Truth: A Consequential Casualty of Friendship

Once, I found myself in a precarious situation I prayed I would never have to face again. Till this day I can say that I've been spared the discomfort and embarrassment of that position, but honestly the decisions I made during that period haunt me to this day. I think we've all been there.

I was once asked to provide a friend with a long-standing alibi for his deceit and dishonesty. It became a bit of an impromptu lie that I was constantly prepared to tell.

Let me be clear that I have not and am not always the most honest person. I've told my share of lies and have even found myself tempted by the lure of infidelity. This made my periodic tasks even harder to do when asked. Here's the story.

My friend, I'll call him Larry (I don't know anyone named Larry and it was the first name that came to mind) was what is known as a serial monogamist. He enjoyed relationships, especially the courtship. Larry was truly gifted in the art of wooing a beautiful woman and weaving her deep into a web of his seduction. He was smooth and debonair in his approach, and women absolutely loved it. His ruse was that he and his wife were constantly going through various stages of divorce and she refused to understand his needs. I've always found it fascinating that a woman would not only believe Larry but also fall for the idea that she was the antithesis of his dutiful wife. It worked and it worked often.

Before diving to deep into truths and untruths, I'd like to spend a moment on the women he duped. Please don't allow me to paint a distorted picture of Larry. Larry was, in most accounts, a good guy. He was a loyal friend and someone that most people could trust, save his wife. He was passionate about his career and his hobbies and seemed to enjoy his life. (I speak of Larry in the past tense because I've severed ties with him.) Larry's number one character flaw was that he cheated on his wife... constantly. One particular woman knew of Larry's marital status and refused to be swayed. She believed that her presence in his life would enhance all the trials and tribulations he spilled to her during courtship. She willingly and joyfully snuck around with him enjoying the "thrill" that their clandestine encounters brought her. Too her ridiculous surprise, Larry ended their trysts deciding to "work things out" with his wife. I later learned that this was code for the fact that he lost interest and was ready to move on to the next girl. This woman's story could be photocopied and handed to every woman Larry dated. His ideal woman lacked confidence, esteem and a grip on reality.

Woman after woman, my job was to lie to Larry's wife. Every once in a while she would call me and ask if I had heard or seen Larry. Trying my best to not sound as if I were fabricating a story, I would fabricate a believable story and immediately call Larry. I've told her all sorts of ridiculous fantasies, hoping that she wouldn't believe me and demand that I put him on the phone immediately. I wanted a reprieve and an exit from the lie, but she never gave me one. Larry always had a way out and I was left to deal with a tormented conscious.

A reader could very easily cast my guilt and shame aside and profess that I deserve to feel this way. As a matter of fact, it would be easy to claim that all parties involved were equally guilty and deserved whatever punishment accompanied that guilt, including humiliation. No, I did not have to lie for my friend, nor did I have to take such an active role in his transgressions. During this time in my life my moral compass was severely off and I chose to emulate rather than chastise Larry. Birds of feather being a truism more than an idiom, I picked up some bad habits while crafting the perfect prevarication for Larry's indecorous behavior. What made matters worse is that I had absolutely nothing to gain. My friendship with Larry was a classic dependency. I needed his bad behavior to feel good about myself. He needed me to keep his wife out of his… affairs. The only thing that Larry offered me in return was a contrast that didn't require me to reach very high to attain mediocrity.

The final straw was a call late one Friday evening and a desperate request that had no positive outcome. I was asked if I would do one of two things: 1. Give an adulteress a ride to a clinic so that she could make a decision she was sure to regret or 2. Lie to Larry's wife again while he served as his girlfriend's chauffeur to an abortion clinic.

At that moment I realized that I was more than an enabler for Larry and his delusional wife. I was the cause of his problems. I was the drug dealer always willing to give a freebie. I was the money-obsessed member of an entourage, always willing to say yes. I was the parent praying that this would be the last time I would bail my child out of jail. What blew my mind was how easily Larry accepted my refusal to help out. I suspected that he had grown weary of his lifestyle and saw his omission of prophylaxis a careless cry for help. My refusal was the last words I would ever speak to Larry.

Through the grapevine I heard that he and the girl he was dating went through with the pregnancy. He divorced his wife and pursued a relationship with his mistress. All things being equal, she eventually left him for another man.

Larry taught me a lot about myself. He taught me the value of honesty and the pitfalls of wayward ambition. He taught me that a woman's heart is the most fragile collection of matter in Creation. I wish that I could say that since Larry I have not allowed a dishonest word to part my lips, but that would be a lie in itself. However, I have come to realize that lies will cause a wake of disaster that is not easily repaired. I’ve also vowed that I would never put anyone in the position that Larry placed me in. A simple lesson but one that has proven to be extremely valuable.

I still ask myself at times whose crime was greater... mine or his.

My Wife & The Lover She Introduced Me To

I have a theory. The theory hasn’t not be tested so to be absolutely pure to diction, I have a hypothesis.

My wife and I recently entered into a conversation about relationship that intrigued me. The topic of the conversation was:

“Why Do Relationships Fail?”

The conversation started after an episode of Oprah, of course, about the same subject. An interesting idea was presented regarding marriage and the perception that it is a holy union that sacristy is matched by no other institution.

Before tackling that thought we contemplated the true nature of falling in love with another person. Without attempting to define love, we considered how the feeling is derived. Here is where my theory comes into play.

I don’t believe that we ever necessarily fall in love with another person. Instead, I think we fall in love with the person that other people introduces us to. It is our imperfections that actually make us perfect for one another. The more imperfect we are the easier it is to find love. Imagine that every single person we meet is holding a mirror. The image in the mirror is always my reflection but it varies based on the perception of the person holding the mirror. For example, if I met Bob who thought I was a great guy, then in the mirror he’s holding I would see my reflection through his eyes – a great guy. On the other hand, if I met Jane who believed that I was evil, then her mirror would reflect an image of myself that I wouldn’t like. The tricky part is that there are those amongst us who will show us a reflection that has been manipulated for their own purposes.

Remember when you fell in love with your spouse or lover? Remember the feeling that the person gave you? I believe that no one can make you feel any type of emotion, good or bad. I believe that the person you actually fell in love with was your image in that person’s mirror. The person your new suitor has introduced you to is a better you or an ideal you. Relationships fail because the image begins to fade as life gets in the way. When I met Melissa, I loved the Tony she saw and reflected. As long as she reflects this superior Tony, I will continue to love Melissa. So essentially I am in love with Melissa and the lover she introduced me to - Me. Bear with me.

When we first meet someone, we make that person a priority. Nothing in life is more important than the person we are pursuing. The precedence we put on a potential lover gives them a certain self-importance they may not have for themselves. As long as we show one another an image of the very best of ourselves our infatuation grows stronger and stronger. Finally, completed fascinated with who we have become, we commit to the person who has introduced us to who’ve always thought we can be.

The breakdown takes place when we are no longer the priority. When the act of falling in love is complete bills can now be paid, jobs can be worked, children can be raised, and the mundane of life supersedes creating our lover’s best. Suddenly the “me” I see when I look into my lover’s eyes lacks the significance I once saw. Suddenly, I see flaws and shortcomings that didn’t prior exist. I’m angered by this phenomenon convinced that I’ve fallen out of love with my partner, when in all actually, I know lack the effort or esteem to recreate who she once showed me.

So what do I do? I cheat. I cheat because in the mirror my spouse is holding I see husband, provider, father, and other utilitarian titles that don’t appeal to the side of me that longs for romantic extravagance. I don’t need anyone to show me my responsible side. The woman at work or at the gym is holding a mirror that shows me lover, artist, comforter, and every other extraordinary being I long to be. I fall in love with this person – not the person holding the mirror, the person in the mirror – the better me. I leave my wife and the boring reflection she forces me to stare at day in and day out and run after the thwarted image of a person who has no idea who I am. Why do second marriages usually fail more often than first marriages? Because in both marriages the real you will eventually present himself.

Self-awareness is vital so that we are not tricked by someone’s altered mirror. When we recognize our true selves we are less likely to believe that we are less or greater than someone persuades us to be.

In some cases, the image we see is one that we enjoy so much that the person who introduces us to the image will always have a special place in our hearts. For example, my ex-wife and I no longer a share a romantic relationship, however by giving birth to my son she showed me an image of father that places me eternally in her debt. I can always be her friend because without her I would have never met the man that my son calls Dad. When I look at her I don’t see “lover” because she no longer casts that reflection of me. If she were to change the “father” image with hurtful words or actions keeping me from being a father, it would be easy to develop a disdain for her.

Some people have caused so much pain with their mirrors that we are not willing to allow anyone of their gender, race, creed, make-up, or background to show us ourselves again. A woman who has been raped by a family member or someone close to her will always question a friendly face attempting to show her an ornate likeness of herself. She’s seen herself that way before; beautiful, worthy, intelligent, important; only to be crushed by the person who had created the image. What dies is the relationship between her and the violator and any future belief that what he showed her is true. In a twisted way, the person who shows her a reflection of loathing, ugly and no worth is safer, because for her at least he is showing her what she already believes.

I believe this is why it is so hard for some people to leave tumultuous relationships. From the outside looking in we see two people who are hurting each other emotionally and possibly physically. The two people see what they once coveted, “a better me.” The woman who says, “he’ll change” is actually hoping that he will once again show her the woman she fell in love with. The man who says, “that’s not who she really is” believes that one day she will show him the strong and virile man she introduced him to at the beginning of their relationship. It isn’t until some catastrophic event forces the two people to look not at the mirror but the person holding the mirror that it becomes easy to break free.

I can back none of this up with science or proof. It is only my feeble attempt at answering the questions that has plagued us from the very first, “I love you.” My hypothesis is not one of cynicism but more the belief that falling in love with one’s self should remain priority one. The next time you fall in love or even gaze into the eyes of your current lover, look deep into the mirror of their soul and make sure that the image you see is one that you have always known. Ensure that no matter who is emitting your reflection, you see your very best you.

Fatherhood: A Presidential Mandate

I am of the opinion that government should only get involved in the lives of people when it is absolutely necessary. I've learned a valuable lesson about sharing my political viewpoint, and that lesson is that I'm guaranteed to find more vocal opponents than allies. This is not about politics but the role of politics in my home.

The other day I was watching television with my kids and President Obama did a quick 30 second commercial about the role of fathers in American homes. It was a jovial, non-confrontational spot about the joys of fatherhood and how more men needed to get involved in their children's lives. My first thought was that I had no opinion about the commercial or the fact that the President felt a need to invade our television program with the information. When iCarly came back on I began to think about the commercial and suddenly became a bit sensitive to the idea that the President of the United States felt a need to tell me to be a good father.

I felt it was a violation that a man who has one of the most visible jobs in the world and has the ability to literally give his children anything they desire would lecture me on fatherhood. I mean, I remember the pride I felt when I announced to my three children that they would all have their own room in our new house. This feat was dwarfed by the President inviting the Jonas brothers to give a private concert for his girls to welcome them into their new, plush crib. Now I don't need the lecture that a man's pocketbook doesn't dictate his level of fatherhood but an iPod touch is cool - a ride around New York in Air Force One is enough to make even me squeal like a schoolgirl!!

So I pouted. I pouted because I know in my heart I am a great father (at least I make every conscious effort to be) and I'm appalled that the President thought it necessary to break from his responsibilities to remind me of mine. Right around the time I had made a decision to write a stern letter to the White House, reality kicked in.

President Obama wasn't talking just to me...

In a father's day speech at a church in Chicago, the President uttered some disturbing statistics that some of us know all too well:

"children who grow up without a father are five times more likely to live in poverty and commit crime; nine times more likely to drop out of schools and twenty times more likely to end up in prison."

I have struggled with my identity in the past because of my biological father's lack of participation in my life. To be quite honest, having a son only deepened the hurt I felt that meeting my father at 16 wasn't enough to make him bend over backwards to make up for lost time. One look into my son's eyes and I knew that we would be together for as long as life would allow us to. I immediately thought of all the things I would teach him and the exciting things we would learn from one another. God, in his infinite wisdom, sent a man in my life, who although imperfect, would serve as an usher for my journey into manhood.

I was lucky.

I was lucky because through the mistakes and setbacks of a man who chose to call me his son, I learned how to be a decent man. I've known the heartache of playing the role of husband, son, protector, comforter, and friend to my mother. I've felt the awkwardness of being forced to grow up fast while simultaneously staying in my place as a child. I wish it on no one, especially my own children.

The woman I married was accompanied by two kids that no one can convince me to call step-children. They are mine. They dwell with me, they laugh with me, they succeed with me, and they fail with me. Though I will never know the sweet joy of hearing Daddy from their lips, I relish in the fact that I've been allowed to share their lives for almost four years. I held Erin's
hand when she was fitted for braces. I videotaped Desmond as he MC'd the school's talent show. I cheered louder than anyone when Erin learned to serve a volleyball, and I donned the Coach whistle when Desmond played soccer. I've punished them both only in an attempt to impart my values and wisdom. I ensure that Erin knows that a woman should never allow a man to
hit her, and I reinforce the idea that there's never excuse to hit a woman to Desmond. Desmond and Erin call me Anthony, but not like anyone else. They have given my name a familiarity that sounds a lot like Dad from a distance or at low breath. Jordan has known me as Dad since his first breath and shares that sentiment with his brother and sister willingly. Please don't misunderstand this as bragging, fatherhood is not an accomplishment it's a never-ending expedition.

The fact that many African-American homes are missing fathers and the first black President pleads with men to be fathers is an irony that I enjoy. Whether a man has been present since conception or found fatherhood as a package deal with matrimony, being a father is the greatest joy he will ever know. The people that live in my house will eventually emulate the best of me and oppose the worst of me. My goal is to carry out my fatherly duties humbly and without seeking a reward.

This was by no means an endorsement for the current President or a notch that should be placed in his belt. It is recognition that government has every right to remind the men of America that their duties go beyond provider. The future men of America need the guidance and wisdom that only the current men of America can provide. No matter how you voted or plan to vote, understand that being a good father is a bipartisan endeavor that we
should all strive to achieve.

Fighting Tony

I can't believe that it's been so long since I've last posted. I have to put my priorities in better order and make a decision about this writing venture once and for all!

Since my last post, I've written a few things here and there but nothing that I'm ready to publish. Honestly, there is something inside me of me that's keeping me from hearing my voice. There's this overwhelming feeling that every single word I put on a page requires meaning and should provoke my readers. The vanity in the preceding statement is a bit ridiculous considering I only have 10 readers.

I've promised myself so many times that I would pursue the title of novelist again with fervency but the immediate gratification that I depend on doesn't accompany writing. Writing is a process and so is developing a readership. The quickest way for me to lose interest in a writer is for her to gives up on her craft and attempt to "write for me" the reader. The presumption that a writer knows what I want as reader insults me considering I have no idea myself.

I enjoy the selfish and provocative writings of Ellison, Angelou, and even Shakespeare. Writers who don't care if you read or not because it's not about you. Their writings are therapy for their souls that they willingly share for your gratitude not your approval. But who am I to have that level of audacity? Who am I to demand that you accept my words and provide me the validation I seek to call myself a writer? It would be just as ridiculous for Ernie Barnes to force you to frame his paintings in your home or Miles Davis to insist that his records provide the soundtrack to your emotional life. Preposterous!!

Yet we have made icons of these artist. We have created a larger than life persona for them, whether they wanted it or not. I want to believe that I possess the ability to write with absolutely no thought about the end result. I want to believe that by simply putting the words on the page, the writer in me wins the battle for my mind with the pragmatic Tony who pays bills, spends time with his children, loves his wife, and goes to work. To even suggest a peace treaty between these two powerful entities seems to be a fruitless endeavor. Regardless, I'm not ready to call myself anything less than a writer and I'm far from allowing your interest (or lack of interest) in my words to determine my worth. So if you are one of the fortunate few who look forward to these chronicles, brace yourself - I'm about to show you how incredibly selfish and grateful I can be!!