Happy Thanksgiving!

This holiday season I decided my new favorite holiday song is (There’s No Place Like) Home for the Holidays by Brian McKnight.

If you drove past me during the past few weeks, you saw me clapping my hands and bobbing my head to this upbeat tune that paints a picture of joy and love that fills the air as Grandma cooks our favorite dishes in the kitchen and the old and young celebrate the holiest night of the year.

The quintessential holiday image.

The image of home for me – Philly – has figured prominently in my heart and mind this year.

After being displaced twice and witnessing several cornerstone family members make their transitions, 2011 left me reeling.

So I toyed with the idea of moving home to anchor myself a bunch of times.

I took several trips and even landed a couple of job interviews only to realize that the notion that I could achieve a more grounded life by living closer to my (allegedly) more intact extended family was just an illusion; a fable I’d conjured up in my own mind.

To quote my friend Carla Griffin, “The state you’re in (physical location) is not as important as the state (of mind) you’re in.”

I learned that no matter where I live, home is in me.

I learned that my family – whether they live in Philly or elsewhere - is no different than I am: we wake up every morning; thank God for another day; and do the best we can with what we have as we continue to strive for more.

We are one and we are the same.

So in the spirit of David Letterman, I’d like to bring in the New Year with my own Top Ten List of things that I’m most thankful for: 

1. I am thankful for a greater sense of assurance within that enables me to be more of who God created me to be.
2. I am grateful I am learning to focus my attention on more of what I want instead of what I don’t have.
3. I am grateful that I can regard this year of exponential growth and tectonic shifts as one of the best years ever!
4. I am super grateful that my heart and mind are filled with excitement and anticipation for the days and weeks to come.
5. I am grateful that it is becoming so much easier to be grateful!
6. I thank God for my health.
7. I thank God for good work with good people.
8. I thank God for an awesome, healthy, exceptional daughter!
9. I thank God for my loving, supportive, amazing family far and wide, adopted and inherited.
10. And last but not least -  I thank God for all of you who have been divinely-selected to share this journey with me and who support me and this blog!

Here’s to our best year ever!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Wearing My Heart on My Sleeve

I want to talk about gentle people.

Flawed human beings who happened to have a tender heart that this world doesn't seem to tolerate very well.

I can truly relate.

For some reason, I am just wired in a way that has often been considered hyper-sensitive and I have often considered this trait the bane of my existence.

I’m not trying to paint a picture like I’m some kind of saint. I can get angry and throw a temper tantrum with the best of ‘em.

But one of the most troubling trends I see in our culture today is the acceptance, even the expectation that we will trample over the more vulnerable among us simply because we can.

Again, let me emphasize - I am far from perfect. And I have definitely had to develop a thicker skin. But I am wondering, particularly at this time of year, if we can’t consider that we truly are connected and that there’s nothing to fear in trying a little tenderness?

More often than not, we go through the motions of being loving and kind but we’ve shut our hearts down out of fear of being hurt. I get that because the hyper-sensitive me has been no stranger to heartbreak. But it’s that Spirit that connects us all that makes me pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again.

I’m not saying be a doormat (one of my specialties in my early years) but at this time when genuine kindness is seen as somewhat normal, can’t we at least pretend we really mean it?

A couple of weeks ago I boarded the commuter bus home and, as is my custom, said hello to the bus driver. I do that because I am so grateful for the bus drivers who can navigate traffic with ease while I ride home in comfort. So with my weary but warm smile, I said, “Hi! How ya doin’?” Most of the time I get an equally weary but warm, “Fine, and you?” But this particular driver looked through me with a grimace, furrowed eyebrows, and tightly-pursed lips and declared, “I'm blessed and grateful.”

My eyes flew open as I thought to myself, “Oh really, now? Coulda fooled me!”

There was no smile, no warm fuzzies, no eye contact. But she was blessed and grateful. Her demeanor was so stern I was taken aback and didn’t know how to respond. I just kinda looked at her as she stabbed my bus ticket and shuffled off to my seat.

I’m all for affirming our spiritual heritage with gusto. But shouldn’t our demeanor at least match our proclamations? After all, this is Christmas; the time of year when it’s acceptable to let Spirit of Christ shine most brightly.

Just when I was tempted to think maybe she had a bad day or was just tired, Miss Blessed and Grateful pulled into our first drop-off and shouted, “Get your stuff because I ain’t takin' it if you leave it.”

Oh yeah, she’s got the spirit all right.

There’s a Scripture that says (paraphrasing) that the world will know we are Christians by our love. In his song, Not Just What You Say, Fred Hammond puts it this way:

[It’s] Not just what you say (It's mostly what you do)

Not a game that you play (To keep the winning hand with you)
Not just wasting time (With empty words that don't mean much)
Not just how you feel (When others need your tender touch)
So can you take out some time (To help somebody else in need)
And when this is done (The love of God is truly seen)
Then above all (We need to cover and forgive)
Then we can act like we know what love is

I would trade all the “Too Blessed to Be Stressed” license plates and WWJD? bracelets for a few encounters with people who don’t mind wearing their hearts on their sleeves just a little bit. It might feel a little corny or uncomfortable at first but it’s not that hard. Really. And it’s worth it.

So as you prepare to share the holidays with those you love, remember that we truly are all one and a little love goes a long way. Cliché as it sounds, it truly is the greatest gift.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!

Doing What I Love

When I was in the sixth grade, my Mom would drive my sister and me to school every morning. The year was 1976 and during every trip, without fail, Jerry Wells, infamous morning DJ on WDAS FM in Philly, would play Just To Be Close To You by the Commodores. And every morning, without fail, I would sing to my Mom at the top of my lungs. My favorite part would be emphatically telling her she was, “my purposessssss (Lionel Richie version), my reason for living.” I would go on to yell, “You’re my heart, you're my soul, you're my stoneeeee inspiration, baby!” [I know those of you over 40 are singing with me :-)]

It’s been many years since the sixth grade and I have since learned that my purpose is probably a bit bigger than loving my Mommy [even though she’s still my heart, my soul, and my stone inspiration :-)].

But one thing I have learned is that my purpose cannot revolve around a relationship (i.e., making my mother / husband / child happy).

Just a lesson learned I’m passing on for free.

Here lately, though, I’ve been thinking about my life’s purpose, particularly since I find myself on the back 40 (i.e., on the other side of 45, closer to 50).

Not just what I want to be when I grow up (even though that is a valid question that’s been lurking around for the better part of 30 years) but what was I born to do? Why was I created? What assignment has God given me? Or, here’s a whopper - what would I do for free?

Thank God I’m learning to think bigger than just making ends meet.

I find myself wondering about people who have all the money they need and want.

Since they don’t necessarily have to go to work, per se, how do they determine what to do with each day? Find value, purpose in and with their lives?

Even in this so-called recession, there are people out there living this way and I certainly plan to be one of them.

So the question becomes what would I do with my life, my time, if money was not an issue?

The adage and book title, Do What You Love, The Money Will Follow comes to mind. (The author is Marsha Sinetar, by the way.)

God knows I’ve been chasing money and, even though I have been blessed to continuously earn more over the years, I find that when that’s my focus (i.e., I need more), there never seems to be enough.

But that’s because there IS enough.

Always has been, always will be.

It’s just a matter of perspective.

In her book, How to Let God Help You, author Myrtle Fillmore notes, “…our purpose in life [is to] succeed in bringing forth God’s perfect idea of the perfect man.” She goes on to say, “…it should be our true aim in being to make manifest this perfect Self, or Christ of God, in our lives.”

For me this means God’s perfect idea of me is already embedded in my DNA.

I kinda already know.

It is a longing of my soul that I draw out through conscious connection with God in me, often through prayer.

Spiritual revolutionary Elijah Hakim-Adonijah notes, “Prayer is a conscious effort of the mind to absorb the wanting of the Soul. The real you. Your True Divine Self. This is that which no words at all or any other trivial ritual or repetition is employed. It is a constant meeting of the mind and Soul.”

My life, then, becomes a prayer that goes a little like this: get in the flow of life, and all these things will be added, i.e., more than enough money to share and to spare.

Or, as my Bible scholars know, “Seek ye first the Kingdom of God, and His (or Her – my addition) righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you.” (Matthew 6:33 King James Version)

One of my spiritual sheroes - Mrs. Ollie Williams (love her!) - once pointed me to this definition of the Kingdom of God (also in the Bible):  “The Kingdom of God is not a matter of what we eat or drink, but of living a life of goodness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 14:17 New Living Translation)

See? There goes that flow again – the flow of the Spirit of God which is in all and through all and is definitely always holy.  A synonym for the Kingdom of God, which is in me.

Little ole me and you.

So this week’s meanderings through my heart, mind, and soul yield this precious morsel:  my purpose is to seek that conscious connection with the God in me. Everything else is gravy.

Love - What the Bleep Do I Know? – Part Two

So why are love and whatever the Bleep I know so important to me?

Well, I suppose it’s important to everyone. The core of what we all strive for. The great equalizer of us all.

I have to admit that when it comes to love, marriage, and family, I set myself up pretty badly by placing the barometer for measuring its success somewhere between The Brady Bunch of my childhood and The Cosby Show of my young adulthood.

But I am gradually learning to throw away the rulebook and get on with it! Stop wallowing in what ain’t and rejoice in what is! To not let anything about so-called unmet expectations or, as I heard one preacher say, “pre-conceived misconceptions,” block the flow of life and love from fully expressing through me.

Perhaps the core purpose underlying each of our lives is to fully share Who We Are with the world.

To give disappointments or so-called unfulfilled expectations the power to allow us to shrink back is criminal.

According to author and financial guru T. Harv Eker, "The world doesn't need more people playing small. It's time to stop hiding out and start stepping out. It's time to stop needing and start leading. It's time to start sharing your gifts instead of hoarding them or pretending they don't exist.”

This shrinking back does not honor God or me, and deprives the world of what God gave to me to share. And as Marianne Williamson so famously quoted about our deepest fear, “…as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” (Maybe I’m the only one with these issues but feel free to take note if applicable.)

You have to understand that all I ever wished for was a Cosby-esque marriage replete with Sunday Dinners spanning generations; birthday and anniversary celebrations dancing the night away at jazz clubs with the entire family; and HBCU graduations where my husband and I would march in full regalia alongside our children.

Plus I thought that doggedly embracing a staunch Black Christian church dogma would guarantee that this charmed life would surely come to pass.

However, this path did not unfold for me and I have spent a lot of time grieving the absence of this reality. This led me to the misguided belief that when it comes to love and family life, I had blown any chance of being loved and accepted by God or anyone else.

After all, no self-respecting, committed Christian woman parades up and down the aisle and in and out of the court house twice and deserves to be loved and accepted.

But I am finally loosening my grip on that albatross and beginning to embrace the notion that that couldn’t be further from the Truth.

And to paraphrase what author Elizabeth Gilbert (my Eat, Pray, Love she-ro) recalled her great guru Richard from Texas telling her, I need to let go of a wishbone where my backbone oughta be.

Wo-man up, Alli!

So even though I feel like I flunk a lot of this a lot of the time, here’s what the Bleep I am learning:

First of all, I was never not loved or accepted by God.

Second of all, no one can love or accept me unless I love and accept myself.

And finally, those who don’t love and accept me are none of my business.

I’m just gonna stick with those who do.

By loving and accepting God and myself, I automatically bring the right people and experiences into my life. And I do deserve the best life has to offer simply because God created me as a divine expression of Him / Herself in the earth.

And that includes, to quote one of my favorite movies, The Brothers, “Love, happiness, and all that other shit!”

When I think back to Neale Donald Walsch and his conversations with God, I can begin to see that perhaps it wasn’t until every imaginable and unimaginable so-called “failure” showed up in my experience that I could begin to accept that nothing on the outside makes me Who I Am.

My worthiness never changes. My value is a constant and is not assured or defined by my circumstances.

We (God and me) got this and, most importantly, God’s got me!

So what I unequivocally know about love is that it is.

And that’s good enough for me J

Love - What the Bleep Do I Know?

Not long ago, I re-read the Conversations with God Trilogy as well as Friendship with God by Neale Donald Walsch.

Not exactly beach reading, I know, but for some reason as I read and contemplated, I “heard” it differently, more clearly. It resonated in a way I needed at that time and even now.

Walsch says that up until his conversations with God, his experiences with love had been a disaster.

I was tempted to label mine the same way. But that’s when God set him (and me) straight. 

According to Walsch, God says, “Nothing about love is meaningless. Love is the meaning of life itself. Life is love, expressed. That is life. Therefore, every act of love is life expressing, at the highest level. The fact that something, some experience is temporary, or relatively short, does not render it meaningless. Indeed, it may give it more meaning.” (Friendship with God: An Uncommon Dialogue, p. 299) 

Oh really now?

God goes on to say, “Experiences of love are temporary, but love itself is eternal. These experiences are only here-and-now expressions of a love that is everywhere, always.” (Ibid, p. 299)

Huh?

In spite of what it may seem like or how it may feel, every love is perfect. And perfect love casts out fear. 

Mmmm….

So in that way, I can look at every love experience – romantic or otherwise – as a necessary prerequisite to get me where I am on the journey now. And forever banish fear from my periphery.

All right – I can do that (or at least practice some every day).

This perspective has helped me become more forgiving of others and myself; bless each experience and each person, especially the difficult ones.

Most importantly I realized that, upon adopting this perspective, “one day, my soul just opened up.” (As Iyanla Vanzant so eloquently put it.)

What I once considered broken can now be seen as broken open so that the full beauty and fragrance of Who I Really Am can come forth and be shared with the world as my purpose.

It’s precisely because of all I’ve considered imperfect that I can be free to experience all of life from the same vantage point – it’s all good, it’s all God.

And I’m so glad about it – after all, What the Bleep Do I Know?!

Middle-Aging Gracefully

I have an old, dear friend from high school that I deeply cherish even though we are rarely, if ever, in touch.

He knows me in a way only old friends can.

The kind that saw you grow up and, in some ways, grew up with you.

He saw me stumble through adolescence, struggle in the midst of family dysfunction, whine through boyfriends, and find and pretend to find myself. We went on to graduate from college, get married, and have children. So he’s seen the best of times and the worst.

Yeah, he’s one of those.

After listening to me bemoan crisis after crisis over the years, he one day uttered words to me in absolute frustration that I’ve often recalled, especially more so here lately.

“Just once, Allison, I wish I would hear you talk about what you want for yourself.”

Even though I don’t recall my exact response, I’m sure it was somewhere between stuttering, stammering, and, finally, stunned silence.

I didn’t quite know how to respond because nobody in my young life ever gave me an inkling, let alone permission, to be selfish in a self-preservation kind of way.

Like when the cabin pressure drops, put the airplane mask on yourself first before you help others.

Love, particularly self-love, is like that airplane mask. When the demands of this life create fluctuations in pressure, you can’t get very far without it and you certainly can’t sustain you and someone else without it for long.

Never has this directive of self-preservation through self-love been more poignant than now as I watch the fruit of my womb come into her own.

She is a freshman in high school now, fully individuating (as she should be), and finding and defining herself for herself.

I know some of my words and guidance help but I often admire her fierce independence and quick wit, and proudly observe how she stealthily navigates the landscape before her, makes good decisions, and, more often than not, and lands on her feet just fine.

Like many moms – especially single moms – I have spent many years immersed in her growth and development and simply grindin' it out day-to-day.

There hasn’t always been enough self-love oxygen to spare ‘cause I’m too busy making sure she learns to put her oxygen mask on first.

But I have learned that being out of balance in that way doesn’t serve either of us. And I’ve learned that the greatest lessons are caught, not taught.

I now realize the power and responsibility of choosing the life I want based on my likes, preferences, goals, desires, dreams, and gifts. And even a healthy bit of selfishness.  

Yes, the growing young lady now inhabiting my space needs me but my role is not quite as hands-on and that’s a delicate art I am feeling my way through.

The up-side is I am learning to create a space where my self gets to reinvent myself.

Find a way to replenish and reinvigorate from within in soul-stirring ways.

It may actually be my turn.

So hopefully I am demonstrating that it’s never too late for a do-over.

And setting a good example for how to middle-age gracefully.

Happy New Year!

On July 26, I celebrated my 46^th birthday.

Many years ago I received a birthday card that declared one’s birthday as his or her own personal New Year. I never forgot that and pull that card out each year to remind myself that twice a year, I get a chance to reflect on my course to see what’s working and what may need adjusting or perhaps disregarding altogether.

My birthday is almost a month old now but the truth is every day presents us with an opportunity to begin anew – even the Bible reminds us that each morning is replete with brand new mercies.

When I officially turned 40 six years ago, my sister Etienne (see Evolution – Dedicated to Etienne Randall LeGrand, 30 June 2011), sent me a card that said I would no longer suffer fools gladly. What she neglected to mention was how much better the 40’s get with each passing year.

What I feel now as I celebrate my 46^th year (yes, I’m still celebrating J) is free.

I have truly laid aside every weight and it’s about damn time.

Those fools weigh a lot.

But it’s not only the fools. It’s the lies I ingested about Who I Am and What I Am capable of.

You see, I now know I get this awesome opportunity to be a co-creator in the wonderful story I am writing called my life.

I get to let go of the past and infuse every moment and relationship with the Gift of Love.

I get to observe beauty in the ordinary and realize how that acknowledgement enables me to see everything as extraordinary.

In addition to celebrating, however, my birthday season has made all of these discoveries more poignant as it now includes remembering the transition of two beautiful souls – my father, Matthew Miller (24 July 1996) and my cousin Renee Williams Carter (28 July 2011).

My father surrendered his battle with leukemia just two days before my birthday in 1996. At the time I was carrying precious cargo – one Drew Etienne Mitchell. It was as though my father’s spirit made room for her large life, just as my maternal grandmother, Alice Rebecca King Starks, did for me as my mother carried me in February 1965. It's her name - Allison Rebecca - that I wear proudly.

The significance of this disconcerting pattern is not lost on me.

It doesn’t sadden me as much as it humbles me and moves me to embrace a reverence of the power of God and how different His / Her ways are from my own.

That doesn’t mean I’m happy I never meet my grandmother or that I don’t wish there were moments Drew and her Pop-Pop could have shared. It just means that my 46-year-old self has learned the value of respecting the Process, as well as recognizing the futility of fighting the flow of life. This acceptance has given me a sense of peace that seriously passes my understanding, which, in turn, opens the door for monumental gratitude.

My cousin Renee, who made her transition just a few short weeks ago, was about 13 years my senior so I didn’t really get to hang out with her growing up. About two years ago, cancer attacked her body with a vengeance after many years in remission. It was then that I made a commitment to get to know her and her family better. I loved their energy and wanted some of it to rub off on me.

So my precious cargo Drew and I took a couple of road trips to visit for regular stuff – afternoons at the mall and burgers on the grill – as well as the special stuff families are known for, such as holiday dinners with more of our extended family and all the fixins’ - turkey, ham, fried shrimp, champagne, and lots of laughter. 

Renee’s brother delivered her obituary with his usual aplomb. Not by reading the recitation of her life reserved for the newspaper, but by describing his big sister in a way that took us on a journey into who she really was. He and others spoke of an indomitable spirit that not only informed her personal approach to life but her expectations of others.

Even though Renee’s husband Bill asked me to sing at the service, Renee’s best friend later told me that Renee asked her to make sure I did. "That Renee," I thought to myself. Even from the comfort of Heaven, she has a way of encouraging us while letting us know she expects more from us. I prefer to believe that this was her way of affirming our newfound kinship while letting me know she expects more of me and that she knows I’m capable of delivering.

So celebrating this year’s birthday was teary, sobering, and eventful. I realized my power as well as my powerlessness all at once. And it has truly become all good.

So what I want for my birthday is this one favor:

Pretend my birthday season is yours as well and use it as an excuse to look around and decide to live life to the full in the now.

That’s the best gift you could ever give to yourself and the Universe, which means you’re ultimately giving it to me.

Happy New Year!

Evolution - Dedicated to Etienne Randall LeGrand

A few weeks ago I got to spend time with my Big Sister, Etienne. We are averaging five years between visits these days, which is way too long. She was here celebrating the graduation of her best friends’ three children from college and grad school, looking fabulous as usual.

She has always been who I want to be when I grow up.

It’s just that I’ve evolved and now the gap between who she is and who I am closes more and more with each phase of our lives.

Etienne, or “Ann” as I grew up calling her, lived four doors away from me in Mount Airy, Philadelphia (yes, “Ann” did slip out a few times during our visit but she kept introducing me as her Baby Sister so we’re even). She babysat me from the time I was six years old until she left for college in Boston, and made it her business to groom me into the beautiful young lady she has always known I could become. In the midst of the dysfunction my family had to carefully (but probably not successfully) hide, Etienne was an oasis of all I could be in life.

I worshipped her.

To me, she was Perfect – Perfect Clothes, Perfect Shoes, Perfect Hair, Perfect Body, Perfect Career Path, Perfect Life. (Can’t say Perfect Make-up – she doesn’t wear any because she has Perfect Skin.)

She taught me to frame and display ordinary snapshots that capture precious moments next to bowls of potpourri and vases of fresh flowers, while we toasted glasses of champagne she still drinks just because.

On the other hand, she also spanked me up until (actually on) my wedding day. I think she would still backhand me if I tried to off-load some bullshit (which she has absolutely no tolerance for). I think I just stopped being scared of her last year.

Highlights from my adolescence include moments when I would be walking home from school and she and Roslyn (her BFF of at least 30 years) would unexpectedly drive by on a visit home from college (her visits were never announced and still aren’t). I would get to ride in a Datsun B210 with real college students who were the epitome of cool. In between swigs of Robitussin, they would teach me important things about life like what to major in and how to play pinochle.

Many seismic disruptions would occur in our lives and sometimes we talked about them without really talking about them.

I remember my parents separating once when I was 16 and she tracked us down at my aunt’s clear across town. She showed up married and pregnant but we all sat around the table drinking tea as though my mother, sister, and I were not displaced and she had not begun a whole new life we knew nothing about.

The years eventually found us both in the Washington, DC area – me as a Howard student, she as a new wife and mother. She had evolved into the quintessential independent business woman and I the eager young pup who would never have the chutzpah she had.

Or so I thought. (I told you I’ve evolved.)

She was hard-core and couldn’t be bothered with tears or broken hearts or insecurities – all of which plagued my young life.

That was until love showed up at her door.

I noticed she started getting her nails done and letting her hair grow and wearing lavender mascara. Her make-up case – which was now the size of what used to be her entire purse - now fit into a Coach satchel that carried must-haves that I thought she was too busy and important to require.

After much deliberation, she finally accepted the marriage proposal of her now husband of over 20 years. Oh, and he moved her across country – another no-no as no self-respecting, self-made woman wraps her life around the plans / life of some man.

But we do evolve.

One of my favorite moments with her was shopping for her wedding gown. She saw a dress she loved in a magazine and we went marching off to Silver Spring to get it. Just like that. But the first store didn’t have it. In utter frustration, she walked out and on the steps of the store announced, “This....me being a bride is just such a ridiculous, absurd notion! That’s it – we’re going to get pancakes!”

So off to IHOP we went.

Hey, evolution comes in fits and starts.

My love for Etienne has evolved from that of a child to the respect and admiration shared woman‑to‑woman. I’m not only her Baby Sister – a title I wear proudly - but feel like now we’re bonafide sister-friends.

I see myself in her. No longer as someone I could never measure up to but a magnificent woman who mirrors my own beauty, resilience, and fortitude.

I proudly gave my daughter her name - Drew Etienne. Partially because I think it’s pretty fly. But also because I think she’s a pretty cool act to follow.

So now we both have exposure to and inhabit worlds we knew nothing about in Mount Airy. We’ve weathered treacherous territories such as crazy-ass Corporate America, marriage, divorce, and parenting teenage daughters.  Life, to me, has become the great equalizer. And when she hugged me farewell, I knew we were closer than ever.

She is my Sister.

Transitions - An Unspoken Bond

Last week we celebrated Drew’s graduation from eighth grade.

We have officially made it through middle school alive and I am now living with a bonafide high schooler.

What an adventure these past two years have been! The early teen years have not been without their fits and starts but we, along with our Village, have weathered the storm and come out stronger and closer.

High school can only get better, right?

There have been moments during this transition from child to teen that I never, ever imagined. We have survived out-and-out crises but the key is we survived intact.

Like most divorced couples, my interactions with Drew’s Dad and his new family have not been without their own fits and starts. And like with most families, while Dads do their parts, it’s the women who run interference, oftentimes silently, in order to keep things together.

So even though it’s Father’s Day Weekend, I’d like to take this time to honor Drew’s Stepmother, Miss Tammi.

I must admit that in the beginning, one of the most difficult and unexpected transitions of divorce was watching my daughter be absorbed into a family I was not a part of.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want her father to remarry. But when I began to hear of birthday celebrations I wasn’t a part of, or Girls Days Out that I hadn’t orchestrated, I felt left out. What’s more, in spite of her resistance and steadfast denial, my daughter was beginning to enjoy her Stepmom’s overtures and I was genuinely happy the family seemed to be blending.

I remember one birthday celebration that I had in fact orchestrated where “Miss Tammi” and her Dad dropped by. When Drew opened their gift, her eyes lit up and her jaw dropped and I could instantly tell it was exactly what she wanted – a very cool blouse with sheer sleeves and jewels sewn around the neckline. The style was vintage Drew even though I’m not completely sure it was Miss Tammi’s cup of tea. It was clear this was an item they had seen on one of their Saturday shopping trips to Hecht’s now Macy’s (trips Drew swore she hated but I was now beginning to suspect otherwise). That year for school pictures Drew would not hear of wearing anything else. It was then that I realized that Miss Tammi was getting to know my girl and they were indeed creating their own special bond.

As Stepmom’s go, Miss Tammi is a dream. Even though she has at times gotten a bad rap and has been on the receiving end of the wrath of an only child who vehemently resented sharing her Daddy, I can tell she genuinely cares about my daughter and works hard not to make any delineation between her own daughter and mine. That puts my heart at ease when she’s with her Dad because even though I know Drew needs to find her place in that family, it’s hard watching a woman you don’t really know mother your child.

Not quite a year after Miss Tammi married Drew’s Dad, my second husband abruptly abandoned Drew and me after just three months. I was emotionally devastated and in dire financial straits. Over the ensuing weeks and months, however, I began to notice a few touches that had Miss Tammi all over them. Drew would come back from her visits at her Dad’s with her hair done and a new outfit. While some of my friends thought I should have an attitude, all I could do was thank the good Lord above because He knew I did not have the money to provide the way I wanted to.

The ultimate gesture came when I received an American Express gift card that Christmas that I knew came from her – she handed it to me personally in a beautiful card that had her handwriting.

In the beginning, I didn’t think of myself as a friend of Miss Tammi’s but over time I thought of us as having developed an unspoken bond. That knowing of what it’s like to be a single mom (before Drew’s dad, I think she raised two kids on her own for ten years, including a son).  And maybe not just because she’s been a single mom but because she’s a sister who's been there and knows what it’s like.

I can tell you I think Miss Tammi is a helluva lot stronger than I am. Not long ago, one of those teen crises blind-sided all of us and I was completely undone. Once the dust settled and the entire family came together to do some mending, I was still a mess of tears. Miss Tammi calmly said, “Allison, stop crying. Everything is fine but it’s time to get tough now, OK? Wash your face, pull yourself together, and let’s go.”

I’d say we’re becoming friends.

I’ve been through my share of challenges and I’ve known a lot of hurt. While there have been moments when I’m sure I was bitter and considered staying there, I am grateful that God has helped me turn my pain into an even more tender and compassionate heart. What that tender heart has learned is to appreciate e-ver-y-thing, down to even the slightest gesture of love, support, and kindness. I would say that my heart is not only tender but downright sappy.

So, Miss Tammi, if I have never said it before, from the bottom of my tender-sappy-war-torn heart, I thank you.

For the Brothers Who ARE Here

Back in my day, there was a coming-of-age movie called Cooley High, starring a young Glynn Turman as “Preach” and a young Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs as “Cochise.” One particularly moving scene (there were several) was when Preach poured some wine on Cochise’s untimely grave and quipped, “For the brothers who ain’t here.”

See, it was their custom to pour the first pass of libations in homage to the brothers who had gone on before; to honor their lives and presence with the best there was to offer.

Well, today, I want to honor and salute the Brothers who ARE here, or who, at least, have gone above and beyond for me.

As a single sister and single mom, it is impossible to manage everything on my own. As Jill Scott says in her song, The Fact Is (I Need You), we sisters are very, very capable, but still need the Brothers. She exquisitely lists a number of professions we can master and personas we can adopt, and even notes that we can often floss our own Bling Bling.

But, Brothers, we need you. And I, for one, am so glad you are here.

I simply cannot count the number of times the Brothers have supported Drew and me. Nor can I thank them enough. They have fixed things; bought stuff; taken us out to eat; helped us celebrate birthdays and holidays in style; sent love via email, Facebook, and text messages; and made sure we knew that there was nothing they would not do to make sure we lived like the Queen and Princess we indeed are. Just filling that male energy gap meant more than words could ever say. They all truly have gone above and beyond and, in many instances, continue to do so.

There’s one special Brother, however, who deserves an extra-special shout-out.

He’s my godfather, Uncle Rudy.

Upon losing my dad during my pregnancy, Uncle Rudy stepped up in his characteristically unassuming way and just became my Dad.

It all started when Drew was christened. We scheduled her blessing at an ungodly 7:30am service and in walked Dad after travelling all night for business. Even though he must have been exhausted, he drove from Philly and was on time! When asked why, he simply replied, “Well, neither one of you have a father so….”

That’s just him.

Uncle Rudy, or “Rufus,” as I am fond of calling him, is a fit and fine 70+ Original Playa who compliments his looks with savvy business acumen. He’s the kinda Dad that you can say swear words and take shots with but who also cooks infamous meals every Sunday just because.  His sense of humor is infectious and he creates a family out of everybody he meets. He takes all the licks the world tosses in stride and has no problem telling anyone how he sees it and exactly how he feels.

Once when my daughter was being bullied in camp, she said, “Well, Uncle Rudy, I shouldn’t fight people if they don’t hit me first.” He then shared this sage wisdom with my then eight-year-old: “Bullshit! Just trip ‘em when nobody is looking and say, ‘Oh, I’m sorry – did I bump into you?’”

Perfect, Dad. Might not have been my Sweet-Polly-Purebred advice but it worked. (What can I tell ya? He’s been working on Capitol Hill for over 20 years.)

Since then he has supported me in every way imaginable but, most importantly, has given me the fatherly love and affirmation I sorely miss, and, quite frankly, am not sure I ever had.

I thought of this because the other day I told him how, once again, life had been a bit bumpy and I had felt like I wasn’t providing the lifestyle he and my parents provided for my “cousins” and me. But I conceded, “Dad, I’ve decided that I truly am doing all I can and that will have to be enough.”

He replied, “Baby, you can look in the mirror and know without a doubt that you have done your best. I’m a witness.”

With tears in my eyes, I knew he was right and that I would have to keep on strengthening that “mental toughness” he often speaks of. He and a lot of other people got my back, know I can thrive, and are depending on me.

In that once again characteristically infectious fashion, he went on to say, “Every day, baby, is just gonna keep gettin’ brighter and brighter!”

So let’s all raise a glass (unlike Preach and Cochise, I ain’t pourin’ nothin’ out!) to all the uncles, friends, and Brothers who are here.

If nobody else says it, I will:

I need you, I love you, and I thank God for you.