The mind and soul of tiffani real
The Mind and Soul of Tiffani Real ©2010 by Tiffani Real. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical or photocopying or stored in a retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be included in a review.
ISBN: 978-0-9827814-0-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010907588
Cover Design: Keith Saunders, Marion Designs
Interior Design: Andrew D. Gordon
Editor: Nikki D. Bosompen, Insight Editing Services, LLC
Stylist: Quintia McClain
First Printing July 2010
Printed in the United States of America
Published by
Pink Peach Publishing
P.O. Box 1872
Dacula, GA 30019
www.pinkpeachpublishing.com
Dedication
Dedication
I dedicate this book to Michael Joseph Jackson and Carl Rives. You two are the people that made it possible for me to release my pain, loss, tears, loneliness, destruction, reconstruction, and love through my writing. I love you both and I thank you.
Thank
You!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I must thank God for carrying me through. I know he must shake his head and say, “Did I really make her?” I thank him for helping me to see the big picture. I love you! Lamar, Terrence, Taylor, Quintia, Khadijah, Quincey, and JJ, I thank God for giving me the best children on the planet. When going through the storms you have all made it bearable. I knew God had to love me because he gave me all of you. I am honored to be your mother.
Terry Moorer I thank you for finding me, a stranger, and extending your hand and heart. It is because of you that I had the courage to share my work with the world. I love you. Matthew Allen, my brother. You have given me unconditional love and support. I am so proud of you and your achievements. We share passions that many cannot begin to understand. I love you and I wish you continued success.
To my sisters Shakeria Thomas and Antoinette “Queenie” Jones-Shaw, I love you and I thank the two of you keep me grounded. My Facebook family, without you this book would not exist. You embraced me, without judging, and I love you. To my MARTA family I love you for always having my back and supporting me. I love you very much.
Lastly, Pauline R. Evans and family you are my human lifeline and I love you. We are destined to do great things together. God gives us all what we need, when we need it, if we just believe. Pauline, you are so genuine, you always fit me in your schedule, and you only want the best for me and my children. You call me your angel but it is the other way around. I thank God for you. My dream is finally coming true. One last time I love you all!
Foreword
foreword
Upon reading this book, you'll find that its author, Tiffani, has worn many hats in her lifetime: daughter, sister, mother, wife, divorcee, girlfriend, black sheep, caregiver, cheater, poet, runaway, lover, and fearer of God. She’s known as many of things, but I only know her as one thing: My sissy. As Tiffani’s younger brother, I always felt that we were connected in ways other than a bloodline. Aside from the fact that we’re both avid fanatics of Michael Jackson and Earth, Wind and Fire, we’re each bound by our devotion to truth, our mutual experiences of alienation, and our passion for creativity. It always made me feel good that there was somebody else in the world like me.
I, too, am a writer. It’s an outlet for me to properly express myself in the provocative, quick witted and engaging manner that I am unable to execute when attempting to speak. Whenever I write, I have an uncanny ability to rapidly improve on my original thoughts and cause my work to sound better; more thought provoking, more intellectual. When Tiffani told me that she was also a writer, I was ecstatic. It was something else that linked us together. However, once I read her work – like many of you – on her Facebook profile, I discovered two things: First, that despite that fact she’s my sister and talks to me perhaps more than our other siblings, there was many things about her I didn’t know. Secondly, it occurred to me that Tiffani was, and still is at this moment, a better writer than me. Her words, whether recounting a moment or event in her past or conjuring up a new fantastical image, are arresting, poignant, and emotionally immediate. These are qualities that she accomplishes right away, while it takes me several drafts. I was mesmerized by the amount of people she was reaching and connecting to. She’s always quick to tell me that I’m the writer in the family, but it was me who asked her to post my work on her Facebook page, for I knew that her stamp of approval meant something and people would listen to me. That’s something I most likely can never repay her for.
My expertise is music. Tiffani’s expertise is overcoming obstacles. I’m a connoisseur of melody and rhythm. Tiffani’s a connoisseur of courage and confidence. I pride myself with the ability to apply lyric to life. Tiffani can pride herself by using her life as a lesson to others. Tiffani has inspired me to be not only a better writer, but a better expresser. She’s teaching me to have no fear in my craft and my life. May she have the same effect on her soon to be vast and eager audience. I love you, sissy.
Matthew Allen
Table of contents
A Conversation 13
The Married Woman Who Fell In Love With A Gigolo 15
Teen Pressure 26
The Coma 31
Domestic Violence 34
Sleeping With a Married Man 39
The Perfect Man 48
When Revenge Backfires 58
Suicide Inside 69
My Blessed Angel! Another True Story! (Part 1) 71
My Blessed Angel! Another True Story! (Part 2) 77
Black Sheep 88
Tiger Woods Held to a Higher Standard? Please!!! 96
Are We Our Brother’s Keeper? 101
Beautiful is Love 108
Interracial Marriages in the Sports World 110
Memory Sharing: Suicide Attempt 118
Going Home 120
My Love 121
All the Single Ladies 123
Black Man (Part 1) 129
Black Man (Part 2): Daddy! 134
Black Man (Part 3) 141
Disrespecting the Dead 149
Guru 153
Black Love! Intimacy 155
When Your Loved One Smokes Crack 158
Listen Up! 164
The Human Nutshell 170
Why I Believe in God 175
Afraid of the Truth 182
What is Your Take on the Word Bitch? 186
Black Love! The Shower 189
Death of a Child 193
Death of the N Word 198
To My True Friend 202
When Momma Don’t Love You 203
I Am 207
Booty Call 210
Still I Smile 213
A Conversation
Dedicated to Leonard Beckett
Sitting in the park, looking to the sky
Why me
Why not
I am bad
You strive to be good
I don’t listen
You come when I call
I talk too much
You reach the masses with my words
I don’t know bible scriptures
You speak and live them every day
People say my writing inspires them
You’re bringing them closer to me
Why me
Why not
I’m not worthy
Says who
I’ve sinned a million times
Who hasn’t
Why give me blessings when I have made so many poor choices
Despite all that you have done you have continued to seek me out
You love me no matter what you go through and you never blame me for your troubles
In the end you always allow me to lead the way
I love you and I will give you what belongs to you
Thank you
You’re welcome
I love you
I know
The Married Man Who Fell in Love with a Gigolo
Suggested by Pauline R. Evans
Marissa was looking at her clock. It was twelve-thirty pm and she was sitting in Centennial Park in the heart of Atlanta, GA, waiting for her husband to arrive.
“What in the world is taking him so long?”
Marissa and her husband Henry have been married ten years and the last six has been pure hell. Harry is a lawyer and he is always working for his celebrity clients. He has always been there for them more than for Marissa and she was tired of it. She thought about leaving several times but was unwilling to give up her lavish lifestyle. Marissa is gorgeous. She’s 5’5, 155 pounds, thick in the waist and pretty in the face. Her jet black hair goes a little past her shoulders and at the moment she is rocking a blunt cut with a beautiful Chinese bang. Her eyes are gray and she has flawless, cinnamon brown skin.
Marissa met Harry the day she graduated from Georgia State University. She was at Fox Sports Bar and Grill, in Atlantic Station celebrating with her friends when Harry approached her. He was very handsome in his black Brooks Brothers suit. He had dreamy dark brown, slanted eyes that told her he wanted to take her to bed that very moment. His hair was wavy and his skin was chocolate brown. He had a smile like Tyrese Gibson and his voice was so deep. He was a real man, nothing like the boys she dated in college. He introduced himself and from that day they were inseparable. She was 24 at the time and Harry was 36 but he was so fine that his age never bothered her.
In the beginning of their relationship, Harry wined and dined Marissa. He took her to all of the important galas and even the mayor of Atlanta knew Marissa by name. Harry and Marissa would talk about any and everything. She was able to share her troubled past with him and he never judged her and that is the reason why she fell in love with him. They got married on Marissa’s twenty-sixth birthday and for the first four years everything was great until Harry went into entertainment law. Harry began to spend so much time outside of the house. He would call and tell Marissa not to wait up for him because he had meetings with clients that were flying in at one in the morning. Marissa loved her husband and she trusted him.
Marissa was molested by an uncle when she was seven years old and was then sent to live with her grandmother. Her grandmother was an alcoholic and she would call Marissa a slut and tell her that she was going to hell for putting her one and only son in jail. When Granny was drunk she would beat the blood out of Marissa and at age fifteen she began drinking gin. When her best friend Stacy found out she helped Marissa quit. She focused on her studies and because of Stacy, Marissa got herself together, graduated from high school, and was accepted to Georgia State University. She was an English major and her plan was to become an elementary school teacher but when Marissa met Harry, everything changed. He didn’t want his woman to work. Harry said that Marissa’s only job was to be pretty and take care of him. Marissa wanted children but Harry never wanted any. He said that she was the only the baby he needed. Marissa prayed that one day he would change his mind, but so far it hasn’t happened.
It was one o’clock and Harry still hadn’t shown up. Marissa took her cell phone out of her purse and just when she was about to dial Harry’s number, her phone rang. It was Harry saying that he couldn’t make it because he had to go to the Bahamas to meet a client. He told Marissa that he loved her and that he would make it up to her when he got back home. Marissa got off the phone and said, “I did not just get off the slave ship from Africa. I know he’s going to the Bahamas to have some private time with that bitch.” She was referring to Harry’s receptionist, Sheniqua. She was a receptionist by day and a stripper at night. Her stripper name is Swallow Circle and she dances at Magic City across the street from the Greyhound station on Forsyth St. Marissa hired a private investigator when Harry started staying out late on a regular basis. She has pictures and receipts that she keeps in a safety deposit box at Bank of America. If she ever divorced him his ass would be cooked like a slaughtered pig.
Marissa didn’t have anything to do and didn’t feel like going home. It was Wednesday so she decided to read her book and wait for the Wednesday Wind Down to begin in the park. The park has a band, vendors, and people come here to relax after work. Marissa pulled her book, Winter’s Kisses, by Pauline Evans out of her purse. She was halfway through this very inspirational read. The married couple in the book are having extra-marital affairs and are trying to find their way back to each other with the help of their friend, Amy. This book gave Marissa hope that her marriage would get back on track. She believed in God and knew that through him anything was possible.
Marissa was engulfed in her book when a man sat down beside her and asked her what she was reading and she said, “Most people say excuse me or hello before they started asking questions.” With that she rolled her eyes and focused on her book. “My bad, Miss Lady, my name is Jerome. I love to read and I saw the cover as I was walking by and thought the book would be a good read.” Marissa looked at Jerome and noticed how his bronze colored skin glowed and that he had dimples. His smile was sneaky but sexy. He had on a white Polo shirt and some jeans, with a pair of crisp, white Adidas. Jerome wore a platinum watch laced with diamonds and he had a carat diamond stud in his left ear. They talked about the book and he even went on his Blackberry and ordered it from Amazon.com. They laughed and Marissa learned so much about Jerome. He was raised in the hood. His mother died from an overdose and he never knew his father. Jerome had been in and out of jail several times and now he works as a counselor for children in gangs.
Wednesday Wind Down was underway and there was a great jazz band performing. Jerome stood up, grabbed Marissa’s hand, pulled her close and they danced nonstop for an hour. Marissa hadn’t had that much fun in years. After they danced, they walked down to a sports bar called Stats and talked until eleven o’clock that night. Jerome then walked Marissa to the parking garage where they exchanged phone numbers and went their separate ways. While driving home, Marissa couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for being with Jerome but then she figured that if Harry could be in the Bahamas with his ‘Caribbean Queen’ then she could hang out with a man whose company she enjoyed. When Marissa got home she took a shower, climbed in bed, and called Jerome to let him know that she made it home safely. They talked all night long about everything. At seven in the morning they got off the phone and agreed to meet at Longhorn restaurant at Camp Creek Marketplace at 8pm.
Marissa woke up around 3pm and all she could think about was seeing Jerome. She liked him because he had swagger. He was nothing like Harry. Jerome was laid back, light hearted, and even though he talked like a thug, he was very smart. He said what he wanted, when he wanted, and he didn’t care what anyone thought about him. Around six Jerome sent Marissa a text telling her that he missed her and told her to wear something casual. He said that he likes his woman to wear sneakers. Marissa doesn’t even own a pair of sneakers. She wears heals with everything but decided to pick up a pair on the way to the restaurant.
SIX MONTHS LATER
Marissa continued to see Jerome and was head over heels in love with him. After two months of dating she learned that Jerome had many ladies he was involved with. He was very honest about it and in the beginning Marissa didn’t care because she was married and she didn’t plan on sleeping with Jerome anyway. Harry still was staying out and not paying Marissa attention and she was getting fed up. After three months of sneaking around she met Jerome at the Marriot hotel. They were sitting on the couch and talking about things that transpired in each other’s lives since the last time they saw each other. Jerome was talking about his women and Marissa was feeling jealous and it surprised her. Her eyes were glued to his face as she attentively listened to him talk about the lady he has been with for twenty years. Her name is Monica and she has been with Jerome through everything. He said that if he ever got married he would marry her. Jerome asked Marissa why she was looking at him with that strange look on her face. “I want you Jerome.”
“Girl, what you talking ‘bout?” Jerome said.
“I want you right now.” With that said, Marissa reached over and placed her mouth over Jerome’s. He liked her aggression but he pushed her away and told her that he was not like her lame ass husband and to stop playing. Marissa pulled her blouse apart, popping all the buttons and said, “Does it look like I’m playing?” Jerome’s eyes got big as Marissa’s plump round breasts were sitting pretty in her Victoria’s Secret bra. “Damn girl, you ain’t playing.” Jerome grabbed Marissa and threw her on the ground, lifted her skirt, ripped her black thong off of her, unzipped his pants, grabbed his seven inch long chocolate bar and forced it inside of Marissa. He was pounding her walls and Marissa loved the roughness for she had never experienced sex like that before. Jerome turned her out. They had sex in so many different positions that Marissa didn’t know if she was coming or going. She could not get enough of him. For thirty days straight they had sex; the rougher the better.
Marissa started staying out all night causing Harry to worry. At first Harry thought she was just spending time with her girlfriends until one night her friend Jamie called because she hadn’t heard from Marissa in months. Marissa had told Harry that she, Jamie, and the girls were together every day. Harry hired a private investigator and found out that Marissa was having an affair. He also found out about the PI Marissa had hired and all the cheating evidence she had against him. Harry thought his world was crashing around him. He loved Marissa and he fired his receptionist two months ago, started seeing a Pastor, and was going to come clean about his infidelity, praying that Marissa would forgive him and now this.
One night after a rendezvous with Jerome, Marissa walked into the house, which was pitch black. She was humming a song when the living room light came on. Harry was sitting in the chair. His eyes were red from crying and hanging all over the walls were pictures of Marissa and Jerome. In a whisper Jerome said, “Did you have a good time tonight parading around like a whore with your pimp of a boyfriend?” Marissa covered her mouth and turned to go upstairs. “Sit your ass down Marissa before you get hurt!” Marissa turned to Harry and told him that she was in love with Jerome and that she was pregnant with his child. She said that she was moving out and that they were going to be together. Harry laughed and asked, “How does Jerome’s wife feel about that? Oh right, he didn’t tell you he was married. Well, I guess he’s not really married seeing that his wife caught him having sex with her brother. I hope you get an AIDS test you stupid bitch.” Marissa screamed at Harry calling him a liar. She knew everything about him. “You’re just jealous because I don’t want your cheating ass.” Marissa grabbed her keys and ran out the door. She hopped in her car and drove to Jerome’s house. His red Navigator was parked in the driveway and a black Expedition was parked behind it. Marissa thought maybe one of his friends was there watching the game. It was a little muggy that night and all of Jerome’s windows were open and his bedroom window had a fan in it and it was on high. Marissa was going to be mad if he was there with one of his other women. She knocked on the door and there was no answer. She grabbed the knob, twisted it and was surprised to see that it was unlocked. Marissa went upstairs and walked to Jerome’s bedroom door. When she opened the door she was surprised to see Jerome with a man’s Johnson in his mouth. She screamed as loud as she could. Jerome looked up and with a sly look said, “Baby, there’s something I forgot to tell you.”
Teenage Pressure
Suggested by Destiny Smith
Being a teenager is probably the hardest part of life. You’re not an adult but you’re not a child either. Your hormones are raging and none of you want to be known as the cornball. You all want friends and because you don’t want to be known as the lame of the group you tend to do things you really don’t want to do.
Your bodies are feeling things they didn’t feel a few years back. A boy sees a girl with big breasts and a fat booty and his nature starts to rise. A girl goes out with a boy, kisses him and her lil’ mama is getting moist. All these feelings are normal but it is also normal to wait. Girls, sex and love are not the same thing. If a boy tells you that if you love him you will have sex with him then run quickly away from him. Guys, if a girl is offering up the goods, get the heck away from her.
Parents, the problem with children is that they don’t think about the future. The here and now is all they think about. It is our job to watch over them and protect them from themselves. In today’s society, everything is glorified. MTV has a show called, “Sixteen and Pregnant” and while they show the reality of teenage pregnancy, the show is not doing enough. I think that children should learn about HIV/AIDS in school. Every one promotes living with AIDS but they rarely see the ugly side of it. People die every day from the disease and children need to know that and they need to see it firsthand.
Pregnancy is no joke, ladies. Go in the bathroom or your bedroom, take off all your clothes and look at your body in the mirror. You see your breasts? They’re nice, right, sitting high and pretty. Have a baby or two and see how fast they fall. Look at your stomach and all the belly shirts you can wear. For many of you, once that baby comes and stretches you out, you will be like me with a map of the city on your stomach. Stretch marks are no joke. They may be dark and ugly or light but they will be there for life and they are not cute. Look around your community and tell me what you see. Go to the mall and tell me what you see. Go to the park and tell me what you see. I’ll tell you what you’re going to see. You’re going to see a bunch of teenage girls either pregnant or with a baby and the father will be nowhere in sight in most cases. The boy will have your body and you are stuck with a baby. Your virginity is precious and you can only lose it once so don’t waste it on someone who doesn’t deserve it.
When I was a young girl, all my friends smoked cigarettes and or weed. I didn’t do it because I would see the crack heads in my neighborhood and it frightened me. People always say, “I only smoke weed.” The dealers are putting stuff in the weed to keep you coming back. Look at some of your friends that smoke. Their faces are sunken in, their eyes are red or the whites are brown. They smell bad, they act stupid, and a lot of their lips are black. Do you want to look like that? What bothers me about people that smoke drugs are that they will smoke with anybody and put their mouths on the same blunt that has been passed around. The germs, the thought of the germs make me sick. Have you ever seen one of your friends with a sore on their lip? That’s herpes, kids, and you can’t get rid of it once you get it. You think your friend is going to tell you that he or she has herpes or HIV? Of course not!
Children today think it is so cool to be in a gang. Many have more dead friends than alive. I wish there was a program where children could go to the morgue and see dead bodies and know how precious life really is. Kids want to belong to something. They want to feel like they belong to a family when all the while they are being manipulated by the higher ups. The head dudes want you to take the risks and hustle and kill so they don’t have to. There are many children that come from bad homes and are hurting and I understand your pain. You feel no one cares about you and you stop caring about yourselves and don’t care whether you live or die. I love the movie Menace to Society because Cane was asked by his grandfather if he cared whether he lived or died. When he was lying in the street with blood coming out of his mouth, he realized that he did want to live, but by then it was too late.
My young brothers and sisters, I want you to live happy and healthy lives. I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that life is easy. I am going to tell you that life his harder when you have no education, a baby, on drugs, or you’re sitting in a jail cell. God created you to be intelligent and beautiful human beings. Go to school, join clubs, sports teams, and play in the band. Sex will come later. Enjoy your childhood because you only get 18 years before society tells you that you’re an adult. Go to college and meet people from all over the world, travel, and learn different languages. Make being smart the “in” thing. Don’t be afraid to have your own styles. Be a leader.
Parents, fight for your children because they really don’t know any better and don’t understand the repercussions of their actions. Encourage them and keep the lines of communication open. If they feel they can’t come to you, they will turn to their friends and then all hell will break loose. Children don’t need friends, they need parents. It is our job to teach and prepare our kids for life as an adult.
God has to become a part of all our lives but he should not be forced down anyone’s throat. Buy your children a bible and encourage them to read it and you can also read it with them. Many times, children follow other kids because you’re not around for them to follow you.
Love God, yourself, and each other.
The Coma
Dedicated to L. Martin Johnson Pratt
Eyes closed
Peaceful, but not at peace
I’m in a fog here in this coma
The whispers they think I don’t hear
Making their feelings obviously clear
Do I really deserve this, being unable to speak
Here he is holding my hand
Saying he loves me as his tears fall on my face
Where were the love and tears when he cheated on me
kicked my ass or blackened my eyes
Please let me out of this shell that has me sealed in so tight
Please release me from this coma so I can scream with all my might
He’s gone
Thank God
Again
Alone hearing the silence of the air
thinking about my life the good and the bad and I ask myself
Was this all worth it
The door opens
Yes I hear the footsteps as I smell a familiar scent of cologne
I feel his kiss on my forehead my lips and finally my nose
The electricity I feel from the touch of his lips his kiss he’s here
the man to help me out of this coma that the other man in my life put me in
My eyes are fluttering, struggling to see
then slightly I open my eyes to see the most beautiful smile on the planet
While squeezing his hand I look into the eyes of a man that got to know me likes me
accepts me cherishes me
loves me loves me loved me enough to stand by my side and help me out of the darkness and loneliness of a coma I’ve been in all of my life
Never will he truly know how much he’s helped me by knowing me wanting me holding me listening to me loving me
freeing me freeing me
freeing me.
Domestic Violence
Dedicated to Brooklen Borne
The other day I walked into a cute little clothing store in my neighborhood. When I walked inside, I was immediately asked by the salesperson to give my opinion about a dress that a customer was trying on. I told the customer that the dress looked great on her and that I was hating a little bit because she was in such great shape. The woman looked at herself in the mirror, danced around a bit, and then decided to buy the dress. The salesperson then turned in my direction and asked if there was anything she could help me with. She was a pretty woman, shorter than me, medium brown complexion, short black hair, and she was a little chubby. After a second, I noticed something very familiar about her. She had a black line under her right eye. I’ve seen that line on my face three times in my life. The salesperson acknowledged my recognition and with words unspoken I told her that I understood and there was no need to be embarrassed. After some small talk and looking around the store, I grabbed a business card, said goodbye, and walked out the door. I looked up to the sky and said a silent prayer for the sister.
I am not going to give you statistics about domestic violence because the women that suffer from it are worth more than the number assigned to them. I will share my experiences with the hope of helping someone who is going through it.
Domestic violence happens all the time in the black community and it hits everyone from the business owner to the teenage girl. It doesn’t matter if you are attractive or have money.
Here is my story!
I was emotionally and physically abused as a child and became an emancipated minor at the age of 15. As many of you know, I am the mother of seven children. My three eldest are by someone and the last four were fathered by my ex-husband. Both partners emotionally and physically, abused me. One of them even sexually abused me.
Many people that have never gone through the experience are quick to say, “Why won’t she just leave?” That is a logical question but when a person is spiritually dead, you tend to endure things that a sound person wouldn’t.
When I was a girl, I was told that I was hated. The words, “I love you” were not spoken. I was told that I would be pregnant by the time I turned thirteen. I was in and out of foster homes, group homes, and to them I was just a paycheck. When I got involved with my partners, I was looking for a way to escape the pain in my life.
One time I had been beaten so badly that I actually heard birds chirping. The summer of 2002, I sported three black eyes. I’ve been beaten in the street and not one person came to my aid. I have had a boot print on the back of my behind and thigh. I’ve had a loaded gun pointed to my head. My ex-husband punched me in my nose so hard one time, that we both thought that it was broken. (Thank God it wasn’t because my nose is big enough already.) I have been thrown out of the house in the winter time with no shoes on my feet. I have been raped, after refusing to have sex. I have been spit on.
Let me talk about that for a second.
My ex husband must have had three days worth of saliva in his mouth the day he spit in my face. I knew at that moment that he did not love me and I could not believe that I married him. As I look back, I remember having an out of body experience. I was not thinking about myself, but of our ancestors back in the day, wondering how they felt when slave masters spit on them like they were nothing. I thought about the days of integration when black kids were spit on and had bricks and books thrown at them just for going to school with white kids. I instantly felt their pain. I then heard my mother’s voice telling me that she hated me and I became numb. I felt no pain. I became a zombie and while I never thought that I deserved the abuse, I just accepted it.
What brought me out of both situations was God. Even when you are not paying him any attention, he has a way of making you see the light. He was able to shine his light through my children. God knew that I loved them more than myself and I could not have them in an unhealthy environment. I could not let my boys grow up thinking that it’s right to hit a woman. I could not let my girls think that being hit is normal. That would have hurt me more than anyone’s fist.
I have been divorced for five years now and people ask my children if they want me and my ex to get back together and they always say, “No.” Many times women stay in relationships because they don’t want to break up the family. The men in their lives plant all kind of lies in their heads, telling the women that if the family breaks up, it will be her fault. Leaving my exes was the best thing I could have ever done. Had I’d stayed; I may not be alive to share this story.
Sleeping with a Married Man
Dedicated to H.D. Campbell &Mansa Musa
BAILIFF: State your name for the court.
TIFFANI: Tiffani A. McClain
BAILIFF: Ms. McClain, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?
TIFFANI: Yes
JUDGE: Ms. McClain, have you ever had sex with a married man?
TIFFANI: Yes I have.