Subconsciously I roam deciding things in life that ultimately are skewed by a force I have no power over. Women, for me, are these being I try to understand and want to be coveted by, but so far I have landed short. They have for so long been something I longed for that now they are instinctly in my every handshake, smile, laugh, and reason. How long have they gone unnoticed by my conscious mind? Was it on the blurry night when my reproductive organs finally gave out and shot that first stream of ecstasy out of my body that they crept into my mind? Maybe it has been even earlier than that, growing up as a little child, seeing a woman’s firm breasts in my father’s magazine, which he so possessively hid.
The answer I have concluded comes much earlier than that. It comes those nine months of contentment inside the woman that harness nothing but love and well being for us. In the dark-with no sight to blur our vision-we fall in love with our physical creator. Although our father does add to the splendor of birth, it is our mothers, who share her flesh with us, her young. While lying in an almost dormant state we grow, hearing the heart beat of the “creator” or our other half, creating a pace for our own hearts to follow.
My mother has been for me a strong woman that irritated the fuck out of me. Her connection to my own was apparent in how she read my mind and it baffled me away. Growing up as a Latino and male unfortunately obstructs that link between mother and son (dare I say daughter too?). A good Mexican son had to be strong, outgrowing the childish love he held for his mother, dragging him down into the depths of lonesomeness and idleness. For years I pushed away what in the ocean of my mind always held as great and beautiful. Instead I threw myself at what man must do, work, brining in the “bread and butter” for the family-the imaginary one I have-to enjoy.
Now that I have thrown the cloak of ethnicity off my shoulders and instead stored it in my head for a lifetime of memories, I feel the cool breeze. I feel free to the fact that my macho attitude no longer stands in a pedestal of images and stereotypes but by the words I have to say and the actions I take. And again women contribute this action of almost re-awakening. The search to find her has lead me to a path of self-absorption and thought and the creator has been there every step of the way. I have fallen for her.
It is cliché to say that all men want to marry their mothers, following with the argument that only their mothers can love them the way they are. Recently I have been slowly disembarking away form my architect because of the new found love I have found form her. I have been “romancing” her; wooing her to show her the vision of love she has tough me. Arriving at her house I would be sat down on the table and feed dinner, which she has made (something she rarely does). Instead of drinking soda I bring her a bottle of wine, soft and smooth so that she could enjoy it. We sit at almost candlelight dinner, talking about whatever hits out minds, sharing secrets and laughing at the world’s expense. Smooth music swayed around the dinner table and we both smiled.
Often times her favorite song would come up and I would ask her to a dance (I’m not a good dancer so there was a lot of toe stepping) and she would give me a smile that I have never recognized before. With a look into my eyes she saw my tenderness that has won the hearts of those women I so loved and I also saw the love witch one faithful night captivated my father. It was at that moment that I realized my creator, mother, daughter, sister, and soon grandmother was nothing more than a woman. She was the basis of all my past and future love, creating the love and yearning for that connection the moment her heart beat rang in my body. It was that epiphany that helped me let go of her and her of me, knowing that the woman I choose will be because of something she gave me so long ago and not something I have come to develop.
It is true that my designer has influenced me greatly in the matters of women and love but my father has proven to be a skilled teacher. Although I have never shared a great connection with my father; we share a connection that no other men can share. Like the creator gave me flesh, blood and soul my initiator has given me knowledge. My work ethics and strong will has come from years of his teachings and patience in willing to teach me everything he knows. His mind is free to me and his children that want to know anything. Not many being in this planet can give you that, giving of knowledge for nothing. Many clench to their knowing and hid it form the world, greedily wanting it all for themselves.
That figure of a father has been a strong one to me, everlasting and willful. Through the years of being married to an emotional bitch the initiator has hung on to his loved ones knowing that to let go would mean to fail, becoming less than a man and more of a child (he’s crazy). I can only imagine if my sister shares that bond with my father that I share with my mother. Is he her idol being, reasoning her choosing of males based on his structure of life, love, and work?
Working in the kitchen the seed planter has created an image of himself that not one of us has been able to seize form him. His skills in the kitchen are bountiful, creating meals worthy for the riches and poorest man in the world. I have long tried to capture his knowing of food and love but his knowledge seems so immense. The moment I feel my skill are adept to his I find that he shatters my wisdom with his eternal knowledge. It has been his dexterous hands and mind that has initiated my wanting and drive to surpass him, reaching that glory of being a man. My father.
Even my longing to be a good friend comes form my father. He has always been that knowing friend willing to help, just because. His kindness and joking being has contributed to my almost lust to-just like my father-being a great friend to anybody needing one. I have never seen my idol fight or become vengeful at anybody that agonized him. It has been his ethics that have bound into my soul and given it innocence and understandings, helping me get ahead at work, liberating me to understand the lost and hurt.
I find myself more open for my father to teach me and hand me some advice that he as rightfully earned. I have set aside my foolish young pride and have given up to his mightiness and I know that I will never reach his state of patience, love, skill, and being until I have walked the path he has: Long and arduous. He has although armed me with a weapons mightier than any sword or gun, giving me the strength to pull ahead in trouble times. Teaching me that love is no more than a game than work is, but it can be fun. My mother gave me body and soul but my father gave me reason and will. With them together I have become the person I am today.
If I have been shackled by the emotions and teaching of my parents then what about those who have none? Are they bound differently than most people and where do they get their inspiration in becoming who they are and what they want in their mate? I have for a long time never been able to see myself as a married man with children and a house. It has come to my mind but the fear that I would be a horrible parent has bound me to my faults. Now as I steer away from my old family and head into a new and maybe even more insane one I know I can handle it. I know now that even though I will affect my children in the way they act, love, live, and work I will do a good job, reasoning that my parents are instilled inside me.
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