Chapter Two

Are there any good men out there? That question seems to roll off of every woman’s lips at sometime or another throughout their life. I know I’ve asked myself that very same question more than once on different occasions. My name is Dr. Lovall. Jazmine Renée Lovall; to those who know me outside of my office. You can call me Jazzy. I was born and raised as the only child in Houston, Texas, to some “The Dirty South, Home of the screwed and chopped music.” To the outsiders looking in, H-town was full of men with potential, and lots of possibilities, But to the insiders trying to get out, all the men were either gay, confused, in jail, or married. It seemed like the more I gave different types of men a chance the more I ended up with the same answer. I tried to date men that had the same characteristics as my stepfather James. When I was younger, in my eyesight he was perfect. He never lost his cool in the sight of trouble. He helped my mother raise me from birth and treated me as if I was biologically his. I soon came to the ghastly reality that I will never be able to find a man who will fill his shoes. So what else was there to do? I’ve tried the “rough neck.” personalities, all they wanted to do was be in the street life and when they remembered they had a woman, they would call me for the bond money. I’ve tried the “good impression on daddy.” personalities; all they wanted to do was look good for my father. It got to the point to when I thought looking good for my father wasn’t all they wanted to do for him. I’ve tried them short and sweet, tall and mean, with a job, without a job, fresh out of jail, on his way to jail, with a car, on the bus, no kids, with kids, shit, even the one who couldn’t read tried to run game. I know what you’re thinking maybe it’s not the men I date, maybe it’s me. I think I’m a pretty good catch if I might say so myself. I don’t ask for much, I'm just a woman who gives all and asks for nothing in return but love and affection. It seems as if every department in my life coexists around the love department. Not all the money, beauty, and success in the world could fill the void I was feeling for a significant other. I just wanted to find one. One man who would love me for me and not what I could do for them. I concluded that I would stop settling and wait until my soul-mate came looking for me. They came looking all right. He’s, she’s, it didn’t matter who, I thought I was in love with any and everybody that showed me a little attention. I was in love with the idea of being in love, even though it all ended in the same disaster. I would love, love hard, they wouldn’t satisfy me whether it be emotionally, mentally, intellectually, sexually, or financially, and I would get bored, cheat, then move on, and the cycle would start all over again. No matter how it began or ended, I was always the one feeling empty and incomplete. I would be the only one in the relationship doing all the giving, love, money, affection, etc. It got to the point, to where during sex, I faked so good, I actually thought I was having orgasms. A lot of my emotional dumbness I blame on my mother. Even though I also had my stepfather James; for emotional support, there is nothing like a mothers love. The emotional bond between a mother and daughter is supposed to be the seed that later on in life she will reap, if planted correctly. I mean that is the sole purpose of being a mother isn’t it, to not only show your daughter how to love, but also teach her how to love herself so she wouldn’t have to go looking for love in all the wrong places. It should be passed on throughout the generations, and one mistake can ruin the whole family tree for years to come. Maybe I didn’t pay attention during that lesson, or possibly, I was never taught. . .