What's A Brotha To Do
by Gregory L. Towns
Itís bad when a manís worst fear in life becomes the walk into a restaurant having the hostess to yell out your name ďtable for oneĒ all eyes are on you. Then the waiter asks as you are walking through the restaurant ďwill you be dining alone.Ē The world now knows your single and alone, the restaurant and the rest of the world knows your pathetic dilemma.
Can anyone tell me ďWhatís a BROTHA to do?Ē Iíve tried all the suggested ways of meeting and formulating a relationship with that special woman, all of which have backfired. Iíve done the personal ads, made the single scene, surfed the net, gone to the supermarket, tried church, and even craft groups to no avail. I have it on good authority that women are ďWAITING TO EXHALEĒ.
I on the other hand just want to ďBreatheĒ. I believe itís not just sex Ė the physical part, it is not about the emotional connection, or spiritual revelation. It is somewhat simpler that all of that. Most men are just looking for someone to spend a quiet evening, share a funny thought, and have an active conversation. Something to look forward to, a telephone call or someone they long to see at the end of a hard workday. The same person that I believe men are looking for has to be accepting of spontaneous travel plans, of silly notes left on her car windshield, someone to depend on, someone to appreciate.
My simple goal this New Year is to hear Towns, party of two, instead of taking down one wineglass, I want two. Iím so pathetic, I secretly signed in to an online chat room as, get this ď1loneheartnDCĒ and even talked for an hour to a telephone solicitor, the one that everyone tries to get rid of just to hear a female voice. While Iím driving I glance carefully at attractive women as I pass them by without as much as a return look. I donít get it!
Let me stop here and take stock for myself. Iím tall 5í10Ē thatís tall as long as Iím not hanging out with NBA players, Iím dark not so much, Wesley Snipes dark, more Shamar Moore dark. Now Iím a big meaty guy kind of a cross between Denzel and a pizza truck on a Friday night delivery. Big brown eyes (one on each side of my face), hair (all of it) graying gracefully. Teeth (all of them too). Iím articulate, reasonably intelligent, in good physical health, I dress fashionable, watch my breath, practice good manners, donít burp, scratch or grab myself in public. Mentally well, lets just say Iím functional and the brain operates at itís own pace. Letís see Iím also romantic, caring, soft spoken, understanding, compassionate and passionate, cuddly, sensitive, thoughtful, giving and donít let me forget humble. All this and Iím sitting in the IHOP alone. ďWHATíS A BROTHA TO DO?Ē
I ask a few of my married or otherwise attached female friends to help me correct my imperfections. When the laughter stop and they composed themselves (one needed oxygen), as I was saying once they calmed down and said almost in one voice my main fault is that Iím a ďMANĒ antiquated, obsolete, one of a dying breed. Silly me I still believe that a Womanís place is by her manís side, I think that she should be treated with respect, held in high regard, adored, treated like fine crystal, savored like vintage wine, held gently. In these days where chivalry is dead I still like bowing to a woman, kissing her hand. Tipping or removing my hat when in the presents of a woman whatís wrong with opening doors standing when a woman enters a room, the next guy I see get out of a car and doesnít hurry around to escort his companion out of that car Iím going to scream. All this in my character makeup and Iím still alone. ďWHATíS A BROTHA TO DO?Ē
This whole situation is down right depressing. Women do you mean if I was less attentive, ill mannered, violent, crazed, cruel or in jail Iíd have a better chance with you? Iím beginning to worry that there is no clear signs anymore. In the pass a woman would let a brotha know what she expected, now some of you are willing to accept anything and everyone with making note of his character or his real qualifications.
Women often tell me there are no ďGOODĒ men left ďWrongĒ we are everywhere. You look at us everyday. It appears you look over us on your way to the nearest jail, or halfway house.
A little suggestion, take a look around you the next time your commuting to work or out running errands and you see that brotha in the uniform, carrying a messenger pouch, or the one not in the BROOKS BROTHERS suit, maybe you will give them a little attention. The mailman, UPS driver, security guard, or the waiters at your table they need love too. Find the time to consider us because we hate the sound ďTable for oneĒ.
Understand a table has four sides to sit four, or just a special ONE. Good men are everywhere; they are in various occupations at different educational levels, all sizes, shapes and manner of dress. We dress to impress you, we groom, smell good, and we gain more education, and acquire knowledge about who you are and what you want. We place our bodies before you. We place you on the highest pedestal just to be ignored, and shunned by some of you. I ask you ladies, ďWHATíS A BROTHA TO DO?Ē