Priceless Inspirations (15 page)

She shut me down.

I don’t remember exactly what she said, but basically, she made it clear she didn’t have time to listen to my problems. I was on my own.

Then, only a few months later, when she was going through something, I was on the phone with her for hours, talking it through. Our relationship had become really one-sided.

As for me and Tasha, I finally learned my lesson. In 2006, we took a trip to New York together to talk about our friendship. I tried to be really honest about what was bothering me and what had been happening between us, but Tasha never really said much about any of it. I had heard from some other friends that she had issues with me, too, but I guess she just didn’t know how to communicate them to me. When we left New York, I knew that nothing had changed.

It was another lesson that you can’t change people. You either accept them as they are and deal with them on that level, or you don’t deal with them at all.

I finally just had to sit her down and say, “Tasha, we been friends a long time, but I think we’ve just grown apart. I don’t think we’re going to be chilling together as much in the future. ”

She didn’t like it. Not because it wasn’t true, but because she could see that I had learned the definition of true friendship, and that competitiveness and one-sidedness don’t have anything to do with real friendship.

Family

They say that crises bring out the best and the worst in people, and for my family, Hurricane Katrina was that crisis.

I was in Florida on vacation with Tasha and two other friends. We had gone to the VMA Awards that year and then stayed to have some fun in the sun. We had heard a little bit about a hurricane warning, but we weren’t taking it too seriously. When you grow up living on the Gulf coast, there are hurricane warnings all the time. Most of them didn’t amount to anything more serious than some rain and a little wind. I did pay a little more attention when I heard about the evacuation, but even then, I wasn’t too worried. There had been several evacuations in recent years and they hadn’t amounted to much more than some rain and a little wind, either.

So, as Hurricane Katrina blew in and destroyed whole sections of New Orleans, me and friends were mostly hanging out at the hotel pool or were on the beach having fun. I’m sorry to say it now because of all the terrible damage that the storm did and the number of people, some that I knew, who lost everything. At the time, we just didn’t realize how bad it was going to be. We really hadn’t been paying any attention to the news about it. It wasn’t until we went to a restaurant and the waiter asked us, “Where you guys from?” that we really understood just what had happened and how bad it was.

“New Orleans,” we said.

I had moved to Atlanta by then, but I still claim New Orleans as home because it’s where I grew up and where my family is.

“Oh my God,” the waiter said. “Are you here to escape the storm? Is your house okay?”

That was the first we heard of how bad the situation was, and then when we turned on the news and we saw it, the vacation was over. We were all on the phones, trying to find family and friends, scared to death that one of our people had drowned or was trapped in their house or on their roof, waiting for help. I couldn’t stand to watch all those people at the Convention Center and the Superdome, just sitting there in the heat without food or water. It was terrible.

We kept calling and calling. None of the phones were working. I started to get really worried and really scared.

We were driving ourselves crazy, worrying ourselves sick, and watching the news reports of one sad story after another. We couldn’t get through to anyone because all the phone lines were down and even the cell phone towers had been damaged. Everything we saw on television made us even more nervous, and even more scared. We spent hours watching the news, crying and calling, until finally we realized we hadn’t had any dinner and it was getting late.

We ended up in a club where O. J. Simpson was sitting at the bar, watching the news and talking about the storm.

“If y’all don’t have a place to stay, you can come stay with me,” he told us, which was nice of him, but in a way it made me feel worse. The fact that everyone was talking about it, that everyone was watching it, and that everyone realized how very, very bad it was made me want to jump on a plane or into a car and go there and find my family. It was an awful feeling, not knowing if they were alive or dead.

We kept calling. Finally we reached a few who evacuated before the storm hit. They were scattered all over Louisiana and Mississippi. Most were running out of money for hotels, or wearing out their welcome where they had landed. I told them all to come to me in Atlanta and left Miami, heading back home. I finally reached my Dad just as I pulled into my driveway. I was so relieved because other family had told me he had chosen not to evacuate. He had stayed in New Orleans throughout the storm. When I talked to him, he told me he was wading in water up to his thighs just to try to find fresh water and supplies. I told him to come to Atlanta, and he came after the storm was over on a Greyhound bus with a load of other evacuees.

My mom did evacuate and after a few nights on the road, she and all her family came to stay with me in Atlanta in my three-bedroom house.

There were probably about 30 of us crammed into what was suddenly a very small space. I made room for everyone, sleeping on floors and couches, cots and mats placed all over the house. What else could I do? I knew my people didn’t have money for hotels. Almost all of their houses had been damaged to the point that they couldn’t just go home and live in them. The water would have to go down and then repairs would be needed. It would take time.

Most of them were there for
months
.

It was incredibly stressful for everybody and unfortunately some really ugly things got said.

My mom had a relapse and got high and said some really hurtful things that I don’t know if I can ever forget, although I have already forgiven her. Stress and her addiction got to her, but even knowing that, I admit I was hurt. She doesn’t remember what she said, but she’s sorry for relapsing. For both of us, her battle against drugs continues.

One relative looked at my daughter and said, “You ugly like your father. Get out of this room.” Of course, it was
my daughter’s
room, but that didn’t stop my guest from being rude and acting entitled.

“You married to a rapper? And you living in this little house? What’s wrong with you? Why you ain’t got more to show for yourself?” another grateful guest said.

I tried to put up with it. I tried to be helpful and patient. After all, most of them had lost their homes and everything in them. When the damage was all totaled up, my dad, my mom, my grandmother and even my own home in New Orleans were all destroyed. I lost my wedding pictures and all the pictures I took of Reginae when she was baby. All gone. If it hadn’t been for one of my aunts who had saved a few of those pictures, I wouldn’t have anything from those years.

I knew that my relatives had lost a lot, and I knew how bad they were feeling, but almost every day there were arguments, fussing, cussing and fighting. Almost every day my daughter was crying because of all the drama and the nastiness. I was never alone and no one seemed to feel bad that they were in my house, eating, sleeping, watching TV and using the bathrooms. Instead, I heard nothing but complaints.

I was very frustrated, but they had no respect.

Finally, it all came to a head and I just lost it. I don’t like to fight with my family and I don’t like to tell dirt on them, but I reached a point where I just didn’t care. I didn’t feel like they were respectful of me anymore and that made me lose a lot of respect for them, even though they were my elders.

“You can’t come in here and do whatever. Cussing and acting ignorant. Treating this place like a hotel and my daughter like your servant. And this ain’t a club, either, with loud music and drinks on the house,” I told them. “We don’t live like that. Either you act like you got sense and respect my house or we’re gonna have to come up with something else.”

Of course, they didn’t like that. A few got offended and left and went to stay at a hotel. There are a few who don’t have much to do with me since then. That’s all right. In fact, it suits me fine. I’m past the point of tolerating disrespect just because we’re related. I’m past the point of being used by anyone.

Finally, the FEMA vouchers and Red Cross aid cards and other relief started trickling in and most of the others left. I started taking the few who remained around Atlanta, trying to show them neighborhoods, trying to help them find a place-any place other than my house.

Finally, they were all gone. Almost all went back to New Orleans. Most of them aren’t back in their homes, and they had to find other places to live, but they all went back. That’s the thing about New Orleans. For all of us, it’s home, no matter what.

The Mistake I Made That You Shouldn’t

I’m a big believer in family, but I’ve learned that family will use you as much, or more, than anyone else. It was a mistake not to lay down the rules from the beginning and a mistake to tolerate as much nastiness and negativity as I did before saying something to put a stop to it.

Since I waited, I made it worse because by the time I finally said something, I wasn’t just mad or annoyed. I was furious. Everything I said came out mean and hard, and by then I meant it, too. I’d had enough and they knew it.

These days, I don’t have as much to do with my mother’s family as I used to. I’ve learned by hard experience that when I’m around them, my feelings get hurt every time. It’s not good for me, and it was really upsetting for my daughter, too. The time they spent in my house really helped me disconnect myself from my life in New Orleans. While I still visit and I still call it “home”, I decided to sell my house there. I don’t see myself going back there to live.

Sometimes you have to walk away from people who are all “take” and no “give.”

It’s a hard lesson to learn when you’re talking about your own family, but it is what it is.

Jealous Friends

Have you ever had friends who were so jealous of you they couldn’t stand it? Sometimes you can hear it in the things they say. Sometimes other people tell you things about them, things they’ve said about you behind your back, and you realize that while they’re smiling in your face, they’re thinking about sticking a knife in your back. Sometimes, the jealous friend is the type who never has anything good to say about anything. Everything is a criticism, and nothing is quite good enough. Just like user friends, you have to be careful when you deal with a friend who is jealous of you, or it can turn into a bad mess real fast.

Kiani was my friend, but she could never come to anything I was involved in. She didn’t come to my wedding. She didn’t come to my birthday parties.

“I don’t want to hang on you like Tasha do. I’m a better friend than that,” she used to say by way of explanation. It didn’t make sense to me. If you’re my friend and I invite you to celebrate with me, how does it prove you’re “a better friend” if you don’t show up?

Kiani seemed to think that if she held herself back a bit, she’d prove she wasn’t a user.

I started noticing that when we talked, she spent a lot of time talking about my stuff and one-upping me. If I got a new purse, she’d tell me who she knew who got the bigger, more expensive size.

“Oh, you got the 2005,” she’d say about my car. “My other friend got the 2006.”

Mostly, she was very jealous of Tasha and me. If Tasha was hanging out with me, she’d make some excuse to make it sound like she was doing me a favor. “Oh, I don’t want get in the middle of you two,” she’d say. “But I’ll be here when you need a
real
friend.”

She must have tried a hundred different little comments to try to bust up Tasha and me. In the end, it was pretty easy to let her go because she never wanted to hang with me. She just wanted to talk about the people who did. These days, now that I’m doing all the things that I’m doing, she calls every now and then and says, “Don’t forget your real friends.”

For real? Now I’m creating my own brand, you want to hang out?

I don’t think so.

Seriously, with fake friends you can’t win for losing. You get talked about so bad no matter what you do, no matter what you say. I don’t know how many times someone from my past has said, “You changed. You think you too good for us now” like I owe them something.

No baby, you wasn’t with me
then
, and that’s why you’re not with me
now
.

I’m able to see that now, but when I was younger, I didn’t understand the motives.