Boyfriends Were Exempt

For a lot of my childhood, respect was something I never thought I deserved. When respect came my way, I wallowed in it; it was a wonderful feeling knowing others thought enough of me to treat me with high regard. Seven years under Hazel's dictatorship had led me to believe that I was worthy of whatever neglect, indifference, and abuse that came my way. And yes, striking another human being while chanting "spare the rod, spoil the child. God, save this child from the devil" is abuse in more ways than just physical.

At twelve, I got the antidote for Hazel's poison when mother left her to marry Royal Orville, an American Indian from West Virginia, but by that time the damage was done. My new dad was a gentle, kind man who actually liked me, or was it all pretend? I was afraid that once he settled into our family, the mean would devour the nice, the beatings would replace the gentle pats on my back, and harsh words would bat away the kindness that had become the dynamic in our short relationship.

Speaking of relationships and dynamics, it never came into my mind as I grew past the corporal punishment age and into my young adult years that I had a say in how others treated me. What I got was what I had to accept. I had no choice. Not once did it occur to me that the dynamics in a relationship were something I could control. Not once did I think I could ask for and get respect. But then one day something happened that started the pendulum in motion.

I was twenty-one and a secretary for the President of WIFE radio station at 1330 North Meridian Street. It was rumored that the owner of the station was a tyrant who liked to scream and yell at his employees. Firing them on the spot was another one of his favorite things to do, so on the day he was to visit the radio station, I was a nervous wreck. (I don't do well with screamers and yellers.)

I heard him before I saw him. He was in the room next to my office and he was yelling and throwing things against the wall. I braced myself for my turn with him, which didn't take long. He walked into my office and without introducing himself, he said, "Get me some coffee, NOW! Black!" And then he walked next door to the President's office. I went to the kitchen, poured him a cup of coffee and delivered it to him. He said nothing. I went back to my office, sat down and vibrated from fear. But not for long. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't have to take his crap.

He yelled for me from my boss's office. I didn't move. He yelled again. Still not moving. He walked into my office and yelled, "Come when I call you, young lady!" I stood up, looked him straight in the eyes and said, "I quit!" I gathered up my things, walked past him and out the back door. It felt so good. When I arrived home, the telephone was ringing. "Mr. Burden wants you to come back to work," the Program Manager said. "He's sorry if he upset you!" So I did. I went back and he treated me wonderfully from then on.

With a few exceptions like childhood, prison, nursing homes, and holidays at the in-laws, how others treat us in our control. Once I made that realization that day at WIFE radio station, the pendulum began to swing the other way for me in every aspect of my life except one: boyfriends.

Boyfriends were exempt from the respect requirement because, because, because...well, I don't really know the reason. Maybe it was because I was desperate for a boyfriend and what is the definition of disrespect anyway? It can be vague sometimes. The line in the sand, when it came to my significant other, could easily be redrawn because, because, because...well, I don't know why. Maybe I thought something is better than nothing, so I accepted whatever my boyfriends gave me because, because, because...well, I don't know why I let them treat me poorly. And what is the definition of poorly anyway? It can be vague sometimes.