Black Girl At Large: Dream Deferred or Dream A Little Dream Of Me

When I was young I used to dream about boys. (Oh, stop it. So did you...or maybe not? Ooh, tell Aunt Dee all!) Ahem, I used to dream about boys- my first kiss, my wedding, my first house. Somehow I skipped all of the relationship stuff in between the kiss and the wedding, and the house. And too often, the dream guy in my dream was either faceless, or some celebrity... and once, Will Smith. (That’s right, Will Smith. Look at that man and tell me the Fresh Prince didn’t grow up fiiine!) But I never dreamed about boys I knew and I never dreamed about what a real relationship, let alone marriage would be like. When you’re young they sell you dreams about happy endings- (Oh, who’s they? You know, the ubiquitous “they”- corporations, advertising execs, Disney.) You sing songs about how “One day, your prince will come.” It wasn’t until I got to high school that I learned what kissing really entails, and what comes after-(first of all, did anyone of us really like the idea of French kissing when we first heard it? Or saw it? Remember that couple in the corner whose tongues were constantly in each other’s mouths? Ewww. But, to be honest, still somewhat fascinating- in a can’t help staring at a car accident kind of way. ) Anyway, first comes the kiss, then comes...well, what follows naturally. (You out there, Mom? No? Okay. ) Sex. Sex, sex, sex. There. I said it. (Still no Mom, right? ) While I didn’t indulge in high school, I certainly got an education about sex- mainly because that’s what high school is for after all. To get information about the opposite sex. We’re not there to get an actual education- My god! I mean, have you been in a high school recently- or ever? These are not institutions, in the main, which are dedicated to the uplifting of the human race. They are in fact, well kept (well, some of them- get me started on that rant later) prisons where hormonally crazed wild animals roam the halls. You can force them to sit in little desks for certain measured periods of time, but no longer. Or they erupt. In some cases, literally. (Don’t ask me about my teenage years- suffice to say I am still traumatized, and scarred. Proactive didn’t exist yet, and the Jheri curl was in. ‘Nuff said.) A person doesn’t learn about love in high school. They learn to lie, to be sneaky- they learn lust, and if they’re not smart (or don’t have smart, and caring parents) they learn regret. In high school my dreams weren’t about love or princes, my dream wedding, my first child. And they haven’t really gotten back to that yet. Intellectually, I know that I want children, that I want a happy marriage, and a happy life. But the truth is I don’t know how that works. I don’t know many happily married couples, so no role models. I don’t know many guys- so no princes. I taught high school, for goodness sakes- so definitely don’t know many happy kids. And if you don’t know it, haven’t seen it- how can you dream about it? I want to see couples who have been married for fifty years. I want to see a man look at his wife in awe- the same way he did when he met her, wooed her, and won her- I want to see that look on his face that says he still can’t believe how lucky he is. I want someone to look at me that way. I want to not have to look at other people’s kids (who, face it , just aren’t that cute. Really) , but have my own perfect, little angels- you know, the kids who are so beautiful, it makes you feel like someone’s squeezing your heart when you look at them, and know that they’re mine. I want a little contentment. I want the perfect wedding and the perfect marriage. (And I really want the right wedding dress. I know, so superficial. But it’s your wedding dress! You only get one- well, you used to only get one. Nowadays....) I want the dream I had when I was twelve- when my prince showed up in my dreams with flowers, and a soft kiss on the cheek. When he held my hand, and that was enough to make me tremble. When I still believed that there was a, the “One”- and I didn’t have to be anything special in order to get him. I didn’t have to chase him, email him, search E-harmony for him or beg friends to set me up with him. (Note- this is for emphasis- I have not and never will ask a friend to set me up. That’s just pathetic. Unless…unless you know someone really nice. Then…I guess it might be alright. Just note- I didn’t ask. You offered. ) I want to go back to dreams where my prince came to me and held my hand and I knew that as long as I had been dreaming about him, he had been dreaming and waiting for me. Maybe it’s time to go back to sleep, back to dreams, and away from soft core porn on Cinemax (no, I do not watch Cinemax, Mom!) – back to romance and away booty calls, and “hook ups”. ( And no, no hook ups either, Mom. Sheesh) Maybe I’ll go back to bed for a little while, and try to find that one dream where someone wonderful took my hand... and never let go. Good night, goodnight sweet prince....I’ll see you in my dreams... I hope.