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You know what.. You heffas kills me… Makes my booty and my scalp itch.

You huzzies will talk about how you are so special because you have a man, the best man in the world as if it makes you, supreme being because nobody else has what you have.
You’ll talk about how you will take someone’s man, and be a side chic and claim its your right. You’ll talk about 32 inches of Brazilian, Remi, Russian, Peruvian, or Cambodia hair, the best edge control this side of the earth, and the latest and hottest hand bag.
You’ll show that cheap ass bag of shaat that bae got you from Victoria Secret, and the barely alive flowers he picked up from the Giant on the way to your house for a booty call.
You will post about the hottest party of the year, and how you stunted on every one of them. You’ll talk about being petty as if it’s somehow cute. Like it’s a badge of honor and then will have a cheering squad like yea, I’m petty too. 
On a daily, you will insult other sisters as if they are somehow beneath you, and you do it with so much pride. You’ll call yourselves bad bitches, and then demand that a man respect you like you are the grand quintessential everything. You’ll talk about your baby daddy being a dead beat, even though you picked him, and talk about his new baby momma being ugly and nasty and fat,and then fuss with your new mans baby momma like it’s somehow your right. 
You’ll talk about your haters, how someone looks fat, ugly, has two stomachs, two necks, wears a waist trainer and is a hoe, but you heffas won’t talk about social injustice and race relations in this country.. 
You heffas won’t acknowledge that we have a real crises within our own communities, let alone America. 

Keep on living in your own comatose bubble and getting your lashes done by Ming ting a ling, and painting brows on with sharpie markers but when it comes to what really matters, you are as shallow and superficial asthe 1 feet of pool water that they put in the baby pool.. Chile, vamoose… Be gone!


Before you say it, or even think, I’ll say it. Yes, I’ve been away from this blog way to long. Listen, man, look.. I’ve been consumed by school and parenthood and life in general. So forgive me. But what better way to bring me out of my hiatus than a good old rant.. I’m not checking for grammatical errors or sentence structure so you shouldn’t either. I get enough of that in school. Save your corrections for someone who cares. This is not that type of post.  This is just a rant..full of slang, and possibly errors… but the point is to make folks take a look inside. we have bigger fish to fry..

Peace and love,

Dee  (hey y’all.. I missed my blog)

 

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It’s your fault I’m so militant !

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First off, as a mother I don’t want to hear my child telling me anything is my fault. It somehow unravels the natural fibers of my mother ego.

Secondly, I did not teach my daughter to be militant. I taught her…. things.. Black history.
Pride.
The facts.
But never the behavior of militancy.

There is a storty here.
A backdrop.
My anaylitical mind is perculating, and I need answers.
I think I know how it happened.
When I was a kid, I loved reading, learning and discovering new things. I especially loved history. I devoured anything black history. I wanted to know all that I could. I wanted to know about my people, and I was proud. Althought indirectly, my mother fed me history, but it was mainly through music. Everything we listened to was about having pride, getting up, never giving up, and keeping on. I’m a product of the 70’s.

I was a smart kid. I loved school and english was my favorite subject. Any time reading and writing was involved,  I was all in.  Well as much as I loved school, I did a lot of stupid things. Manly dropping out of school so I could rip and run the streets. When I wasn’t in school, my obsession with the dictionary grew to new heights. I studied it daily. Wrote words and definitions over and over and quizzed myself. Even though I dropped out, I went back for my GED. A fact that brought me much shame through the years and one of the things I’ll always regret. I vowed, when I became a mother my children would be educated and would take that education as far as it could go.

The time had come. I had my first child at twenty years old. I was a young mother, and I had so much to prove to myself, and everyone else. I taught my daughter everything I knew. We spent all of our time at libraries and museum’s. Around the age of three, I started teaching her about African American history. I showed her movies. I had her watch cartoons based on the lives of Martin Luther King, Malcom X, Harriet Tubman, and so on. And as she got older, I started taking her to historical places based on slavery and freedom. I thought I was doing the right thing. I knew I was doing right by teaching her to take pride in herself and teaching her the culture,  her culture. But somehow, it went south. She went to predominantly mixed raced schools, and I have to admit, early on, the child was very militant, even at a young age. I may be over using the word militant here, but for the sake of this post, I’ll keep it. I mean, she is not walking around in war gear and standing on front lines against anything. Although she did lay in the street for Mike Brown, but I’ll save that for another day. Let me be clear, she is not racist. But yes, black power ish to the 10th power the girl is. Like the long lost daughter of a black panther. Yes, a bit prejudice, I mean we all have some level of prejudice in us, and it’s not always directed at the other race.  Prejudice can come in various forms.
I am not sugar coating anything.
I genuinely want to know, have I failed my child?
She is a grown woman now and perfectly able to make her own decisions, but she did not miss the opportunity to let me know that I had ruined her. I taught her history, and she wore it like the scarlet letter. We speak freely about it. We even laugh at about it now. The way I drilled these historical events in her life. The way she cried when I took her on the makeshift slave ship at the Blacks and Wax museum.  But when she told me it was my fault that she was so militant, I searched my brain trying to figure out where I went wrong. My other kids are different, and I taught them different. But this oldest girl, she got it bad. I have one more shot with my eight year old. Just like her sister, she is eager to learn, and taking pride in herself. I must make sure this doesn’t turn wrong. I have to make sure I don’t raise another militant child.
Lord…

Side note: my daughter is totally harmless. She isn’t outwardly displaying any bad overly rude behavior. She is quiet. An observer. She was also taught to love everyone equally and with a clean slate. And she does that, but she has her views of which I do respect.

How do you teach your children of a difficult history without shaping their minds into something… militant?

I’m no expert. I’m just trying to do right by mines with the information I’ve been given. I won’t water it down. And I won’t teach hate. It’s all about the truth with me. Always, truth reigns.

Peace and love,
Dee