ALMOST! It was a close call, I can admit that. Around age 15 or 16, I thought I was grown, like most young girls I suppose. I wanted the opportunity to make my own decisions, act on my impulses, and go with the crowd. The crowd. The crowd can easily unravel all of the teachings, support, and love of your parents.
I had a few saving graces. But there were a few ladies, 8-15 years older than me, who played the greatest role in saving me from my inevitable hoe-dom. At the time, the term “mentor” meant nothing to me. It was some abstract, farfetched idea. Plus, I thought I was grown, and I saw these ladies as my peers. As I look back, I can laugh at my stupidity. Yet, I applaud myself for doing one thing right, watching these ladies.
I don’t didn’t listen. Well, I knew everything there was to know at the time. Nevertheless, I was a watcher. In watching these ladies, I was able to discern when it was okay to cross my legs at my thighs and when they needed only to be crossed at the ankles. With time, my shorts grew longer, and my shirts became less tight. I was more aware of the signals I sent and gained control of those messages. In watching their decisions with dating and eventually marrying men, it established a tangible standard of what a date should encompass and how a man should treat a lady…and her friends. They taught me the delicacy of lady-hood.
Yes, my beautiful mother had already told me all of these things countless times. But I was a child to her- her child. These ladies, in my youthful eyes were my friends. They never chastised me or dismissed my ability to make sound decisions. They just kept calling me lady. “What are you doing, lady?” “How was your day, lady?” “I am about to come pick you up, lady.” Eventually, I became one.
The Mocha Café 