like a man,” by Steve Harvey and “The Rules” by Ellen Fein and Sherrie Schneider, in my opinion, encourage women to act as second class citizens, always vying for a man’s approval and attention. These books and my associate’s statement encouraged the same stereotypical behavior of women and what is expected of you; in order to get a man. A woman’s job is to be docile and subservient, to smile at every turn and seemingly beg to be rescued out of her miserable single life. How dare a woman love the single life and date like a man? She must then, as my friend and his friend assumed, be a player and therefore must be left alone. “I love having the freedom to chose who I want to be with,” I told this associate of mine. “Yes, I do have a few men that I talk to and so what? If that makes me a player, then so be it,” I continued with a wicked grin. So, does that mean that you don’t want me to play with you anymore?” He grinned, shook his head and walked away; knowing that he has lost this battle of the sexes with me. Now who’s your daddy?