“Your standards
are too high”. If you’re mid-30s,
educated and single you probably hear this at family BBQ’s and any company
gatherings that take place after three rounds of drinks have been purchased. I
used to hear this all the time. Maybe the words are still being whispered by my
family but I simply store them in the section of my brain typically reserved
for the men who scream “yo ma what’s good”. Or, perhaps co-workers are still
trying to insert their opinions, but when they finish speaking I mentally relegate
them to the same category of grown folks who text like post spell check
teens. In either case the statement no
longer holds enough weight for me to adjust my standards. One foreseeable
divorce plus two meaningful but heartbreaking relationships equal new found
strong convictions on what I require from a relationship. Although the
unsolicited opinions regarding whom I choose to build with are no longer impactful
enough for me to change my standards,
I do at times re-examine them. Upon close examination this is what I conclude;
based on the power that’s invested in me by the state of Shanita I hereby declare
my standards……... SIMPLE and MINE. No
further approval needed.
To the one dimensional person my
standards or “type” may seem hard to understand. I won’t go around providing
justification for my standards or seeking permission. Yet, for the curios I
will provide situational examples. I want a man with extensions in his hair,
bamboo earrings…at least two pairs. Nah I’m joking. But I’m an artist so I’m
sensitive about my standards, so let me hit you with the real stuff. I want my potential
mate and I to discuss some historical opposing views in black intellectualism
and culture. Like, I want to know where he stands when it comes to the views of
DuBois vs Garvey and what’s his opinion on
the fact that Nas eithered Jay-Z, the lyrical battle between Jay and
Nas. When we go to family game night and play Taboo and the question requires
participants to name a deadly weapon that starts with the letter “S” and my
cousin gives the winning answer by yelling SHANK, I need him to not be
confused. When the games are over and he digs into his spaghetti and it’s kool-aid
sweet, he has to just keep eating. Oh, and don’t judge me when I say it took me
three days to read that latest piece by Michael Eric Dyson and that I secretly watched the entire season
of Empire. Not sure if these standards
are “too much or too little” for most. All I know is that they are mine. Jay got it right when he said “I don’t want
much, just a nice, smart dude cool enough to eat some hood food”. Wait…… I
think that was me. In any event. Still simple standards. Still mine.
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