I’m a 45-year-old suburban white single mother. The 17-year-old white kid across the street from my house practices neo-Nazi principles. On more than one occasion I saw him talking to my 17-year old son outdoors. They are bother 11th graders. I blew it off because I gave my son the benefit of doubt that he wouldn’t allow himself to be influenced by such negative and counterproductive rhetoric.
But the other day, I came home to see the Nazi kid sitting on my sofa playing XBox with my son. I told him to leave and asked my son what was going on. He confessed that the kid tried to convert him but he told him he wasn’t into that, and the kid backed off.
I told my son I don’t trust the kid, and forbade him from being friends with him or allowing him into our home again. This angered my son, and now he thinks I’m the worst person in the world. Was I right, or do you think I’m overreacting?
I don’t think you’re overacting, but instead of focusing so much on the other kid, maybe you should take a hard look at your own kid and ask why would he want to hang out with a neo-Nazi in the first place. Maybe your son is the bad influence, and the other kid just happens to be more open with his hate.
Birds of a feather flock together. But what most people don’t know is, each bird takes a turn in leading the flock.
WHY CAN'T I STOP LOOKING DOWN ON MY MAN?
Dear Willie D:
I’m a 37-year-old woman in a relationship with my husband altogether for 11 years (married four). When we first started out he was ambitious, athletic, thoughtful, and generous. Now he’s the total opposite, with the exception of being generous.
He has been stuck in the same position at the same job for the past eight years. The worst part about it isn’t the pay. He makes good money. His problem is that he has no ambition to get further ahead in the company. He has also let himself go physically. His once-chiseled abs have been replaced with a fat beer belly.
Being a health-conscious person myself who eats right and exercises, it pains me to see the man I once loved — yes, I said once as in past tense — stuff his mouth with toxic foods and waste away nights watching sports. Yes, I’m being vain, but I can’t help but wonder if I deserve better.
It’s often said that a woman leaves a relationship well before she actually leaves. Emotionally, you have already left your man. Nothing to do now but call a U-Haul to move your things to your new place. I know you’ve been looking.
Dear Willie D:
I just want to start off by saying I’m a fan of The Geto Boys. Y'all put it down for the South. I don't know what to do. I was with this woman for eight years and I was there for her through tough times. I bailed her out of jail. I was even there for her when she got locked up again, with money for her books, phone, and visits. To make a long story short, she got out and changed on me.
I hardly saw her but once every other week for sex. Then she got pregnant. But here’s the twist — another guy is involved and I think she may be pregnant by him, because she said at first she doesn't know. But when I said I had been dating other women, she switched up and said it’s mine. I haven’t seen or heard from her in a while.
We are no longer together because of how she switched on me after eight years together, but this baby drama has me stressed. I don’t know if I should drop it or not. But if I do I will be made the bad guy in all of this. I’m to ashamed to come at my friends with this. Brother, what should I do. Can you help me?
Get a paternity test after the baby is born, and make sure you don’t sign that birth certificate until you know for sure you’re the father.
MY SIBLINGS GET MAD AT ME IF I DON'T CELEBRATE MY DAD'S DEATH DATE WITH THEM
Dear Willie D:
Every year my siblings visit my dad’s grave and get drunk at home listening to old Motown songs he used to like. When I don’t join them, they get mad and shun me for weeks at a time. I loved my dad too. I just don’t believe in self-inflicted anguish. Am I wrong for not joining their grief-stricken celebrations?
Shunned by Siblings:
No, you’re not wrong. Everyone grieves differently.