On Apologies and Other Ramblings

The cliche phrase reads,  “Love is never having to say you’re sorry.” Here, all this time I thought it was “Tameka”. Yes, I confess I loathe apologising (and the letter z). For the better part of my existence, I can get on well without it, but there are those other times when I’m not at my best and my propensity for histrionics, hyperbolic speech and an acute affinity for colorful language drive me to that awkward place where only those two words will free me.

But, this time it wasn’t me– [Happy dance with jazz hands]–it was my LP. (I wanna be like the cool kids with their cool acronyms, so go forward, Michael, the person with whom I share my life, histrionics, hyperbolic speech and dreams will be known as my/the LP ; life partner.) Michael had to say he was sorry. Let me just preface this by saying that he doesn’t share my ideology on apologising (or the letter z) and is actually quite adept at it, but today we shared one of those awesomely awkward growth/teaching/learning/bonding opportunities on lessening the need for ’em. Trust, I put much thought into not getting myself ensnared.

Cultural relativism–you’re probably thinking, (Or not because of my long writing absence and non-linear posts have thrust the LP into the seitan of this blog with no formal introduction) “What need for discussions of cultural relativism could two Native New Yorkers from the same basic socioeconomic strata and alma mater possibly have?” Oh puh-lenty! The need is plentiful and great. [Insert, girl-let-me-tell-you eyes here.]

I mentioned previously that the LP is my Prince of Disks, he’s like urban aristocracy and has very strident guidelines for all things proper-like, noble and just. Uh, yeah, well I’m flaky and crunchy and pretty far left of all o’ that there. The thing is, at the end of the day we see the same end–unity. When all is said and done we move to the beat of a shared drum, though the practice sessions can get right cacophonous!

This week we had to draw upon sociological teachings to blend the cultural ideals of “Stuffy” and “Crunchy”. I won’t get into the specifics of the issue at hand, (Respect for the young people’s private lives’, and all.) but, it came down to the rights or lack thereof for parents to govern young people’s bodies. And, guess which member of the summit got their first tattoo at 14? Right. So, we phone-tousled (LP still resides in NYC) and I became annoyed and abruptly ended the call, as I often do. But, something happened while I was in the shower calling him names other than Michael, and LP. I realized that we both had a point, and that the opinions we didn’t share with each other were both shared and thought to be “right” within our soon-to-be-adjoining community circles. As the impending “glue” of said circles, we had a shared responsibility to find harmony.

With the aid of chemical assistance, I slept on it and we resumed the summit this morning with fresh ears and that new, old phrase, “cultural relativism” and, although I engaged in a bit of histrionics by bringing up the case against female circumcision, all ended well. We each agreed to present our opinions as just that without negating or otherwise demeaning the other party’s stance, because we are BOTH right. And, boy do I like me some being right! This new, old approach lessens the likelihood that anyone will leave the discussion feeling they are owed or must offer up an apology. Hot damn! I guess love is never having to say you’re sorry–or y’know at least keeping it to a bare minimum. One down.

Peace and cultural relativism

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