While making my sock doll Josephine, she would not stop
talking and telling me her story. Even though
technically I created her this doll from socks, she (Josephine ) chose
me to bring her to life and share her doll story.
I know this may seem creepy to some people, but
Josephine and I do not share the same views about men, women, cheating, and
relationships. I would personally leave him...but this is not my story--this is Josephine's story.
If you are interested in this DIY sock doll pattern
tutorial, please click the link below for step by step, instructions on how to
make Josephine a doll made using a single pair of socks.
~~~
Josephine’s story was translated by Cassandra George Sturges
“I was named after my daddy. His name was Joseph. He wanted
a boy so that he could name his son after himself. I guess like most men. Ok..
but check this out.. My daddy wanted a boy so bad that he bought baby and
toddler t-shirts, baseball caps, pants, blankets, shirts, toys… all kind of
stuff with the name Joseph written on it.
When I was born, I was told that my father threw up from
disappointment—not only because he wanted a boy—but because he said that I was
the ugliest baby that he had ever seen.
My daddy always told me that he was cursed –when it came to having kids
because after I was born he had 4 more girls.
I don’t know if my
parents couldn’t afford to buy new baby clothes or they just didn’t care enough—but all of my
belongings until the age of 5 have the name Joseph embroidered, typed, or
stamped on them—but the letters, I, N, and E are written on the end, barely
legible with a black Sharpie marker.
I came into this world unwanted. My mother had babies to
keep my father interested in her and hopeful that one day he would be blessed
with a son. She wasn’t a bad mother. I mean …She fed us. She kept us clean… but
there was never any question about who she loved unequivocally and
unconditionally. When I was younger, I felt that my father only tolerated women
to take care of his physical, biological needs, and that my mother was a victim
of unrequited love. But the older I got… the more I grew to understand that
this was not totally untrue. However, we
will talk more about that later.
We weren’t allowed to eat until my father had eaten,
including second and third helpings. Sometimes my mother would order pizza for
my sisters and I because my father wanted to save left overs for his lunch the
next day.
My father had never been late for dinner in my entire life.
He had never spent a single night out of
our family home, and he signed his entire paycheck over to my mother every
Friday, as soon as he walked in the door from work, and placed it on the
kitchen table.
My mother was a homemaker who only worked inside of the
home. She never took time off. My mom never watched television or go out to
lunch with friends. She was always cleaning, folding clothes or doing something
around the house. She made breakfast for all us before we awakened in the
morning, packed our lunches, and prepped dinner before taking us to school. She
kissed us on the forehead, told us to be good and do our best, and drove away
each morning never looking back. I rather envied the kids whose moms waited
outside until they were completely inside of the school building.
A fire broke out at my father’s job. Almost
everyone was able to evacuate the building. Barricaded in the basement, the
janitor was unable to leave the burning building. When my father realized that,
the janitor was still in the building he went back in to save his life. He
carried the janitor’s limp body up three flights of stairs before lifting him
out of the window to the awaiting firefighters.
Before my father could jump out of the window himself, flames engulfed
his entire body.
When they called to tell my mother, what had happened to her
husband—the only man she had ever kissed, she never stopped chopping the
onions—She never shed a single tear… She simply said, ”Yes, I understand, I
guess God needed him more than the girls and me. Thanks for calling. Have good
day...”
She told us that our father would not be home for dinner and
briefly explained to us what happened to him at work, while removing his place
setting from the table. We never spoke about my father again.
The other girls teased me excessively in high school.
Someone asked me once, while waiting in line for lunch, “How does it feel to be
the ugliest girl in school?” I pitied her for asking such a mundane question.
The black and ugly jokes were so unoriginal, boring, and unintelligent that I
never wasted one moment contemplating the validity of the opinion of people who
did nothing for me.
I was taught to believe that ugly is the observable behavior
of a person who lacks confidence in him or herself and have not found their
place in the world.” Make yourself useful and the world will see your beauty,”
my parents always preached to my sisters and me.
The girls in high school were jealous of me because the most
handsome guy in the school was friends with me. Every girl in high school had a
crush on him. They batted their eyes and switched their hips in hopes that he
would glance at them--even if he didn't bother to speak back. He has always
been good-looking and he knew it. I mean... he isn't some average good-looking
guy. No. No. No My husband has supernatural good looks...God's Masterpiece for
masculinity.
He is so good-looking-- that he is cursed by the gods
--because it is an unfair burden to him to have so much unearned adoration and
attention.
Because I was considered to be the ugliest girl in high
school--every girl tried to take him from me because they didn't believe that I
deserved him. So, they gave him their virginity and their money. And I helped him with his homework and taught
him how to read. I did his homework for him all throughout high school. I never
slept with him until our wedding night.
The night before my wedding, I asked my mother why she only
loved my father and never loved my sisters and me. My mother told me that love
is an action word not an emotion. She said that her love was in every meal she
ever cooked, every load of clothes she ever washed, and every room she ever
cleaned. She said, “My mother told us
that she loved us every day.. My brother and I but we went to school dirty and
hungry before she left my father for another man.”
My husband had three children outside of our marriage. One
was with my ex- best friend…my only friend; one was with our neighbor across the street,
and the third child was with my younger sister. The babies were all born within
three months of each other. Everyone expected me to leave my husband. Of
course, he begged for my forgiveness, but he didn’t have to. I had forgiven him
before he even asked.
I was never as angry with him in the first place-more like
disappointed with his choice of women. I was angry with all the women closest to me who betrayed
me. Even with their good looks, their
perfect bodies, and their feminine charms… they still couldn’t take him away
from me—just like my father-- every Friday he signed over his entire paycheck
to me, every night he rubbed my feet and snuggled his beard in the crook of my
neck, and every morning we were intimate is some manner before we both left for
work.
My husband is incapable of cheating on me, because I know
who he is, inside out… all of his flaws.. . I chose to love him unequivocally
and unconditionally—for who he is and not some idealistic fantasy of perfection based on who I want him to be. I
know who I married and why I married him…
Women deceive other
women into believing that men oppress women… that men are the enemy to be
feared ; Nevertheless, I have never
found a human being to be more treacherous, devious, and conniving than a woman
who is envious of you and believes that
she deserves what you have simply because of her beauty.
One-day men are going to wake up and see that they are not
the hunters but the hunted; they are not the predator but the prey. Women run
this world by pretending to be helpless and innocent especially when she wants
to usurp a man’s wealth, power, and prestige.
Men built this world with his hands, but only because he was
commanded to do so for and by women.
Women build men up and they tear men down at their own discretion—especially
when she is annoyed, ignored, or when
she wants to purr and let the world know who is really in charge. Men are
useless without women; they are collateral damage of a woman’s wrath.
Women come on to my husband without so much as a single thought
of how they are hurting me. I find women in general to be cruel and callous
beings who take no accountability for their power…always pretending to be
victims of circumstance.
 |
| Josephine with sock doll Mermaid Geraldine--her only Loyal Friend |
As I got older, I understood why my father always wanted a
son…
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