One cannot be Poly without constantly taking an inward journey, accessing and reassessing…We get to know ourselves quite well. Lately, doing this has caused earlier and earlier memories of my preference for this lovestyle to come to the surface.
When I was in elementary school, there was a boy that all the girls called themselves having a crush on. To protect this 8 year old’s former identity, let’s call him Kev. While I was somewhat of a tomboy and didn’t develop a real interest in boys until years later…there was something about Kev…
Day after day, I would watch the girls chase poor Kev off the basketball court and into the tanbark tormenting him, when all he wanted to do is ball on everybody on the court.
I never chased him. I just used to watch the melee- secretly crushing on him- amused by the whole spectacle. Well on one particular day, the chase from the court into the tanbark led him straight to me.
“Liiiiiiisssssaaa HEEEEEELLLLLLLP!” He screamed wide eyed, basketball in hand as he barreled into me, causing both of us to topple over and tumbleweed ourselves underneath the play structure. We sat there for a moment kinda grooming each other, him picking tanbark out of my puffy pigtails and me out of his unkempt fro. When we felt presentable enough for public viewing, I grabbed his hand as we emerged.
It wasn’t until I boldly announced my brilliant plan, “I got an idea…Why doesn’t he be all of our boyfriends? Then maybe you guys don’t have to chase him so much.”- some girls nodded emphatically, while others looked at the chase leader for direction as to how they should feel about this matter- that I noticed what felt like the whole playground was staring at us in our disheveled state as if we had just finished doing “the nasty.” Kev fidgeted uncomfortably giving me an approving smile as he gently pulled his hand from my grasp and for some unknown reason, waved to the crowd as if to say, “Hey ladies!”
“Because that’s stupid,” the chase leader said, breaking the silence, “Come on Kev…let’s go.” At that she grabbed him by the elbow and drug him off. Then he turned around and waved at me as if he were waving the white flag of surrender. With that, all of the girls followed Kev and this divisive little girl. I was probably witnessing that day, the first time- before these girls became women- in which they chose the status quo over following their hearts.
I now remember wondering, as I watched them run away, why the yard duties didn’t bring out the red balls that we normally use play dodge ball. Kev was gone in my mind, so quickly replaced by my other love at the time…dodge ball.
When recalling this day as my first memory of being poly, it seems easy to say “Oh, musta been poly because I didn’t mind sharing.” But that’s not what I feel makes me poly (of course being able to share is a given.) What makes me poly, in my eyes, is the ability to detach and move on. Is it because I’m cold? Callus? If you knew me, you’d know that is not even close to being the case. I can move on because I have never felt ownership over another human being in my life, not even in regards to my children.
As a poly woman, I have the compulsion to share, an infinite supply of love, and the ability to let go, appreciating the time I was able to spend with another soul, whether it was a 5 minute roll in the tanbark or a 26 year marriage. Connecting with someone, no matter how fleeting the moment, is truly sublime.
Filed under: African American, Black & Poly, Love, Polyamorous, Polyamory, Uncategorized
