The Lost Chances
Nobody ever loved me. That’s what’s blaring at the front of my mind when people ask me why I don’t have kids. And as harsh a truth as that is, it’s the truth. When my nieces and nephews (who don’t even really want me to have kids because then Aunt Shameka’s attention might be diverted from them) ask this question, my mouth forms a catchy but vague excuse: “That’s just the way it goes sometimes,” “I guess it wasn’t in the cards,” or “I got enough to do helping y’all.” And I laugh it off. But there’s nothing funny. And the truth sits on the tip of my tongue, unsaid. Nobody ever loved me. I’m not old-fashioned or traditional by any means. My parents didn’t stay together, but I was conceived in love and born in love. And that’s what I always wanted for my kids. I wanted love—even if it didn’t last forever. But it never happened. I didn’t get love, even when I gave it. My romantic misfortune has been the long-standing subject …