The Interview -- Part Dos

So, I like attention.

I asked more people to interview me (*ahem* to those who have yet to provide me with new questions). One of the people I tapped was my boy, Jarrod. Gotta love him, but the questions and answers below are a case study as to why your best friend should not interview you. I'm sure he'd say the same thing.

Want to get in on the fun? Leave your interview request in the comments box. Want to ask me something? Do the same. I'll holla.

1. Why be a reporter? The pay sucks and you'll have to move around a lot until you can make some serious money.
Simply put: because I wanted to save the world. No lie. I've always liked helping people. And when I was younger, I started looking at professions that would allow me to do that. After a few inquiries, I found I could get paid to write. I was good at it and wrote all the time (I was a quiet kid, so I journaled a lot). I looked into it. Found out that journalists are charged with righting the wrongs of the world, speaking truth to power and standing up for the voiceless and disenfranchised. I wanted to be a part of that. Honestly, I figured that all journalism made a difference. That's what carried me through all of my internships. I believed that even if I was writing a profile on a valedictorian or a budget story, it would impact someone's life. They were looking to me to provide the information they needed to live their lives, or expecting me to immortalize a significant event in their life. I took that seriously. Wow, did I just write that in past tense?

Not making a lot of money never bothered me. I've been poor before. I'm poor now. I know how to be poor. I'd like to have money, but until I get it, I'll be straight. As far as the travelling, that was another thing that drew me to the profession. I grew up in Flint - not exactly paradise - so I was yearning to get out. I figured I could use my job to see the country - or the world. And tell good stories along the way. So it was a win-win situation.

2. Does your relationship with your father (or lack of one) factor in to the type of men you date?
*Sigh*

I'd like to say that it doesn't, but I'm sure that on some level, it does. For those who may not know, my father hasn't really been in my life since I was maybe 7 or 8 years old. I still see him at family functions. But I haven't really talked to him in years. We say hi and bye, but he knows nothing about me.

My mother taught her children to be independent. We didn't have a father in the house, so we saw my mom doing the traditional "male" roles. She worked - hard - as a laborer on the assembly line for Buick. She disciplined - with the iron fist and the skinny belt - when we were out of line. She was intimidating to the knuckleheads who tried to mess with my sister and I. Seeing her, I realized I didn't need a man to kill a bug for me or to carry my bags. I could do them myself. I prided myself on my independence. Then, since I was petite as well, I got a kick out of showing the guys that I was just as strong, fearless and capable as they were. To this day, I don't let anyone make me believe I am inferior for any reason.

It wasn't until I got to Hampton that I realized that just because I could do things on my own didn't mean I had to. Oddly enough, I dated guys who needed to do things for me to feel like men. We often had arguments when I'd pay for my food at Burger King or something else silly like that. In my head, I was helping: we were all college students. He couldn't afford to pay for me all of the time and I wouldn't expect him to. To him, I was emasculating him; depriving him of the ability to provide for me. Over time, I realized that and I began to soften. I started to understand that sometimes, that's how people show you they like you - by providing for you. I didn't know that men could do that just because they liked you - not expecting anything in return. I had to learn that lesson at 22.

I could blame my father for not showing me how a man is supposed to treat me or for giving me a good example of what love is. But really, it's no use. I figured out most of it, though I'm still learning. But I never look for a man to validate, complete or sustain me. For the man that eventually finds me, I'll want to let him open my doors, kill my spiders and protect me in a thunderstorm. But first, I know I have to be whole and capable of living on my own. I guess I can thank my dad for that.

3. If you hadn't grown up in Flint the way you did, would you be the same person you are today?
No way. Growing up in Flint completely shaped who I am and where I am today. It's one of the most dangerous cities in America. And I call it home.

I grew up in the ghetto. Please, don't be fooled and think otherwise. On my block alone, there were no less than 4 drug houses. I always chilled at my friends' houses because their parents wouldn't let their kids travel into my neighborhood. When I was still in elementary school, I was held up at gunpoint on my front porch.

Flint made me observant. I had to be. I always got a read on someone - and on the situation - before I opened my mouth to speak. I took notice of where I was and who was around me at all times - a trait that came in handy when I started using my observations to tell stories in my career. Flint made me hard. I knew I couldn't fight, but that if necessary, I'd go down fighting. Which is probably why I'm so feisty now. I couldn't let anyone punk me. I couldn't show emotion. So I developed - and perfected - a blank stare. It's intense, yet shows no sign of what's going on behind my eyes. It's my poker face. And it's gotten me out of more fights and sticky situations than I care to remember. Flint made me motivated. I looked around and didn't like what I saw. I knew that I needed to get out. So that's what I focused on. I studied in school. I stayed off of the streets. I read. For 17 years I had only two goals: graduate high school and not get pregnant. That was it. Once I had graduating in the bag, I still had to work on getting out. So I picked Hampton, a school far away from Flint where I wouldn't be caught in the crossfire of old beefs and the same ole people. Hampton also represented another opportunity: the chance to see black people doing something with their lives. Not selling drugs. Not in jail. Not on government assistance. Just doing their thing and doing it well. I needed that.

Once I got out, I focused on staying out. My freshman year, my goals were again, simple: don't flunk out and get sent back to Flint, and don't get pregnant. I made it all four years on that mantra. I had gotten out. I didn't want people to be able to say that I failed and was forced to return home because I couldn't cut it. So I worked hard. I got internships to keep me out of trouble in the summer. My work there left me with stellar recommendations that I used to get my first job. They also allowed me to see the country - or at least parts of it. I realized there was more to life than Michigan. And I wanted to see everything that life had to offer.

So, simply put, if I hadn't grown up in Flint, the way that I did, there's no possible way I could be the person I am today. Period.

4. What effect did that "situation" at Hampton have on you?
I kinda dislike you for this question, Jarrod. Seriously. Okay. I'd like to think it made me stronger. And it did. I learned something. That everyone does not have your best interests at heart and that first and foremost, I have to be out for self. And read the writing on the wall. Always. I think it also taught me how to see through some bull when all I want to see is roses. I had to hit rock bottom before I could see it, but the climb back up was empowering. It made me realize I never want to be treated that way again. And that no person should ever have to learn that lesson through experience.

But mostly, I think it killed my idealism. I'm optimistic anyway. So I always look for the bright side in things and the best in people. I always thought that if you were a good person and treated people well, someone would love you. I thought people were decent like that. Like, before they screw you, they'd think, "Hey, T-Dot's a good woman. She doesn't deserve this. If I'm going to do this, let me stop messing with her."

But they don't. And that's what kills me because I'm mad upfront with cats. Because I knew somewhere deep down that people can be bastards sometimes. I always say, "if there's something else you want, something I can't give you, just let me know. I'll let you go and be happy." It hurts when you give them an out and they trample all over you anyway.

So what does that mean for future cats? I honestly don't know. I've been kinda steering away from relationships because I'm really tempted to go back to being independent woman. But I don't want the bitterness and trust issues thrown in the mix. So I pray. And I ask God to work with me. And I tell Him that I'm not picking any more guys because clearly I have bad taste. I'm waiting for the one He sends me. I'm just praying that one understands.

5. On some real sh--, how sexy am I on a scale of 1-10?
Yes! Finally, the nitty-gritty. Let's say one is not sexy at all and 10 is when you step in the room I want to rip your clothes off. And if I disregard the list, the tounge ring phase and the fact that you're from Jersey...In that case, I'd say a 7.62 or an 8. You're confident and funny. What's sexier?