Beyond the average

Are you an 80 or a 20? You know, Mr. Perry’s concept of the neat boxes that every person with a romantic companion fits into. Either you’re the conniving heifer who spends all the money, doesn’t cook, doesn’t clean, but whose utter irresistibility renders her the mistress-turned-main chick – that makes you a 20. Or you’re the bend over backwards for my man, brings home the bacon and fries it up in a pan without trampling too hard on his innate need to feel important and needed, with some unforgiveable flaw, in Jill’s case about 100 extra pounds (Why Did I Get Married?)– congratulations, you’re an 80. Which means you’re 80% good enough for your man, 8 times out of 10 he’ll actually be active in the relationship and will only sleep around with every 2 out of 10 twenty percenters that come along.
Right?
Ummm…no.
I enjoy six figures just as much as the next hopeful college student, but enough is enough with the numbers. They are not the end all. They provide us with a way of thinking about things, like if the discount on the BCBG booties at the Nordstrom’s Anniversary sale is a higher percentage than the reduction on the MAXX New York clutch. At the end of the day, you make the choice.
Numbers shouldn’t depress us or give us the final forecast for our futures. The CNN Black in America Report brings to light the potentially fatal obsession Americans have with numbers--stats. I recognize CNN for its attempt to show the world what it’s like to walk in the shoes of over 40 million people in what will end up being less than 8 hours of film (I mean really, it just isn’t possible). But, the damage that these numbers can do is incredible. If I am a young, successful, black female college student, what am I supposed to think about my prospects on getting married in this lifetime? If I buy into the numbers, I either have to throw out my Modern Bride magazines, or, start figuring out how I’ll explain to my kids that mommy’s black, but daddy’s white because all the black men were in prison, or dead, or just dead broke. What if I was planning on moving to D.C.? Do I scrap my dream and move to Atlanta because CNN’s stats say the odds of me finding a HIV-negative mate are slim to none?
When we are constantly confronted with a bleak picture, we tend to accept it as reality. But numbers do a poor job of capturing the reality behind them – the lives, the people, the souls. They didn’t wake up one day and become statistics, decisions were made. No matter how bleak or bright the picture the numbers paint, we ultimately choose. Even in times when personal situations reflect someone else’s decision made without our consultation, we choose how we respond. We choose before they have a chance to put us into someone’s reported percentages. God just doesn’t leave us hanging like that.
I’m 100% black. 100% woman. 100% God’s child. But, in essence, 100% Timeka. And I’ll be damned if my man calls me an 80. Regardless of whether they appear on a bank statement, in a CNN report, or on the (ever-changing) scale, numbers do little to sum me up.
How about you?