Fatherless daughters fight an uphill battle for position among women who have loving histories with their fathers. Those fortunate women are seemingly more able to submit in relationships. They know exactly what types of relationships are healthy and what types are not. In fact, they are less likely to settle into relationships that do not mirror the love and caring shown to them by their own fathers during early childhood.
“A man craves honor and respect. That’s kryptonite to a man! If you submit to your man, there’s no way on this earth that he won’t give you his all, everyday,”
I received an alert on my phone this morning that read “Apostle Elect McNeely is live” (on Periscope). I tapped the link and began to listen to his philosophy on what men want in women. I immediately realized one major fact: The likelihood that I’ll remarry is almost ZERO. Not because I don’t want to be, but because his and many others’ ideas of submission does not look nor sound like the woman who I am…and I am fine with that.
He says that a woman’s makeup – her mentality, her ability to submit comes from her relationship with her “daddy.” Well, if this is the case, the game is already over for me. He went on the say that, “A man craves honor and respect. That’s kryptonite to a man! If you submit to your man, there’s no way on this earth that he won’t give you his all, everyday,” (or something to that effect).
The first memory (of only a total of about three) I have of (the man I THOUGHT) my real father was went like this:
I was no more than two years old (Yes, two. Numero dos. My memory is unbelievable, and probably for a divine reason). My mom sat in a folding chair near the front door with me in her lap, waiting for him to arrive.
It was a summer evening at dusk – the sun just setting and casting an amber hue over the front porch. Suddenly, his dark presence cast a shadow over us as he stood in the doorway. So ironic. He was a tall, white-haired man, fair-skinned and thin. He was handsome like the looks of a Vidal Sassoon.
I could feel mom’s energy change and the tension between the two of them, and I didn’t even know, at the time, what tension was. Her smooth skin was suddenly wrought with furrows in her brow. Her breathing deepened, as if she were bracing for impact. I remember the short conversation held between them just seconds after he arrived, and it shook me.
I do not know if whether I was more bothered by the statements he made to mom, or if I was mad at her for actually doing it. She submitted. She literally shut up, as if she was afraid to speak.
“Umph Joan, it’s time for you to get ready for bed,” my mom said. I was stunned! The tears began to organize themselves in my belly and had begun to rise up through my chest, but in one sentence, they immediately came to a screeching halt!
“Shut the hell up, Beulah!”
His voice sounded like thunder. I was bothered and afraid. My heart jumped. Why was he talking to my mommy like that?
“Give her here!”
We stood by the doorway. I looked back down at mom who seemingly avoided eye contact with him. I wanted to be back in her lap. His arms were like steel. They weren’t soft and caring like hers. As most babies do when they aren’t “feeling you”, I planted the palms of my hands firmly on his chest and stretched my arms out, locking my elbows to push myself back. I didn’t want to feel his breath nor stubble of his beard on my face. I didn’t want to lie closely to his chest. I didn’t want his hands on me, period, especially after that awkward exchange with my mommy. Oddly enough though, I do not know if whether I was more bothered by the statements he made to mom, or if I was mad at her for actually doing it. She submitted. She literally shut up, as if she was afraid to speak.
Impression made: never let a man talk down to you, and if you obey, you are weak.
Of course, I cannot ignore the question, why would she say that it was time to go to bed the minute he got there to see me? Who knows? Maybe he was hours late. Perhaps they had argued on the phone. Maybe even mom saw him in town with another woman earlier in the day, or worse: with his wife.
The bottom line is, anytime a man talks down to me for any reason, a part of me goes back to that evening in 1977. I am more likely to rebel than to submit. I don’t apologize for the inability to stay in my place. I don’t apologize for being a survivor nor a warrior. I only apologize for not knowing how to navigate through the jungle called, “Knowing How to Be.”
However, because I do love myself, and because I know that God makes no mistakes, this is my philosophy: If the woman I’ve become as a result of my experiences during my formative years doesn’t fall into the “What Men Look for in Women” category, again: I am fine with that.
Watch Apostle Elect McNeely on Periscope, as he discusses the devil’s impact on our modern views on submission. What do you think of his views?
Until next time…