Time to Come Clean

Today after I’d finished my lunch, I decided to pull my car into a shady spot and relax for the remainder of my lunch break. I had a ton of things that I should have been doing, (like editing the articles for this week’s newspaper) but I opted to enjoy the rare cool breeze that was coming through my opened car windows. As my lunch hour winded down, Nino Brown delivered an email from The Huffington Post to me that got my attention. It read: Study Shows Massive Rise In ADHD Drug Abuse Among Teens. Since I admittedly don’t read things thoroughly, I thought the article was going to be about an increase in the number of children being diagnosed with ADHD. But it wasn’t about that at all. It was about teens using ADHD medication to get high.

The article said there has been a surge from 1998 to 2005 in calls to poison control centers from panicky parents and children relating to children’s misuse of ADHD medication. It said calls relating to ADHD drugs in particular have increased from 330 to 581, with four teens having died from misuse of the drugs. That frightens me. Perhaps because the medicine is FDA approved, the children think it is safer than doing some type of illegal drug. But we know that is not true; any drug can be deadly if it is misused.

This brings me to my drug use. Believe it or not, I have NEVER used drugs of any kind. NONE! No weed, no x, no acid, no nothing. Even in college, I managed to graduate with a joint having never kissed these lips. I came pretty close once though… My sorors and I were hanging out with a ‘wild and crazy fraternity’ and the weed was being passed around liberally. I got very curious because everyone seemed to be enjoying it. I had it in my hand getting ready to give it a puff when a soror looked at me and said, “Uh-uh, Tee. If you’ve never done it, don’t start now.” That pretty much ended my curiosity right then and there. I don’t think I ever thanked my soror for that, but if she had not been the true sister that sorors are supposed to be, I wouldn’t be able to boast today that That Teowonna! is and always has been drug free!

That brings me to another point. Those of you who have meet me or have had friendships or some other type of relationship with me, may have thought was a little kooky and high strung; I must be on something. Well, I wasn’t on anything; I’m just naturally kooky and high strung. But I have been harboring a secret for about four years now that may explain my kookiness. Very few people know and those who do know, I forbade them from sharing. So here it is, once and for all. Here’s my big secret:

That Teowonna! has been diagnosed with adult ADD.

There, I’ve said it! I’m sure my friends and former paramours are saying, “I know something was wrong with your crazy azz.” As you will see from the symptoms below, I am a classic, text book case.

Symptom: Difficulty getting and staying organized.
Teowonna: My house and desk are always a little unkempt. Ok, a lot unkempt. I count on TeeDee (my cleaning lady) to keep me organized at home. Unfortunately, I don’t have a TeeDee in the workplace.
Symptom: Frequently misplace things.
Teowonna: I loose my keys or debit card almost on a weekly basis.
Symptom: Chronic procrastination or trouble getting started.
Teowonna: Nothing seems really important until 5 minutes before it is due. I never pack for trips in advance. NEVER.
Symptom: Trouble in going through established channels and following proper procedure.
Teowonna: They just trying to control me!
Symptom: Many projects going simultaneously; trouble with follow through.
Teowonna: Here are my projects/talents – blogger, copywriter, communications specialist, newspaper editor, book editor, radio talk show producer, and plenty more. The things I get paid for are the things I am more likely to follow through on. Sad, but true.
Symptom: A tendency to say what comes to mind without necessarily considering the timing or appropriateness of the remark.
Teowonna: I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking!
Symptom: A frequent search for high stimulation.
Teowonna: Hence my recent bad, drama-filled relationship.
Symptom: An intolerance of boredom.
Teowonna: Going back to the bad, drama-filled relationship, even after I kicked him to the curb.
Symptom: Easy distractibility; trouble focusing attention.
Teowonna: That’s why I’m writing this blog right now instead of doing something that is far more important.
Symptom: Tendency to tune out or drift away in the middle of a page or conversation, often coupled with an inability to focus at times.
Teowonna: I can’t stand long conference calls or meetings. I have no trouble tuning people out who are saying something I don’t want to hear.
Symptom: A sense of underachievement, of not meeting one’s goals (regardless of how much one has actually accomplished).
Teowonna: Don’t let this confident façade fool you. I constantly replay things over and over in my mind, searching for things I’ve done wrong.
Symptom: Impatient; low tolerance of frustration.
Teowonna: I’m quick to kick a fool to the curb. Did I say good night? I meant good bye!
Symptom: A sense of insecurity.
Teowonna: Nobody loves me.
Symptom: Impulsive, either verbally or in action, as an impulsive spending of money.
Teowonna: Impulsive in action and verbally, for sure. In spending money? If I had it, I’m sure I could spend it impulsively.
Symptom: A tendency to worry needlessly, endlessly; a tendency to scan the horizon looking for something to worry about, alternating with attention to or disregard for actual dangers.
Teowonna: This is the worst for me. Even when things are good, I find something to worry about. All the things I worry about seldom happen… and usually never as bad as I imagined.
Symptom: Chronic problems with self-esteem.
Teowonna: I maul things over time and time again in my head. I replay conversations constantly.
Symptom: Mood swings, especially when disengaged from a person or a project.
Teowonna: If I don’t have a ton of projects falling off my plate, I feel useless and confused. Did I already say no body love me?
Symptom: A tendency toward addictive behavior.
Teowonna: That’s why I’ve never taken any drugs, weed, nothing (other than a little red wine). I might like it too much!
Symptom: Inaccurate self-observation.
Teowonna: Most people think they are better than they actually are. I usually think I am worse that I actually am.
Symptom: Family history of AD/HD or manic depressive illness or depression or substance abuse or other disorders of impulse control or mood.
Teowonna: On my paternal side.
Symptom: Often creative, intuitive, highly intelligent.
Teowonna: This makes everything else 100% worth it!







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Waiting on My Sargant

This concludes my three-part blog series. Needless to say, this was very therapeutic. Thanks for your feedback and wish me luck.

Part III: Waiting on My Sargant


Last week, Eunice Shriver died. Am I the only one who was completely clueless about how wonderful this lady was? She single-handedly started the Special Olympics when she held the first contest in her own back yard. She did all of this when mental retardation was considered a family dishonor. Mentally-challenged children were often kept in back rooms and treated inhumanly because people simply didn’t know better; they didn't understand the condition. Now that I know the foundation on which the Special Olympics were built, I am even angrier about the off-handed comment President Obama made on the Jay Leno Show earlier this year.

But anyway, as I listened as daughter, Maria Shriver, eulogize her mother, I couldn’t help but be fascinated with the person Maria described as Eunice’s partner in life, R. Sargant Shriver. Just like the saying goes, 'Behind every great man is a great woman', R. Sargant Shriver demonstrated that behind every great woman is a strong supportive man. Here is what Maria said about her father’s impact on her mother’s life:

She had a husband who was totally devoted to her in every sense of that word. A man who marveled at everything she said and everything she did. He didn’t mind if her hair was a mess, if she walked around in a wet bathing suit, if she beat him at tennis, or challenged his ideas. He let her rip and he let her roar and he loved everything about her.

When I heard Maria say those wonderful things about her father, I couldn’t help but note how rare that truly is. Many men don’t know what true devotion is. Many denounce instead of support and uplift. Many are threatened, fearful that the woman will take her success and leave him behind. There are a lot of ladies out there who are really doing it and could do it even better if they had a support system at home. My personal belief is 'When I succeed, WE succeed.' Because when you succeed, I am certainly claiming that success as my own!

When I was married, I wanted to go back to school and get my Master’s degree. My (now deceased) husband didn’t see the benefit in that; it wouldn’t guarantee more money at my job and it would keep me out of the house a couple days a week. When I wanted to apply for different position at work or at another company; he discouraged it. My husband believed that since I had a good job, I should be happy with that and just wait to be promoted through the system.

My husband was 17 years older than I and he was old-school all the way. When I cut my relaxer out of my hair and flaunted a low natural fro, my husband had a fit, even though we dicussed it beforehand. He said he couldn’t stand a ‘nappy–headed woman’. I still laugh at that one to this day! To his credit, after he got used to my curly low-cut fade, he admitted that it was very becoming on me.

The tv game show, Jeopardy, was our daily competition. My husband never went to college, but he was extremely intelligent. When he beat me in Jeopardy, he wouldn’t gloat or dance around; that wasn’t his style. But he made sure I know that he beat me and he didn’t 'even have a college degree.'

My husband and I met Christmas Eve at TG’s, which was a popular club years ago. You know I was looking hot the night we met, right? I don’t recall what I had on, but I am sure it was the standard club attire. I was 26 years old at that time and my body was something to be feared. (Don’t you just love my confidence?) No wonder he wouldn’t let me out of his sight! Well, after we got married, he wasn’t all the excited about the way I dressed. He had other ideas about what was acceptable. So, being the young girl that I was, I went along with his program; he took me shopping and bought me clothes that were more befitting ‘his wife’. I didn’t resist; it was all good. But that matronly get-up was so not me!

When I saw Maria talk about R. Sargant Shriver, I couldn’t help but acknowledge how lucky and blessed Eunice Shriver was having found and married him. Having a man who supports you, encourages you, isn’t threatened by you, isn’t angry when you challenge him, promotes you and just plain 'ole loves you for who you are is almost unheard of. Is it ok to admit that I am a little jealous?

February made six years since my husband passed away. While we loved each other very much, I can see why we had some of the stresses in our marriage that we did. While my husband was a wonderful provider and a wonderful, handsome man, R. Sargant Shriver gave me a few more characteristics to seek in a husband.

So today, I am waiting for a man who is devoted to me in every sense of the word; will marvel at everything I say and do; doesn’t mind if my hair is nappy; if I walk around with clothes that draw another man’s attention; if I beat him at Jeopardy; or challenge his ideas. Someone who will let me rip and roar and love everything about me.

The End.

What a week this has been for me! Thank you for joining me through my emotional, yet healing journey. I have declared that I have Forgiven My John, Moved Beyond My Bobby, and Waiting on My Sargant. What a week it has been indeed.

Moving Beyond My Bobby

Part II: Moving Beyond My Bobby


Whitney Houston and her mentor, Clive Davis recently announced that she is dropping her comeback album on September 1st. Her highly anticipated CD (is it really highly anticipated or am I just prone to flowery words) has released the title cut I Look To You, and I must admit she sounds pretty good. I wasn’t sure if her beautifully smooth voice would hold up under years of alleged drug abuse and lifestyle stress.

I saw Whitney on some tribute show years ago and I thought her iconic voice had left… along with every ounce of healthy muscle she once had on her body. Remember the 2006 interview she had with Diane Sawyer in which she told Sawyer, “crack is whack?” She denied crack, but that statement alone admitted to a lot more than it denied. Most of us experienced a brief moment of shock and shame when we heard that statement; right before we laughed our heads off.

For a moment there, it seemed as if Whitney Houston would never return to the beauty and talent we fell in love with when she debuted in 1985. Hit after hit, song after song; I thought nothing could stop her. But something did stop her… or should I say someone stopped her.

Houston met Bobby Brown at a Soul Train awards show and they subsequently married in 1992, catching us all by complete surprise. Why would someone from such a well-respected background marry a self-proclaimed bad boy? (When you boast about being a bad boy, do you then have to do more and more extreme things to live up to your proclamation?) Well, shortly thereafter, it seemed as if Whitney Houston’s career and image took a nose drive and she kept ignoring the flashing red sign on the control panel that said: ‘Pull Up, Pull Up, Pull Up’. And soon, her space-bound life was plunging to the ground.

But now, it seems as if my girl is really back! Her voice doesn’t have the clarity of You Give Good Love, but it is undeniably Whitney Houston. I hope she goes the Clive Davis route and make songs reminiscent of the Saving All My Love and I Will Always Love You and not the post Bobby Brown route. Remember Heartbreak Hotel and It’s Not Right But Its OK? Not very becoming. Nevertheless, it looks like Whitney is finally getting past the Bobby Brown influence in her life.

Have you ever had a Bobby in your life? Someone or something that caught you completely off guard and took you for a ride you didn’t deserve or ask for? I think we all have. My Bobby didn’t derail my career or anything like that, but he certainly derailed my confidence and sense of self-worth. With him, I endured things I never thought I would or could.

I played a third (or maybe even a fourth) in a game that was already too full. That was such an uncomfortable time in my life because I knew I was settling for far less than my worth. To this day, I am extremely embarrassed and ashamed to even admit it.

What finally made me recognize the destruction I was allowing? I’d love to say I finally woke up, but honestly, he finally made the ultimate display of disrespect and contempt. It was so blatant that I couldn’t spend another single moment being less than the person I know the Lord intends for me to be. I could no longer be less than who I am in order to be with someone who is less than who he should be. (You may have to read this sentence a couple of times, but you will get it!)

And at that moment, the light bulb went off and That Teowonna was back! My mother and friends jumped for joy and celebrated my comeback with me!

What or who is your Bobby? What are you going to do to move beyond your Bobby? I’m sure there is someone waiting to celebrate your comeback with you!


Check back tomorrow as I wrap up this blog series with Waiting for My Sargent.

Forgiving My John

This week’s blog is going to be a three part series. Forgiving My John; Moving Beyond My Bobby; and Waiting for My Sergant. I thought I’d be able to put them all together in a concise manner, but as I started writing, the stories are far too deep for that.

Part I
Forgiving My John.

It looks like John Edwards is finally ready to admit his love child. After months of suspicions, according to sources, (like The Enquirer) Edwards took a DNA test that confirmed he has fathered a child with Rielle Hunter, the film producer with whom he had an extramarital affair a couple of years ago. Here is my question, who didn’t know that the baby was John Edwards’? We all knew. Why did he deny the child was his? He wasn’t fooling anyone, no one but Elizabeth.

That senseless paternity denial made me wonder, why do men deny their children? Paternal denial has been going on since the first affair, I would venture to say even though I don’t have any proof. What I think about is how detrimental and unfair it is to the child to be denied, especially publicly. What a legacy baby girl Edwards has to face when she comes of age. She will eventually find out that her daddy denied her. Just like I found out that mine once denied me.

Even though my parents were married, my father denied me also. I found out how serious his denial was when he came to live with me for about a year. My father was ill, not doing well at all. He is a Vietnam veteran and was suffering from various complications brought on by the constant reliving of the war. I brought him here to Columbia to get the help he desperately needed from Dorn VA Hospital.

While he was with me, my mother saw how it altered my life. I had to make arrangements for him to get him back and forth to the VA; I had to take time off from work; and I had to chill out with some of my dating (that was the real problem!) She later admitted that it hurt her to see me doing so for him when he had denied being my father before I was born. She said, “He even paid a lawyer to send me a letter saying you were not his child.” She still has that letter today.

I told my mother that I understand why it bothers her. But the fact is, he is my father. And if I would do all of this for him, when he hasn’t always been in my life, can you imagine what I would do for you?

I’m speaking to men: What makes you deny your child? The child is your own flesh and blood. That child is just as much you as you are yourself. Is it fear of loosing a current relationship? Is it fear of bringing reproach to your marriage, family, or other children? Is it fear of having to finally face the music of the lies your told, secrets you kept, people you hurt? I think that is the case for John Edwards. He didn’t want to loose his wife, his political career, his social standing. But even that really doesn’t make sense. By the time the affair came out, his political career was already in the dumps. His wife already knew. So why disgrace the child be denying her?

While I asked these questions of John Edwards, I found myself growing more and more curious about why my father denied me. So, I called his up. After a few minutes of chit-chat, I got to the point.

Me: Daddy, when you and my mother married, you denied being my father. Why did you do that?
Daddy, with very little hesitation: Crazy. Because I was crazy.
Me: Did you have any doubts that I was your child?
Daddy: No. Not a single doubt. I told you I was just crazy.
Me: But why, why did you do it? Was it that you were young and didn’t want to take responsibility?
Daddy: No, it wasn’t about the responsibility. See, all that happened when we were going through our divorce. I went to see a lawyer who told me I should say that. And I went along with it. I guess I was young and stupid.
Me: Do you regret it?
Daddy: Shine yeah! I regret it every day of my life. I think about that or something like that every day. That’s why I’m here by myself now. Remember you said your Ma said I was the only one who ever broker her heart? That tears me up every day. But I guess I have to pay for my actions. We all do. They come back, one way or another.
Me: Do you know that I forgive you?
Daddy: I sure hope you do.
Me: I do daddy. I forgive you.

As I sit here writing about this exchange I had with my father just 20 minutes ago, I think about all the children whose father denied them at one point in their lives or another. Regardless of what you believe is at stake, your child does not deserve to be denied. You did it. Accept it. Live up to it. Your child is not a lie.

Today’s I have forgiven my John. I forgave him a long time ago. The best part about it is, today he finally knows. And I hope his days and nights are now much easier to live.

Tomorrow: Part II - Moving Beyond My Bobby

Important Note: No daddies were hurt in the publishing of this blog. My daddy gave me his blessing to print OUR story. Even though he is not proud of what he did as a young man, he is man enough today to admit it, apologize for it, and is trying to move on.

A Ghetto Moment

Ghetto moment: An exhibition of behavior that is uncharacteristic and extreme, usually driven by intense emotion – That Teowonna!

The Jenny and Mark Sanford saga continues. Last week, the Sanfords returned from a two-week European vacation. According to The State newspaper, Governor Sanford said the vacation was an opportunity for him and his family to get away from the media attention and mend their relationships. I don’t know if the trip was a success or not, but the following Saturday, Nino Brown told me that Jenny Sanford packed her and her sons’ belonging, and left the SC Governor’s mansion. Jenny released a statement saying that after careful and prayerful consideration, she and her boys are moving back to their home in Sullivan’s Island for the upcoming school year. She further stated that she would return to Columbia often to carry out the duties required of her in her role as first lady.

While I want every marriage to be successful, I am glad Mrs. Sanford is taking a stand against the hypocrisy of infidelity and doing what is best for her and her sons. She is not playing the role of the ever-dutiful wife standing by her man after he humiliated and embarrassed her in front of the entire nation. But the problem I have with Mrs. Sanford is the manner in which she left. Jenny Sanford has all the money in the world and can easily afford to hire a moving company.

Instead, she called 3 of her friends and early Saturday morning, they met her at the governor’s mansion and literally carried her belonging by the armfuls out to their vehicles. They had clothes on hangers and packed in plastic bags, making trip after trip from the mansion to the SUVs parked out front. Clothes in plastic bags? SUVs loaded down? How ghetto is that! That is a scene you would typically see in the hood any given weekend.

While the term ‘ghetto’ has a negative connotation, as a woman, I understand why Jenny Sanford moved out the way she did. I understand how emotions can get so high that you behave completely out of character. Now, there are some people who are just straight ghetto. They do jacked up stuff like that every day of the week simply because they don’t know any better. Others of us, just suffer for a 'ghetto moment'.In Jenny Sanford’s case, I can only imagine what transpired that Friday night or early that Saturday morning in which she said, “I’ve had enough! I gotta go, and I gotta go NOW!” All her money, etiquette training, education and family prestige didn’t matter at that time. She was just the wife of a philandering husband who had finally reached her limit.

Jenny Sanford is an example of a rich, privilege lady suffering from a ghetto moment. Most of us have had them. I have, my girlfriends have, famous people have, and you probably have too. Here are a couple of ghetto moments that I came across during my research. The educated, independent woman, and the devoted, holy-ghost filled wife both found themselves having a ghetto moment.

Story #1: She is a strong-willed lady. She works hard for what she has. A homeowner at 28, a couple of degrees, and a career that was starting to take flight. Then she met him. They both fell hard, or so she thought. During their two-year relationship, she broke up with him many times… and every single time, he deserved it. But he always managed to come back, and she always took him back. After the last break-up however, she started to get suspicious hang-up calls. One night after a precarious set of events were set in motion, he finally came clean with her about who had been making the hang-up calls. He said “You know her; you’ve met her before.” He continued to say the girl calling was his employee and they had been having an affair for more than a year. She was devastated. Angry. Hurt. She knew the relationship was over; it would never be the same. She got even angrier as she thought about all the times he had brought the girl in her face. He actually had brought the girl to her home. Despicable. everybody knew about the affair but her. His family, his friends, his office staff. Everyone. They all continued to grin in her face and pretend to be her friend while letting her be made a fool of. She felt bamboozled.

After a day or so passed, she actually thought she was getting over it. Then she was on her way home from work one day. As she had to pass the road that leads to his house, she began thinking about how he humiliated her, played with her feelings, betrayed her, disrespected her. The enragement she felt mounting was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. Physical harm, possibly even death, was the only thing that was going to cure her wrath. She scanned her car for a suitable weapon; any weapon, but couldn’t find one. She wanted to sit in his yard and wait for him to come home and make him feel the pain she felt. When actually visualized herself taking his life. That terrified her. She called her close friend and begged her to talk her out of her plan. Immediately recognizing she was in an altered state, her girlfriend talked to her in a way no other woman could have. About 30 minutes later, her emotions began to settle down and she was able to think rationally again.

She had heard of stories in which woman did crazy things like cut tires, bust car windows, even killed men. She used to think they were crazy; ghetto. At that moment, she understood.

Story # two: The God-fearing, devoted wife. She was head of the deaconess board, bible school teacher, choir leader, and every other role a woman could serve in the church. She and her husband, who was also active in the church, had just moved into a new home. Everything was sparkling! Pristine. Their dreams were coming true; their hard work and prayer were paying off.

It was a typical Saturday morning. She was doing house chores and her husband was doing yard work. When the lawn mower stalled, he left the house to run to the store to get some gas. When night fell, and her husband had not returned, she started to get worried. Panic, actually. She scouted the neighborhood. She called his mother, his brothers, his friends, the hospitals... everyone she could think of. No one had seen him; no one had heard from him. Terrified of what could have happened to her husband, she called the police to complete a missing person’s report. She went to bed, but she didn’t sleep. She and her children had a restless night. Her husband wasn’t home; their daddy wasn’t home.

The next morning, she called in to work. Around lunchtime, she was sitting in her dining room at her new extravagant dinner table, staring at the walls. Then out of nowhere, in walked her husband. As he rounded the corner to the dining room, he emerged with a grin on his face and exclaimed in a silly Martin Lawrence voice, “What up!” She gasped when she saw him. Couldn’t say a word. Then she realized, all her worriment and dread had been for naught; his disappearance had been a silly hoax. An excuse to get out of the house. She calmly got up from the table and walked to the kitchen. She found the largest kitchen knife they had and charged back through to dining at him. When he saw the fury in her eyes, he dashed to the bedroom and locked the door behind him. She stabbed the door time and time again. Three minutes passed, five minutes passed. Eight minutes passed. She was huddled down in the corner of the doorframe, weakly, but still knifing the door, in a vengeful trance. After what seemed like forever, she regained her senses. He eventually emerged from the room. When they both realized that she could have and would have killed him, they cried. Weeks later, he disappeared again. Today, they are divorced and she hasn’t had that feeling since.

Sound like crazy women? They are only crazy if you have never been driven by emotion the way they were. A ghetto moment can happen to any of us. It varies from woman to woman. Remember The Color Purple? The dinner table scene when meek and mild Celie held the carving knife to Mister’s throat? A ghetto moment. In Why Did I Get Married, when the overweight, passive, and desperate to save her marriage Jill Scott smashed her husband over the head with a wine bottle? A ghetto moment. There are many more. Will these women ever do anything like that again? I doubt it. Unfortunately, they probably would never give a man that much of themselves to where they could be pushed to that point. The men who follow will never know the true devotion those women were once capable of.

So ladies, don’t automatically pass judgment on the girl who just bust the window out your son’s car. And men, let this be a lesson to you: No matter how rich, refined, holy, independent, or in love she may be, you can drive a woman to have a ghetto moment. Let’s just hope there is a heavy wooden door to protect you, or she has a friend to talk her down. I'm glad I did.