Keyshia Cole’s husband arrested for ‘defending her honor’
OPINION - Being a responsible adult means acknowledging that the defense of a woman’s honor just isn’t worth the trouble—or the police record...
At around 11 a.m. yesterday, “Keyshia Cole’s husband turned himself into New Orleans police,” according to TMZ, which amusingly only identified the professional NBA player Daniel “Booble” Gibson by his affiliation with his soul-singing wife.
Gibson, who punched “some guy” hard enough to break his jaw during an event at the Essence Music Festival, was booked for second degree battery and released.
Yesterday afternoon, he called into TMZ Live to explain what happened. Gibson said his wife was approached at an event by a man who made “disrespectful” comments toward her and spoke of her “in a profane way.” He added that her “safety was threatened” and he “needed to take action”—and so “some guy” got his jaw broken.
As the interview concluded, Gibson maintained that he didn’t do anything wrong. “I have nothing to be ashamed of or hide,” he said.
A closer look at the action
If he was responding to a physical attack, he’s right about the doing nothing wrong part. But I doubt that’s what happened. Surely it’s possible for “some guy” to run up on his wife, talk to her all kinds of sideways in front of her husband, then throw a punch at said husband. I have no idea what actually happened, buut what’s more likely is the guy said something inappropriate to Cole, didn’t realize or didn’t care that her husband was nearby, and Gibson punched him in the face for talking reckless.
I get it. I understand it. And given the wide support of Carmelo Anthony when he tried to whup Kevin Garnett when he infamously told Anthony his wife “tastes like Honey Nut Cheerios” — many people will side with Gibson on this one. It’s considered honorable and expected for a man to defend his woman’s, well, honor, and by proxy, his own ego. But that doesn’t make it right or legal.
To be transparent, there’s the bit of immaturity (and ego) in me that still thinks my man should jump to my defense, and if necessary beat up another man on my behalf if that man has been disrespectful towards me in his presence. To reiterate, I acknowledge that is immature thinking and I override it by acting like a semi-responsible adult.
(Almost) taking the high road in love
For instance, my then-boyfriend, CBW, once accompanied me to Philadelphia for a press tour. We hailed a cab and the driver intentionally took us blocks in the wrong direction—which we didn’t know until later—because he was upset that we weren’t headed to the airport. I was taping a segment for Fox News and had my prep bag with me, which the driver mistook for luggage. He thought he was getting a big fare, but it was actually a nine-block ride.
The cabbie drove us to 33rd street instead of Third Street. He pulled the car over, and we saw nothing that looked like a news station. CBW left me in the cab to ask a passerby if we were at the right location.
I asked the cab driver if this was indeed the address I’d given him. He ignored me.
I gave him the benefit that he just didn’t hear me, so I asked again. He told me I wasted his time by not going to the airport and directed me to “pay and get the f— out.” Then he closed that little divider window on me.
In retrospect, I should have taken down his name and car number and exited, then reported him to the taxi commission later. But I deal with enough ignorant cab drivers at home in New York, and I was tired of taking the high road.
“Sir, have you lost your f—king mind?!” I yelled so he could hear me through the closed window.
CBW opened the car door and promptly went from zero to sixty. “Did you curse at her?!” he roared at the driver.
The driver opened the window divider and defended himself with—wait for it—”Wwhy would I curse at her? Why would I even address a woman?”
Man jumps to woman’s defense
CBW, who is generally laid back about everything, banged his open palm hard on the glass behind the driver’s head. The driver didn’t flinch, he jumped. I could see his eyes reflected in the rear view mirror and he was terrified.
And that’s when my common sense kicked back in.
“Let’s go!” I yelled because there were only a couple possibilities of where this would have gone, if played out to it’s natural conclusion. All of them would have resulted in one of us, or all of us, being arrested.
I reached over CBW, and opened his car door, and began pushing him as hard as I could—which was entirely ineffective (he’s 6”4’, I’m 5”2’)—out of the car. “Out! Out! Out! Out!” I yelled until he was out of the cab, then scrambled out on my side. The cab screeched off.
Common sense kicks in
We stood on the sidewalk, stranded, at least until the next cab showed up. And while the bit of child left in me wanted to shake her shimmy like Shug Avery because my man road for me, I realized that had no place in that moment. The responsible adult who dominates my brain (most of the time) was wholly like, “Dude, I mean, I… you can’t… we can’t do that!”
Yes, the driver was sexist and rude. No question. But he threw words, not punches. And the likely outcome of my guy getting physical with him is exactly what happened to Gibson–the police get called, my guy goes to jail, and worse, he would have deserved to be there.
There’s a part of me that would have appreciated the “gesture” of misguided chivalry, but being a responsible adult means I have to acknowledge that the defense of a woman’s honor just isn’t worth the trouble—or the police record.
Demetria L. Lucas is a life coach and the author of A Belle in Brooklyn: The Go-to Girl for Advice on Living Your Best Single Life.
