tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51 2008-05-16T15:22:09Z Movable Type 3.35 tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7962 2008-05-16T15:10:50Z 2008-05-16T15:22:09Z

Continued from Don't Believe The Hype It’s official. My new book, my memoir is available in bookstores across America, Hiding In Hip Hop – On The Down Low in the Entertainment Industry from Music to Hollywood. I would like...

Continued from Don't Believe The Hype It’s official. My new book, my memoir is available in bookstores across America, Hiding In Hip Hop – On The Down Low in the Entertainment Industry from Music to Hollywood. I would like to thank all of the people who ordered the book and sent me the many well wishes for writing my story, our story. Thank You! For those of you who have not gotten your copy, get yours soon, it is an amazing and powerful story, and definitely one that will be a continuous discussion in our community and world years from now. ]]> Secondly, I would like to graciously thank SOHH.com – Felicia, Erik, Rondell, and the entire SOHH.com family. Thank you for being brave and allowing an important discussion to take place on the premiere and largest Hip-Hop website. You all are brave and courageous for being groundbreakers in not being afraid of allowing a discussion to take place regarding what so many of us know exists in Hip-Hop – a prominent gay subculture. Although some of the comments have been disparaging, however, it shows why it’s imperative that the black, Latin, white, Asian, and all colors in between talk about homosexuality in Hip Hop. I purposely started the blog with my sexual tryst with a pro-basketball athlete because I wanted the readers to understand that a prevalent down low culture does exists. Many men are afraid to be who they really are because of the backlash they will receive from their communities, and families. For centuries we have been afraid to listen to gay men and women who have been activists, leaders, and prominent voices in our lifetime – James Baldwin, Bayard Rustin, Langston Hughes, Alice Walker, and Me’Shell Ndege’Ocello. These men and women have helped changed not only the dynamics in their respective careers, but in the world. They spoke out bravely and boldly through their works and the world listened. So, here we are in the twenty-first century, yet, we are unable to have an educated and civilized discussion about homosexuality in Hip-Hop because we are afraid that “they” (the fags, homos, and butt-chasers so many of you vehemently called us on the comments section) are spreading diseases, deceiving women, and creating havoc on the black community. True, some down low and gay men are doing that, however, what about the rise of teenage pregnancy? What about the epidemic of young people of color dropping out of high school? What about the disturbing numbers of young men and women, as well as black and Latin women, and gay men, who are becoming infected with HIV daily? Yes, we need a solution. We need to stop talking and take action. We are dying rapidly and unnecessarily. I lost my mother and two brothers to the AIDS virus. None of them were gay. None of them were victims as a result of a gay person. They died from a deadly disease that we are afraid to openly talk about in our community because no one is addressing the issue and no one wants to talk about sex and sexuality. Sure, we can rap and rhyme about it all day long in Hip-Hop – He was so sweet, she want to lick the rapper, like a lollipop. Or what about, she’s my girl in the day, and you’re my girl at night. And then there’s, I got ten bad bitches, actin' retarded, I'm tryin' to meet a few new ones…Hang with me, the first thing you do is get stuck, Take you somewhere, later on you’ll get fucked. I love Hip-Hop. I love rap. But, let’s be real people, we can and we have to do better. If we allow ourselves to be degraded and demeaned, then of course that is what you will get in return. If you speak up and speak out, like the intelligent and powerful sisters at Spelman College, then you can accomplish something. You can create a movement. I only want for us, all of us in Hip-Hop, to come together, unified, and as a collective consciousness, because whether or not you like it, there are lots of gay men in this business. We are all up in Hip-Hop. And many of you are emulating our style, our creativity, our contribution, and our gift to this culture. So, at the end of the day, we are the same. tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7948 2008-05-15T14:38:13Z 2008-05-15T15:08:58Z

Continued from Signs Of The Times In my book, Hiding In Hip-Hop, I talk about something that has been well-known in the industry, COVER GIRLS! You may refer to them as ‘beards,’ but I like to call them COVER...

Continued from Signs Of The Times In my book, Hiding In Hip-Hop, I talk about something that has been well-known in the industry, COVER GIRLS! You may refer to them as ‘beards,’ but I like to call them COVER GIRLS. Why? Because these women know the role they have to play in being with a down low celebrity in the entertainment business.]]> Terrance Dean is the Author of “Hiding In Hip Hop – On The Down Low in the Entertainment Industry from Music to Hollywood” www.myspace.com/hidinginhiphop.com]]> tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7924 2008-05-13T19:09:42Z 2008-05-13T19:40:52Z

Continued from Ask The Right Questions, Get The Right Answers It’s official. Today is the day my new book, my memoir is available in bookstores across America, Hiding In Hip Hop – On The Down Low in the Entertainment...

Rondell Conway Continued from Ask The Right Questions, Get The Right Answers It’s official. Today is the day my new book, my memoir is available in bookstores across America, Hiding In Hip Hop – On The Down Low in the Entertainment Industry from Music to Hollywood. I would like to thank all of the people who ordered the book and sent me the many well wishes for writing my story, our story. Thank You! For those of you who have not gotten your copy, get yours soon, it is an amazing and powerful story, and definitely one that will be a continuous discussion in our community and world years from now. ]]> Terrance Dean is the Author of “Hiding In Hip Hop – On The Down Low in the Entertainment Industry from Music to Hollywood” www.myspace.com/hidinginhiphop.com]]> tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7909 2008-05-12T16:21:13Z 2008-05-12T17:03:25Z

Continued from Making It A Family Affair I was feeling jubilant over my relationship with Preston. Things seemed to be moving in a positive direction. I began to let my own guard down more with him. He was that...

Continued from Making It A Family Affair I was feeling jubilant over my relationship with Preston. Things seemed to be moving in a positive direction. I began to let my own guard down more with him. He was that captivating for me. Preston was very attentive, a listener, a great conversationalist, and a phenomenal lover. I couldn’t ask for anything more. I didn’t, and I would pay for it soon enough. ]]> Over the next few months we continued seeing one another frequently. I would fly to his city. Attend his games. Meet his children. And, a few more family members. Preston and I were becoming more and more comfortable with one another. But, something was always nagging at me. Something about the timing of my appearances of when I could come to town, and how we never stayed at his home. Each visit I was in a five-star hotel. Now don’t get me wrong I like living the highlife, however I did want to wake up with Preston in his bed, in his home. While I was anticipating my next trip to visit Preston I called him, like I did after each of his team’s practices. He always immediately answered my call. It was clockwork. This time however another voice was on the other end. A soft voice. A woman’s voice. “Hello?” I said unsurely thinking I dialed the wrong number. “Hello,” the woman repeated. “Uhm, may I speak with Preston?” I asked. Maybe this was the woman he had on the side. This was his cover girl I thought. “He’s not here. Who’s calling?” My mind is racing. Who is this woman? Preston never lets anyone answer his phone. It’s literally stuck to him like glue. “Oh, this is Terrance.” “Oh, hello Terrance. This is his wife,” she said. “Preston’s told me all about you.” WIFE!! WIFE!! I kept repeating in my head. Preston never told me he was married. He never said he had a wife. And he told her all about me. WHAT THE FUCK!!! “Heeeey,” I sang trying to play it off as if she and I had been longtime acquaintances. “How are you? Could you tell him to give me a call when he can?” “No problem. It was nice to finally talk to you,” she said and hung up. I was heated. Pissed. Fuming. My heart was racing. My mind swirling. Then the gut-wrenching truth sank in. It sat in the pit of my stomach. Churning. Then I remembered something a man I used to sex told me, and I wrote about it in my book, Hiding In Hip Hop, “If you don’t ask your man the right questions, then you will not get the right answers.” I never asked Preston if he was married, and he didn’t feel compelled to tell me. I didn’t ask. For one, I never saw a wedding band. Preston never wore his ring. I knew and know of a lot of down low men who don’t wear their wedding bands. Even heterosexual men who are having affairs take their wedding bands off. Secondly, I never questioned why I didn’t spend the night at his home. I thought about it, but I was caught up in the whirlwind of the romance. I didn’t look for the clues of pictures of the women in his home. I assumed from the pictures I did see that the women were relatives. I didn’t think that anyone of them could have been his wife. His home also reflected his style and taste. I never noticed a woman’s presence. But, oh, this wasn’t his primary home, it was a second home. I learned all of these things once Preston and I did have a conversation. And, yes, we did have a serious conversation. One thing I cannot and will not condone is sleeping with a married man. I have done it in the past, but it was when I was living a down low life. I was so desperate to be with someone and I didn’t allow my morals or values to dictate to me what I did. However, I am not that person any longer. I am no longer a down low man. I am gay. Preston and I no longer communicate. The relationship immediately ceased. I thought about his wife. I thought about the deception and lies he does to her, and did to me. Don’t get me wrong, I was at fault as well. I admit my downfalls, and shortcomings. You know, I have learned something really powerful. It is that all good things do come to an end. That no matter how wonderful and sweet the honeymoon, and how amazing things seem to begin, they all fade. And with that, Preston ended. For both the good of he and I, as well as his wife. There was no good to come of that situation. He is now a faded memory, a faded picture as Case sang so eloquently, "Faded pictures of a distant past..." Check back tomorrow to see what's in Terrance's future tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7887 2008-05-09T14:33:31Z 2008-05-09T15:50:48Z

Continued from You Going To Answer That? Let’s get something straight right now. When something is not right, and I get this nagging gut feeling about someone I am with, I follow that instinct. The thought just doesn’t appear...

Continued from You Going To Answer That? Let’s get something straight right now. When something is not right, and I get this nagging gut feeling about someone I am with, I follow that instinct. The thought just doesn’t appear out of nowhere. ]]> Terrance Dean is the Author of “Hiding In Hip Hop – On The Down Low in the Entertainment Industry from Music to Hollywood” www.myspace.com/hidinginhiphop.com ]]> tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7874 2008-05-08T15:39:44Z 2008-05-08T16:05:38Z

Continued from Stranger At My Door Now that I have your attention – I hope you didn’t think I was just going to penetrate you long, hard, and deep without dropping some knowledge and inspiration on you. I really...

Continued from Stranger At My Door Now that I have your attention – I hope you didn’t think I was just going to penetrate you long, hard, and deep without dropping some knowledge and inspiration on you. I really do hope you get to know me a little better than that. Don’t worry I am going to get back to the tall, handsome – No! FINE, good-loving specimen of a professional athlete named Preston. But, first I want to make sure you all understand something. It’s important that everyone reading this is clear about a few things. ]]> Terrance Dean is the Author of “Hiding In Hip Hop – On The Down Low in the Entertainment Industry from Music to Hollywood” www.myspace.com/hidinginhiphop.com ]]> tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7855 2008-05-07T14:16:42Z 2008-05-08T15:45:21Z

Continued from Hide & Seek - 'He Was Nowhere To be Found' I couldn’t get Preston out of my head that night. I tossed and turned. Reliving every moment we shared in the club. The next day, no, the...

Continued from Hide & Seek - 'He Was Nowhere To be Found' I couldn’t get Preston out of my head that night. I tossed and turned. Reliving every moment we shared in the club. The next day, no, the next night, couldn’t get here fast enough. Hurry, hurry, hurry. I needed to see him. Sure enough the next night. He was there. This time he spotted me and quickly came over. He introduced himself again. ‘Preston’ he said. I smiled from ear to ear. Preston’s large thick hands cupped mine. His touch was energetic. I felt a shock in my groin. ]]> Terrance Dean is the Author of “Hiding In Hip Hop – On The Down Low in the Entertainment Industry from Music to Hollywood” www.myspace.com/hidinginhiphop.com ]]> tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7834 2008-05-05T20:38:28Z 2008-05-07T14:39:50Z

Ladies and Gentleman, allow me to introduce myself – my name is Terrance Dean and I am the author of the upcoming book, “Hiding In Hip Hop….On The Down Low in the Entertainment Industry from Music to Hollywood.” It...

Ladies and Gentleman, allow me to introduce myself – my name is Terrance Dean and I am the author of the upcoming book, “Hiding In Hip Hop….On The Down Low in the Entertainment Industry from Music to Hollywood.” It is a memoir of my life as a down low/gay man in the entertainment industry. ]]> Terrance Dean is the Author of “Hiding In Hip Hop – On The Down Low in the Entertainment Industry from Music to Hollywood” www.myspace.com/hidinginhiphop.com ]]> tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7432 2008-03-31T13:30:00Z 2008-03-31T22:21:05Z

Continued from 360 Degrees: Who Says You Can't Go Home Again? BD had accused me of anything he could think of in his certification to the court. We both had to write up letters summarizing our cases and his...

Melyssa Ganache http://www.myspace.com/MelyssaGanache Continued from 360 Degrees: Who Says You Can't Go Home Again? BD had accused me of anything he could think of in his certification to the court. We both had to write up letters summarizing our cases and his was complete fiction. He was asking for sole custody of our son, saying that my parenting would be “detrimental” to our child. I was furious. It was a feeling I still wish I could have felt about a year and a half earlier. I think back on some of those events and it all too surreal, like it was somebody else going through all that. I can’t even imagine it being me. How could it have been me? People who know me insist I wasn’t myself at the time. “It was like you were somebody else,” a friend told me. That sentiment was echoed by others.]]> when that troop of cops was called to my doorstep; glossing over BD’s bad points with the psychologist, fearful of sounding like a scorned woman; hiding the truth about my stifling relationship from the people who cared about me; betraying a friend -- two of them; putting the worth of a relationship before my own … so much. Our trial was scheduled for a Monday and Tuesday. If it went over, we’d have to continue that next month. We each had a witness list and a gallery of supporters. In addition to character witnesses and family to testify to my latter complaints, I had Shay and Mike, my sister and her fiancé who’d seen my bloody nose months before. BD knew they were on my list to testify. Our attorneys had to submit witness lists weeks before. But I do believe their actually showing up that day was the turning point for BD. For all his refuting my claims about his violent temper, sitting mild mannered in a suit and tie, I had two people who could testify first hand to his out of control anger spells. I know he didn't want the fam around for that testimony. But I didn’t want to go forward with a grueling trial any more than he did. I just wanted permission to move back home with my son. In the end, he gave me that. The irony here is thick, though I missed it at the time. The doctor’s report that he’d shamelessly gloated about for weeks didn’t even matter. We sat, our lawyers separating us, at the long table designated for the plaintiff and defendant, poised and seemingly ready to war. We stood and were sworn in, and technically, the trial had begun, when his lawyer interrupted and said we might be able to settle this whole thing if he could have a word with my attorney. BD and I were also then directed into a mediation room with our respective representatives where we sat for about three hours mapping out a calendar for the next three years of our lives, finally agreeing on how we would share our son across state lines. This is something he’d sworn he would never allow to happen. It’s the reason we’d been in court for almost a year. He’d rejected five of my parenting plans at previous mediation sessions and two in court, never once attempting to amend or work from them, as they each allowed for my relocation. This is what had been our stalemate this entire time. And yet, on the day our trial was set to begin, the judge didn’t grant me permission to move. BD did. We agreed that BD would get the summers with the baby as well as the month of November or December, depending upon the year, in addition to at least one month at a time during other parts of the year. An extremely generous arrangement, plus liberal visitation. His concession was bittersweet. I went for it though, because while I did not fear the judge would give my child over to his father, she did not have to allow me to leave. At the end of the three years BD and I mapped out, when our son reaches school age, we will inevitably be back in court to rearrange the parenting plan around his schooling. That will no doubt be a battle in itself. But one thing at a time. In the meantime, BD does his best to harass me. I swear, it never stops. LOL. But I’m so over the sinking feeling I used to get in my stomach when I’d hear his ringer across the room. He’s kicking himself about the parenting plan and everyday tries to trump up some charge to get us back into court. First it was, I never let him speak to his son. Bullshyt. I call him everyday on his planning period at 11:45 so they can chat and again at 7:30 p.m. before bedtime so he can say goodnight. When I advised BD that I’d been recording all these phone calls (another lesson I’ve learned) he quickly changed his strategy. Now he’s working on my lack of cooperation when he wants to come and visit. Also untrue, but we’ll see. Really though, the biggest hurdle is over. I’ve moved legally and I can’t be made to move back. I sent a Christmas greeting to Serita last year, but other than that, I haven’t made contact. Perhaps it’s hard for me to accept her forgiveness so easily because I know I wouldn’t be nearly as understanding in her position. Maybe I’m still forgiving myself. Haven’t spoken with Digital in quite some time, either. He used to text me occasionally and ask how I was doing. It’s been months though. I hear the wedding was fabulous. Perhaps I’ll send a card. Thanks so much for reading, everybody. I’ve enjoyed all the great feedback, the nasty and the nice. Really. If my writing inspired you to comment, then you definitely inspired me to write. Look out for the book, in the works and coming soon. : ) It’s been fun venting. Peace. You can still get more Melyssa at GetYoShyt.blogspot.com and hit her up on MySpace.com/MelyssaGanache. Got a story to share? Holla at Melyssa via video. *All names have been changed to protect the guilty & the innocent. ]]> tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7411 2008-03-28T13:30:00Z 2008-03-31T19:06:29Z

...Continued from Psyching Out the Psych In the midst of waiting on our court date, agonizing over the psychologist's report, and still having to deal with BD's antics -- He'd began following me every week when we exchanged our...

Melyssa Ganache http://www.myspace.com/MelyssaGanache ...Continued from Psyching Out the Psych In the midst of waiting on our court date, agonizing over the psychologist's report, and still having to deal with BD's antics -- He'd began following me every week when we exchanged our baby at the train station, trailing me to my car or my train depending upon how I was traveling that day. It didn't stop until I involved a police officer and produced our court order. He threatened to haul him in for domestic violence. Yes, domestic violence as he was intimidating me and disobeying the court order by sticking around past our exchange. He said he wanted to make sure his son was "safe." He just wanted to see who I was riding with, if I was riding with anybody. -- It seems I'd come full circle. ]]> Serita would have been right there with me. She's the one I would talk to at a time like this. Of our small circle, she's the grounded friend who gives sage advice. The one who'll pray with you, rather than suggesting you go whoop somebody's ass to solve the problem. (I do have friends who would do the latter). But I'd ruined that. I hadn't even worked up the nerve to speak to the girl since Digital broke the news of my relationship with, and pregnancy by BD, himself. She'd tried to make contact with me since then and I'd dodged each of her phone calls. I really had nothing to say, outside of, I'm sorry. No explanation would be suitable, even if there were one. I'd ruined our relationship forever, singly and really for no good reason at all. Aside from my beautiful baby boy, look at where it had gotten. Still, I couldn't rightfully pray for a miracle with a dirty conscience. My desperation gave me gal. I called her. As the phone rang, I quickly decided what I'd say and how I'd say it. It wasn't exactly on the fly, I'd had the words in my mind for forever now. "Hello," "Serita," I said evenly. I wanted to apologize right off. I had to get it out. Serita is not the type to yell and scream, she's non confrontational, like me. I knew she wouldn't beat up on me or call me names. When someone is in the wrong though and willingly comes to take their licks, refusing to forgive them actually makes it harder. She sounded happy to hear from me. "Melyssa! Oh my gosh, how long has it been? How have you been? The baby's beautiful," she began. "Congratulations." This really threw me off. "You've seen the baby?" I asked, confused. "Yeah. BD sent me a pic on my phone from the hospital when he was born. He sent Digital one, too." "You've gotta be kidding me," I said. Didn't mean to say that out loud. "No, it's okay. He was just excited. He looks like both of you. So what's motherhood like?" Her voice was light, her words comforting, but I was dumbfounded and I began to stammer. "I just wanted you to know, well, for whatever it's worth at this point ... I know it's been too long ..." "Mel, it's not even like that," she broke in. "Honestly, I was surprised when I heard it. Digital called me and I was in my classroom and he was like, 'Are you sitting down?' You know he's so dramatic. But really, BD and I hadn't been together for a while and he does not belong to me. Both of you are free to be with whoever you choose." But I really wanted to apologize. "I'm so sorry, Serita. I'm sorry for betraying your trust. You were a really good friend to me and you've never done anything to deserve what I did to you. I never should have been with BD --" "Mel, please. Really. It's okay. It's old news. And you didn't betray me. I don't have any claims to that man." As far as I was concerned she had. And as long as I felt like what I did was a betrayal, and I'd still done it, then it was. "No, it doesn't matter if you feel like you have claims to him ..." I tried over and over to apologize and she wouldn't accept it. "I just want you guys to be happy," she said. "You both deserve that." Wow. She didn't know anything. Is this why she was so forgiving? Because she thought at least we'd gone on and made something real of it when she wasn't gonna marry him anyway? I quickly brought her up to speed. "We're not together," I began. "It didn't really work out. You know how BD is." "Um, yeah," she laughed. We laughed. I told her about everything. I just spilled it. I told her how he'd fooled the doctor. I told her how beaten I felt. I don't think I stopped talking for 45 minutes. "Melyssa you are so much stronger than this. You're the one who gave me nerve," she reminded me." We took a few walks down memory lane. It was nice, for a moment. "You can do this," she told me. And she meant it. "I wish you would have called me earlier," she said. "It's so good to hear from you." "I've been a coward." "Well, you don't need to be. You can call. We can still be friends, Mel." She really said that. But I knew it was a lie. Maybe we could still talk on occasion. Maybe we'd hang when we saw each other at homecoming and chat for a few minutes. But it was over. It would never be the same. Serita would have trusted me with anything, and I her. Regardless as to what she said, that was no more. Check back Monday, as Melyssa gets her day in court, almost. Got a story to share? Holla at Melyssa via video. Get more Melyssa at GetYoShyt.blogspot.com and hit her up on MySpace.com/MelyssaGanache. *All names have been changed to protect the guilty & the innocent.]]> tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7393 2008-03-27T13:30:00Z 2008-03-31T19:06:30Z

Continued from Studying First Impressions, Analyzing Second Thoughts My first visit with the psychologist was horrible. Her office was fairly friendly and unintimidating. There was a bookshelf of toys and puzzles for children right next to the large, comfortable...

Melyssa Ganache http://www.myspace.com/MelyssaGanache Continued from Studying First Impressions, Analyzing Second Thoughts My first visit with the psychologist was horrible. Her office was fairly friendly and unintimidating. There was a bookshelf of toys and puzzles for children right next to the large, comfortable sofa I sat on. She was seated across from me in a recliner, shoes off, feet up and note pad in hand, with reading glasses on her nose. I relaxed a bit. Her Birkenstocks lie abandoned on the floor. She wore capris and wild, red curly hair. She looked to be about the age of 60 and she struck me as a bit of a hippy. Not at all what I'd expected. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. I'd arrived an entire hour early for the visit and used the time going over my notes in the car. Perhaps I'd over analyzed, becasue it seemed that from the very introduction, the tears began to fall. And I sobbed. Uncontrollably, I mean. I boo hoo'd like a baby.]]> Check back tomorrow as Melyssa garners strength to fight back, from an unlikely source Got a story to share? Holla at Melyssa via video. Get more Melyssa at GetYoShyt.blogspot.com and hit her up on Myspace.com/MelyssaGanache. *All names have been changed to protect the guilty & the innocent.]]> tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7372 2008-03-26T13:30:00Z 2008-03-31T19:06:31Z

Continued from Round One: And the Winner Is ... I spent the next 30 days between the library and that friendly lawyer's office back home. I read everything I could get my hands on about preparing for a custody...

Melyssa Ganache http://www.myspace.com/MelyssaGanache Continued from Round One: And the Winner Is ... I spent the next 30 days between the library and that friendly lawyer's office back home. I read everything I could get my hands on about preparing for a custody trial and successfully getting through a psych evaluation. We'd both been ordered to visit a court appointed psychologist who, after several one-on-one visits with both of us and one visit with each of us along with the child, the doc would enter a written report detailing her findings and recommendations to the court. It's not the only thing the judge would rely on in making her decision, but she would depend on the psych's words heavily. I was not at all confident.]]> BD, though. I'd put about 45 minutes between us. But during this time we were also sharing our son equally, as we would until a final court decision was made. We'd meet at Burger King or some other public place to make the exchange. That's when he began acting strange. After the telephone threats and the angry intimidating long stares, now, all of a sudden, BD was nice. Sweet, even. To the point that it made me uncomfortable. Once he handed me the baby and as I took him in my arms, he leaned in next to me, smiled and snapped a pic of the three of us with his digital camera. A family picture? Another time he brought flowers and kissed me on the forehead. Gross, at this point. He even suggested that we go to church together. Church? Together? I don't think I covered this, but BD was sooo anti anything Christian. He dumped out a little bottle of holy oil for the baby that an elder at my church back home had blessed for him. Not once but twice, he threw away the baby's first book, this cute little black and white "Jesus Loves Me" baby book that I'd bought. I quickly learned not to get drawn into theological debates with him when he called me a "handkerchief wearing negro" for believing the "white man's lies" and "worshiping the white man's God." He told me he never wanted his child to step foot in a church. The day before my scheduled C-Section, (yes, while the child was still in my belly) he had a fit when I peeked my head into the back room where he was playing Madden and announced I'd be back in a couple of hours, I was going to church. His need for control was obsessive. I could not believe he was actually changing. Not really. BD wasn't the type to have second thoughts. He was always right the first time. Maybe this was one last ditch effort before the final psych eval and our trial date to gauge how hard I was really willing to go. (He had no idea). Perhaps he was as nervous about the impending psych eval as I was. I got into "costume" and went over my "lines," rehearsing from those clinical questionnaires and the notebook of notes I'd taken, with my family. (This happened to be going on during the summer, my mother's a teacher and my sister was a student at the time, so they were both able to stay with me a while). But when the day of my first appointment with the woman who held the fate of myself and my child in the power of her pen finally came, I could not have been less prepared. Check back tomorrow as Melyssa takes a seat on the doctor's couch. Got a story to share? Holla at Melyssa via video. Get more Melyssa at GetYoShyt.blogspot.com and hit her up on Myspace.com/MelyssaGanache. *All names have been changed to protect the guilty & the innocent.]]> tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7357 2008-03-25T13:30:00Z 2008-03-31T19:06:31Z

Continued from You Got Served ... With a Court Order ... Not me. At least it didn't feel like that, the day I was forced to hand my baby over to BD and leave the courthouse without him. You...

Melyssa Ganache http://www.myspace.com/MelyssaGanache Continued from You Got Served ... With a Court Order ... Not me. At least it didn't feel like that, the day I was forced to hand my baby over to BD and leave the courthouse without him. You really shouldn't talk about matters like this in the sense of winners and losers, but it was hard not to feel that way. From the moment we walked in, the building was filled with opponents and challengers. Prosecutorial attorneys, defense lawyers, plaintiffs and defendants, all supposedly working together in the best interest of whatever poor, unfortunate child was caught in the middle of a pair of parents' mess. ]]> BD v Ganache," a clerk stuck her head out the court room doors, file in hand, calling our names. It was time. My family, then BD and his clan, quickly filled out the small room, the Ganache's on one side and his people on the other. So this was it. We were really here. BD and I took our seats at a long table in front of the gallery, directly before the judge, with our respective representitives seperating us. we couldn't even see each other. I preferred it this way. Before we began though, the judge asked everyone except the two litigants and our lawyers to leave the room. I don't know why. They did, and now it was just us. She asked me the expected questions. "Why did you leave? Why didn't you ask the court for assistance? Why do you think you and your child will be better off in another state?" I briefly and tearfully brought her up to speed on our relationship. I told her about the time our baby was sick, full of mucous and laboring to breathe. How I'd slept, back agaisnt the wall, propped up on pillows holding him, becasue sitting upright made it easier for him to breathe. How he'd choked on his milk because he couldn't breath through his nose and suckle with is mouth at the same time. I'd begged BD repeatedly for us to take the child to the doctor. BD's something of an herbalist. His mother did a stint at medical school and she's something of an herbalist as well. They do not believe in modern medicine. They also do not believe in surgery, they think cutting is barbaric. They also do not believe in vaccinations. Anyway, I told her how I took a half day from work, picked the baby up form daycare, took him to the doctor and paid out of pocket for the visit and the medicine, so BD wouldn't receive record form the insurance company and go into a rage. He was diagnosed with a lower respiratory infection, by the way. I left work every day for a week on my lunch hour and walked the six or eight blocks from my job to the nursery to administer the medication to the baby, myself. This is just one example of the extent of BD's control, and also the extent to which I was willing to go to ,ake sure my baby was safe. My finally leaving was an extension of that spirit. I really had to go. The judge listened patiently and quietly before directing her attention to BD. His recounting was every bit as tearful and sincere sounding. He just wanted to be in his son's life, he said. The letter of the law is clear, so the preliminary ruling was swift. Our child is a New Jersy native and therefore the move must be uncontested by the other parent or approved by the court. BD's Spring Break happened to have just begun, so the judge ordered that I give the baby to his father for the remainder of his break. Upon the close of his vacation, BD was to fly the baby to me in my home state where I would be given 30 days to get my affairs in order and secure an apartment in New Jersey. If at the end of 30 days I had still not relocated back to NJ, I would still have to return the child to his father. Once I got back, we'd either have to go to court again to come up with a parenting plan or ink an agreement ourselves. It just so happened that I'd taken the baby to the doctor a few days before in my hometown because he'd been pulling at his ears and not sleeping well. I wanted to make sure his ears wouldn't hurt too terribly on the flight. (I've flown with a cold before and it's murder). He was diagnosed with a minor ear infection and given an antibiotic. Outside the courtroom as we were saying our goodbyes and I was handing my child over to his father, I tried to explain the dosage to him. "Here," I said holding out the ziploc baggie of ice with the medicine bottle inside. "You have to keep it refrigerated and he needs a dropper full twice a day. There's only about four days left, I think --" "Give it to my mother," he said, refusing to make eye contact with me or accept the medication. He was gloating. I gave it to her and got no better response. I was convinced my child would not be finishing his round of antibiotics. There was nothing I could do about it. His family laughed and chattered and celebrated outside the court room. I tried my best to smile, I acknowledged everyone with a head nod and left as quickly as I could. My lawyer encouraged me. "This was to be expected," he said. "He hasn't seen the child in almost two weeks and he's off of work. It was really perfect timing for him. It doesn't say anything about the final outcome of the case. Hang in there kiddo," and he was off. So there it was. I was ordered to move back to the state until the matter of custody was resolved. I have relatives who have fought over custody for 10 years and spent a hundred thousand dollars, easy, on custody resolution. I wasn't sure if I could do this. I went back to the hotel dragging a folded stroller and collapsed inside my room. I cried, ached took some sleeping pills and tried to melt into the hard mattress. Check back tomorrow as more drama unfolds. Got a story to share? Holla at Melyssa via video. Get more Melyssa at GetYoShyt.blogspot.com and hit her up on Myspace.com/MelyssaGanache. *All names have been changed to protect the guilty & the innocent. ]]> tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7339 2008-03-24T13:30:00Z 2008-03-31T19:06:32Z

Continued from Plan B: Running The drive home was long, the car was packed down and cramped and I could hardly move my arms, pinned against the window in the back seat next to the baby in his car...

Melyssa Ganache http://www.myspace.com/MelyssaGanache Continued from Plan B: Running The drive home was long, the car was packed down and cramped and I could hardly move my arms, pinned against the window in the back seat next to the baby in his car seat. But he slept peacefully and obliviously. What I wouldn’t give for innocence like that. To just lie back in my seat, knowing nothing of the turmoil surrounding me, trusting that it would be taken care of and I would be unconditionally loved and blameless. A million miles from reality. I was in for the fight of my life and there would be no tag team. You know how in tag-team wrestling, how the guy can tap his partner and then the other dude comes in the ring and fights for him, before switching off again? The battle I was in for would have no such reprieve. (I am not a fan, by the way. My grandmother used to sit in front of the TV with a beer watching wrestling for hours). ]]> BD’s first call didn’t come through until early that evening. As he’d taken to checking with the daycare each morning to confirm that I’d dropped off the baby, this morning I actually had. I’d left our son at daycare long enough to load the car up and give BD a chance to make sure he was there before picking him back up again and heading out. His greatest fear hadn’t been realized until about 4 p.m. when my phone rang. I seriously considered not picking up at all. But I had to answer the phone. Though he may want to involve the police and he’d certainly seek the court’s assistance, what was most important was the way in which I would handle myself from here on out. I’d already left the state without permission, the least I could do was own up to that and let my child’s father know his son hadn’t, God forbid, been hit by a car or something. Sidebar: I think my continued communication with BD, while leaving and after I’d gotten home, is what kept the judge from throwing the book at me, by the way. It illustrated my intent, which was not to hurt the child’s father, but to seek a better existence for myself and my son. Now whether she’d agree that I, across the country, was the one to give our son a better life was another story). “Where are you with my son?” He asked in a panic. “I went back home,” I said in my best impersonation of a calm woman. “I told you I was moving, and I have.” I did tell him I was moving. He’d asked me one day while we were living apart. I sidestepped the question, finally saying yes, I did want to go back home, I just did not know when. Actually, at that time, I did know when. This would also later come up in court. My lawyer would also later tell me it’s too bad I confirmed that I had actually “moved” on the phone that day. Otherwise it could have easily been a vacation or a trip to visit family, a misunderstanding to help me escape catching a charge. (Of course this would also mean I’d have to return at the close of that vacay). Thank God I didn’t need that defense though, because after my clear admission, I certainly had none. “You can’t do that!” BD creamed into the phone. “I knew it! I knew you took him!” “I’m sorry, BD. I had to. I couldn’t stay there with you.” Still calm. “With me!? You told me to leave and I left! I did everything you asked me to do!” Yeah, he'd left for an apartment 20 feet away. “Do you have my mother’s address?” I asked? “That’s where we’ll be. It’s 65 Shore Drive, and the zip code, is –“ “I know where your mother lives,” he intrjected. “I can’t get out there.” I hadn’t been inviting him. “I just want you to know where our son is. And I don’t want to take him out of your life, I just can’t continue to live there anymore.” “You don’t want to take him out of my life? Whadyou think stealing him and running 13 hours away is? This is kidnapping!” He yelled as if receiving a revelation. “I’ll have you arrested.” The threat didn’t rattle me nearly as badly as it had the last time. The friendly lawyer that gave me the free advice already told me that it was very unlikely that cops from my state would come to the door and take my child from me on papers from out-of-state authorities, or that they’d act of family court matters from across state lines. BD hung up on me, I assumed to call the police. About an hour later though, I was getting more calls. Not from BD but from the same area code. I didn’t pick up. There was no sense in us arguing about it. I was gone and I wasn’t turning around. He would do in rebuttal whatever he was gonna do. Later that night I checked my messages and had two from a Judge Lauren Hope. “Hi, this message is for Melyssa Ganache. Ms. Ganache this is Judge Hope, I’m calling you from my chambers because there’s a Mr. BD here who is filing a complaint against you for kidnapping. He says you have left the state with the child you two share. Please give me a call back so I can speak with you about this matter. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll be forced to accept his application for a hearing.” It was too late to return the phone call. Three days later the summons arrived at my mother’s front door. I ripped the envelope open anxiously. I’d been expecting this. I was being ordered to appear at an emergent hearing. It stated that the matter was urgent and “detrimental harm” could be caused to the child if custody was not “immediately remanded to the father.” The court date was only a week out. It didn’t even make sense to finish unpacking. Check back tomorrow as Melyssa goes her first round in court and comes out empty handed. Got a story to share? Holla at Melyssa via video. Get more Melyssa at GetYoShyt.blogspot.com and hit her up on Myspace.com/MelyssaGanache. *All names have been changed to protect the guilty & the innocent. ]]> tag:blogs.sohh.com,2008:/confessions//51.7323 2008-03-21T13:30:00Z 2008-03-31T19:06:33Z

Continued from Time to Start Packing. Again My mom and my aunt flew out a few days later to help me get my business in order and prepare to leave. My uncle was supposed to have come, but couldn’t...

Melyssa Ganache http://www.myspace.com/MelyssaGanache Continued from Time to Start Packing. Again My mom and my aunt flew out a few days later to help me get my business in order and prepare to leave. My uncle was supposed to have come, but couldn’t at the last minute. There are people in much worse situations than mine who don’t have people in their lives who are willing to drop everything for them, take a few days off of work and come out of pocket because a loved one needs something. I was thankful for having that kind of support and finally ready to make use of it. They’d both been vehement about my staying home the first time, trying their hardest to convince me. For all the people who have since told me you can’t talk reason with an unreasonable person, my mother was the first. ]]> BD wouldn’t become suspicious. He’d made a habit of calling everyday about an hour after I dropped him off, to make sure the baby was indeed there. This day was no different. I wasn’t working in the office today, I had to do an interview in Brooklyn and I planned to come back in the late afternoon to write up the story. It ended up being an all-day thing. BD never called my job. He’d only been there twice to pick up a pair of keys or something when he’d locked himself out, so I wasn’t worried about him finding out about my last day at work. Murphy’s law. I called the office to check in and let them know things were taking longer than I’d expected. These Hip-Hop dudes were never on time. “Oh, Hey, Mel, your boyfriend just called here,” the receptionist said. My boyfriend. I hadn’t been real clear with my employer about my situation and hadn’t told my coworkers anything at all. He never called my job. “Uh, what did he want?” “I dunno, I told him I’d leave a message on your desk, but I didn’t know if you’d be back for it since today’s your last day,” she said. Well, I hadn’t instructed her not to. I didn’t want my departure to be shrouded in such mystery and shame. “Shhh, don’t tell anyone I’m leaving.” Messy and personal. Certainly not professional. That’s how I felt, anyway. So much I woulda done differently … “You said I wasn’t comin back?” “Well, I said you might not be because you went on location and it’s getting late. And I know you won’t be back tomorrow.” Fantastic. “Should I not have said anything?” She asked. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Shyt. “Don’t worry about it, Mel,” my mom attempted to calm me later. “So he knows you’re leaving. Okay. But he doesn’t know I’m here, he doesn’t know your Aunt Velma’s here, he doesn’t know when you’re leaving or how. He probably assumes you’re flying again like last time and that you bought a ticket already.” That’s exactly what he thinks. “I bet he expects you to leave tomorrow,” she went on. He did. “Then we’ll just wait until Monday.” BD had picked the baby up from daycare that evening. He did that sometimes. Sometimes he’d call beforehand and let me know he wanted him that night; sometimes he’d txt me after and inform me that he’d picked the baby up; sometimes he wouldn’t say anything and I’d go to the daycare center after work to discover that BD had taken him an hour before. He hated to have to ask my permission for anything. Tonight was typical. He’d picked him up and not said a word. So frustrating. I called him around 8 p.m. “Hey, when are you bringing the baby back?” I asked. “It’s getting kinda late and I want to put him to bed.” “I think I’ll keep him tonight.” Wow. I tried to sound casual and unmoved. “Oh, okay. Well, just bring him back in the morning then. No problem,” I said. “Actually, I wanted to go to the museum with him tomorrow afternoon.” Now, he’s testing me. He’s fishing around for a time. I’m not stressing about tonight, so it’s not tonight, and I didn’t make a big deal about the next day either, so maybe it's not tomorrow. “Okay,” I said. “That’ll be fun. He’s gonna wanna touch everything. Take lots of pictures,” I said, trying to end the conversation. “Wait, are you gonna be with us when he has his pediatric appointment on Thursday?” Am I going to be with them? Have I ever missed a doctor appointment? He doesn’t even have a car, I’m the one who takes the baby for his wellness visits. “Have I ever missed a doctor appointment, BD?” Not really an answer. “Okay you guys have big fun, gnight --” “Wait, is your magazine job gonna let you off to take him to the doctor?” My "magazine" job? Who says that? Your "teaching" job? It’s clear to me now that he’s recording the conversation. I guess, to try and prove later that I had been untruthful with him about taking our son out of the state. It wouldn’t be necessary. It would be quite obvious actually and something I’d admit to. But the realization made me nervous anyway. “I gotta go BD. Talk tyou later.” I hung up. Monday morning, I took the baby to daycare as I always did, and rushed back home to load up the car. BD had already boarded the bus for work by this time, but I called the school a half hour later just to make sure. Perfect. Our clothes had all been boxed and shipped home, UPS. The big stuff, like the sofa and my bed, the dresser and the book shelves, were put in storage and everything else had to fit in the Camry. Two hours later, my mom, my aunt and I, went by the daycare center. They waited in the car as I made a little small talk with one of the care providers and signed my son out. I hadn’t said a word about my plans. I’d have to call them later and apologize and pay the two-week penalty for lack of notice. I couldn’t risk letting them know earlier. I strapped the baby into his seat in the back, slid in next to him and we were off. We were really going home this time. Really. The day and a half leading up to my final departure had been wrenching. My stomach was in knots, I had not slept, and though I’d decided what I must do – leave – I wasn’t at peace about facing the fall out that would inevitably ensue. There would definitely be a battle. I had no idea how it would end, or how long it would take, or even exactly what constituted “kidnapping” in the legal sense. I just knew I was kicking it off. In New Jersey, relocating with your kid out of state without the other parent’s or the court’s permission, fits the definition, by the way. More madness Monday. Got a story to share? Holla at Melyssa via video. Get more Melyssa at GetYoShyt.blogspot.com and hit her up on Myspace.com/MelyssaGanache. *All names have been changed to protect the guilty & the innocent.]]>