I'm Panama Jackson, a writer/crimefighter based out of Washington, DC. I'm a father to a 2-year-old little girl who seems to think that it's her job to tell me what to do ... already! I love love and I really like good things. I also believe that children are our future. Yep, that's about it.
Sometimes I really feel bad for women. Not because of gender discrimination and unequal pay for doing the same job. Not even because of the rampant sexism and misogyny that occurs on a daily basis in nearly every sector of this planet.
Sometimes I feel bad for women because I’m convinced that MOST women are masochists. It manifests itself in women’s insatiable desire to understand why men do the things that we do. It’s as if every decision, big or small, that a man makes must have some deeper meaning. Or at least deign to make sense.
Ever since my daughter’s mother and I split, gift-giving holidays have been tricky. For one, how do you buy a gift for somebody that you’re no longer romantically linked with that shows that you do indeed care but haven’t spent TOO much time invested in seeking it out?
It’s the most ridiculous dance ever. It’s like the Dougie on steroids.
While that analogy makes no sense whatsoever, it doesn’t change the fact that there are at least three times a year when I have to buy my ex a gift “from our daughter.” To be fair, I’m sure she goes through a similar thought process.
I don’t think I’ve gotten over any of my failed relationships. It’s not that I’m hung up on any of those exes. To the contrary, I’ve quite fully moved on from all of them with godspeed. But I don’t know that I ever really sat down and reflected about the ends of any relationships, why they ended, or my role in their demise. You know, the stuff that women seem to do ad nauseum.
Almost all of my exes have taken time to process the breakup, often attempting to include me in the discussion if they felt comfortable enough, after some time of course. That is very healthy. We men on the other hand -- oh we men -- seem to be completely devoid of the ability to fully process any hurt that may have come at the hands of a loved one.
One of my favorite expressions has always been, “I do not negotiate with terrorists.” There’s so much strength and resolve in that statement. It sounds so poignant and steadfast. And it makes total sense until you realize that toddlers are little terrorists.
And it seems like my whole life is conflict resolution and strategic negotiation tactics right now. My daughter, bless her heart, is a foe unlike any I’ve ever faced. She’s got those little gray/green eyes that look at me so hurt when she doesn’t get her way. Well, at least during those times when she decides NOT to pitch the biggest fit known to mankind. It’s almost worse than the whole debt ceiling debate going on here in Washington. Except instead of coming to an agreement that effectively does nothing, our negotiations at least bear some sort of positive fruit.
I was having a conversation with a friend of mine the other day and remarking about how much fun I have when I'm out with my kid. Of course part of it is just having a little person who's literally enthralled with, well, everything. But the main reason is because she's such an easygoing soul.
One of her favorite things to do is blow bubbles. Do you know how much fun it is to blow bubbles? Countless hours of fun can be spent outside in the grass enjoying the summer breeze and chasing bubbles.
The interesting part is that I've mentioned that to friends of mine of the female persuasion and they said they'd love to just go outside and blow bubbles. Hmmm.