Mutha Luv

I went to kindergarten and Woodlawn Elementary school. I had a crush on a fellow kindergartner who invited me to her home just across the field one day.

I lied to her and her mom and said my mother had given me permission.

I barely remember the playing we did and barely remember how she looked, but what followed I will never forget.

About half an hour later, I start walking across the field to head home. My mother was walking toward me and didn't look happy. After many "I'm sorry"'s, she reached me, yanked me up by the arm and beat my ass for scaring the living shit out of her by not coming home after school like I usually did. This was, pretty much, the only real expression of Love and affection from my mother that I have ever received.


My mother always wanted a boy child. She was disappointed when she had my first sister, but she Loved her immediately. When my second sister was born, mom was so fucking pissed that she literally had nothing to do with my sister Liz for the first two weeks of her life before she came to her senses and realized that this was a life she was responsible for taking care of. I don't know what she thought when my third sister was born. But she told me that she did things different when it came to having me.

She had a longer waiting period before she got pregnant and made sure I'd be born in winter instead of summer like my sisters.

But being born with a penis didn't amount to much considering whatever dreams she may of had of how I would somehow save her world.

I can only speculate, because my mother is not one known for telling the truth, but I often believe that at some point early in my life that she thought, "Oh great! I just gave birth to another alcoholic Indian." Given the patterns of my mother's racism and her racist family, I believe that that is not far from the truth.


I read several Rudofo Anaya mystery novels whose titles I forget, but the stories and characters I remember. Sonny Vaca, the main character, Loved his mother a lot. When he found out his mother had a new boyfriend, he became jealous. He knew it was a silly jealousy like that of a child who lost his father and then finds out a few years later that his mother has started seeing someone else and will be taking some of his mother's attention away from him. I was jealous of Sonny because I feel virtually nothing for my mother.


I will spare you the details of the perpetual SCREAMING arguments that happened between my parents about the last 5 years of my father's life, but just know that they about drove me insane. All my sisters had left and I was left alone, trapped, with these two crazy mutha fuckas. When I was alone with my father, we expressed a healthy Love between parent and child even when he was drinking. When I was alone with my mother, emptiness, coldness, silence, nothingness. She barely cuddled me. She took almost NO interest in my life.

About a year after my father died, my mother went through a series of boyfriends. During this time, she was barely home. I was paying half of the rent, so I kinda claimed the house as my own. She finally met the shit face heatless fuck that she was gonna marry and he moved in. I was still at home at 21, and I probably should have been out on my own. But, before my mother kicked me out for refusing to STILL pay half the rent went that fuck head that wound up emotionally and psychologically abusing her moved in, she had to give me one last gift of her totally emotional detatchment to me:

"When I die," she said, "I'm gonna make sure you kids don't get this house for free. I'm gonna make sure you have to pay for it." You see, my mother did Love something. She Loved money. A clear and consistent pattern with her. I could go in at length about her money Love history, but won't here. And me, this boy she had wanted all those years ago...please! Just another red nigga whose probably gonna turn into an alcoholic and not make her any susbstantial amounts of money, just like my dad.

"I don't want your house," I told her.


As human beings, we all follow patterns in this world. Some are not so healthy.

My first wife: cold, distant, little good to say about me, little Love and affection for me, Loved my paycheck more than me, etc. Does this sound similar to my mother? Not a good healthy pattern that I chose for myself.

My second wife: EXTREMELY verbally abusive, beat me once, had nothing good to say about me, often gave verbal threats in my general direction. Does this sound similar to my mother?

After the second wife I realized I had to deal with some shit before I got into another relationship. I found good healthy friendships and folks that helped me out along the way. It was a good road and a rough road, but I knew I was following certain patterns and I'd be damned if I was gonna do that again.

Along comes Rhonda, now Shusli, and I am in the relationship I've always dreamed of. But, before it became as good as it is now, we both had to deal with certain patterns that weren't healthy. Now we are in a great, healthy, Loving relationship and we fall more in Love with each other everyday. I can change my patterns. We can change our patterns. ALL OF US CAN CHANGE OUR PATTERNS!


My sister Roxanna is the only relative I have that I keep in regular contact with, though not often enough. She is the youngest of my three older sisters and used to change my diapers when I was a baby. She was the only one of my three sisters that ever spent a whole lotta time with me and we played together and had fun.

Rox has borrowed money often from my bitch mother and my mother's bitch mother. My mother, more well off now and married to a nice man (so I'm told and the few times I met him, he seems to be) this time, will always dig on my sister for the money she owes the fucking bitch no matter HOW HARD MY SISTER IS HAVING IT! She has also borrowed money from my mother's mother and gets the same treatment. The white grandkids and neices and nephews don't get treated this way and often times don't even have to pay back the money. But we're red niggers, and that is different.

Anyway, my sister and I were discussing this one time and I told her she should tell our mother to fuck-off.

I got to thinking, and then told my sister this: "You know, if you called me and told me that our mother or grandmother had died, I probably wouldn't care. I don't think I would cry, and I DEFINITELY wouldn't be going to their funerals." I'd wake up in the morning and it would be just another day without my mother or grandmother. Ain't nothin' unusual in that.

By the way, my grandmother lives just 8 blocks from where Shusli and I live right now. I have not been in her house in at least 8 years. The last time we saw each other, this last summer, she told me to come visit. To me, knowing my family, it is a polite invitation given to someone you know you have a connection with but would rather not. My family makes no attempt to get a hold of me, and I make no attempt to get a hold of them, other than my sister Roxanna.


Here's a funny not-so-funny: my grandmother, now in her 90's, sits alone in that house in North Portland and has about $2,000,000 in the bank. I've heard that her kids, grandkids, etc., are hovering over her waiting for her to die so they can all get a piece of that pie. Rox tells me that when grandma goes out with her family, she conveniently forgets to bring any money or doesn't have enough and one of those folks who want a piece of that pie make an investment in grandma's meal in hopes of garnering good attention to be in that will.

I've told friends about this, and they have wanted me to invite my mother and grandmother and get close to them and maybe get some of that money. I was and am not interested. When they die, they can take that fucking money with them as much as they Love the shit. I can live without theirs, I make my own. Besides, I'd probably only get a pair of socks like she used to give me at Christmas. They can take their money and shove it right into their caskets with them.

By the way, when Felicia sees my mother (probably a half a dozen times in her lifetime, I'm not kidding), she has a hard time remembering who she is or how we are connected to her.


I have a friend who is Finnish. One day she told me this, and I told her I was Finnish, too. We had a good laugh. We hug everytime we see each other, but her and her husband had moved away a couple of years ago.

"Finns are not known for being emotional," she told me one day. Considering I get my Finn ancestry from my mother, this made sense.

"Anthony comes from an Italian family," she tells me of her husband. "When I first met his family, his mother came up and gave me a big hug. I didn't know what to do. I just stood there shocked with my hands to my side. Italians are very physically affectionate people. I got used to it and learned to enjoy it and now I give everyone I Love hugs." I opened my arms wide. She smiled and gave me a big hug.

It makes me sad to think about, but when I think about my mother and grandmother dying, I feel almost nothing. I really don't think I will cry. I definitely know I will not be going to their funerals. Maybe that's just the Finn in me?

I wrote this because I never write about my mother and figured that maybe I should, since I have one.


PS Like my father gave me lots of physical attention, I give Felicia lots of physical attention and let her know I Love her every time we are together. If her mother is consistent with her patterns (and I have no reason to believe otherwise), then Felicia isn't getting a lot of hugs and cuddling at home. I want Felicia to know that human contact is important and I want her to feel Loved and know she is Loved. With Shusli and I, we try to model a healthy relastionship to her so she can carry that knowledge with her into her adult life experience.

Love is very important! Don't ever forget that!