White Women: The Kelly Bundys of Social Justice

Millennials over 30 and Xennials are old enough to remember “Married With Children.” It was about a family of four lead by a generally unhappy shoe salesman, his stay-at-home wife, and their two teen children. It was funny. One of the things that made it funny was their daughter, “Kelly,” who was so airheaded that even her attempts at seriousness failed spectacularly.

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Recently, after Georgia’s governor signed an abortion ban bill that outlaws abortion once a heartbeat is detected, Alyssa Milano of “Who’s The Boss” fame (if you’re under 30, you’ll probably have to Google that), came out and suggested that women withhold sex from their partners until the bill is reversed. The presumption is that she was talking about straight women since many of these lawmakers are men.

Earlier today, after I posted a brief schpill about women in relationships on my personal Facebook page, I had someone, a white woman, suggest that women should just become lesbians or celibate and “rid” men out of our lives. When I noted that all of us aren’t lesbians, nor are we interested in it, and expressed that I have no desire to be celibate, she told me to continue to “suffer.” She then went into a rant about how she gets sick of straight women complaining about men while continuing to deal with them.

 

Other acts used to “empower” women and “promote equality” for women include the “free bleeding movement” where women don’t use any menstrual products and just bleed through their clothes as an act of showing that women should have the “right”  to menstruate (cause if we didn’t, our uterine lining would stop shedding, I guess). Kiran Gandhi ran a marathon with blood dripping down her leg in solidarity with the millions of women who do not have regular access to menstrual products and to show that there’s no shame in menstruation.

 

Let’s not forget the various “free the nipple” style campaigns because nothing gives men a kick in the balls and says, “fuck the patriarchy” like women walking around showing their titties to every rando on the street who passes them.

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Then, there’s this picture…

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This woman is apparently a yoga instructor who thought this photo of her “free bleeding” while her kids’ heads were in the line of fire was a deep statement on womanhood and the importance of the menstrual cycle. You can read her comments on the matter HERE.

This was the picture that led me to the conclusion that white women don’t have enough to do. While they’d like to think they are fighting the patriarchy by bleeding on couches and breastfeeding while doing a cartwheel at 11 am on a Tuesday, all they are doing is demonstrating how detached from feminism, let alone reality they are; especially the intersectional kind.

Patriarchy is not going to stop women from menstruating. That’s nature. A woman’s shame or lack thereof, at least in the west, is her issue. But what patriarchy, in its various forms and mutations, does do is ensure that white women only make 60% of what white men make and that Black women make even less. It ensures that rapists walk. It ensures that we spend time arguing about a domestic abuser registry instead of just establishing one. Refusing to wear a pad, tampon, or menstrual cup is not going to address standard nor racialized sexism.

Not having sex with your male partner is not going to address the underbelly of misogyny and (to be quite honest) racism that is the true basis of all of these restrictive abortion laws.

Deciding to just become or pretending to be a lesbian is not going to even start to address the violence perpetrated by men upon women.

Instead of “freeing” the menstrual cycle (which doesn’t need to be freed because it’s going to come anyway unless you’ve surgically removed your uterus, have gone through menopause, are on certain hormonal birth control that stops it, or have an endocrine issue), I’d rather free people.

Instead of “freeing the nipple,” I’d rather hear about ideas that will actually bring substantial systemic change in areas that matter like employment and healthcare.

While white women are baking vagina cupcakes, Black women and other women of color are working, struggling, fighting structural “–isms”, fighting intra-community violence against us, and trying to survive.

It’s time for Rebecca to actually participate in a substantive way, or go sit down and shut up.

 

 

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W.D. B. 1.1: The Wayward Daughter’s Solution For Abortion

The last two weeks have been full of news of random states where nobody lives by choice proposing or enacting highly restrictive abortion laws. Alabama, a state known for its college football team (I guess), now has a law on the books that is said to be so restrictive, it peacocks in the face of Roe v. Wade. In total, 8 states have passed abortion laws that could cause even the most ardent cycle-watchers to end up in a situation where they are left with few options should they need to terminate a pregnancy.

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A part of my brilliance is that I can argue both sides of pretty much any issue. But, I’m not about to do that for free and this is a blog, not a university speakers series. I believe that everybody is in an uproar about this issue and they really don’t need to be. They need to take a page from The Wayward Daughter’s Keys To Life (not a real book but if any publishers out there want to offer me a book deal with a handsome advance, I’m up for it) and calm the fuck down and think this thing through.

Now, without further ado, I present Wayward Daughter Bill 1.1 (that’s random as I suspect most government bill numbers are)…*drumroll*

Ist CONGRESS
1st Session (Unless talking shit with my friends in FB messages counts)


W. D. B. 1.1

To get people to use common sense about the abortion issue and offer a solution that should make the churchy, men who think they have a say, women who are at the service of those men’s agenda, and expectant mothers who don’t want, can’t, or don’t need to be mothers happy.

IN THE BEDROOM OF THE WAYWARD DAUGHTER

Received (well if you’re talking about the initial epiphany)

 Sometime back in 2005 Probably

                            Read the first time

Today; as I wrote it

                           Read the second time and placed on the calendar blog

Today; as I edited it

 

AN ACT

SECTION 1. SHORT TITLE.

This Act may be cited as the “If You Want Them So Bad, You Take Care of Them Act” (not “WaywardCare” or any of the other nonsense y’all were gonna’ start calling it cause…).

SEC. A.  STATEMENT OF POLICY.

(a) Statement Of Policy.—It is the policy of The Wayward Daughter that—

(1) all United States citizens over the age of 21 who have a problem with abortion are to be entered into a national adoption draft.

Once identified as an anti-choicer, you will be involuntarily entered into the national adoption draft as a potential draftee.

Draftees cannot opt-out. Ever.

(2) once entered into the national adoption draft, draftees will be eligible to be chosen up to three times to become the parent of record of children whose mothers were not allowed to terminate their pregnancies early on.

(3) draftees cannot reject your drafting; there are no waivers for bone spurs or anything else

(4) draftees cannot choose which child(ren) you get based on…well…anything; for red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in Jesus’ sight

(5) draftees must raise the child(ren) they’re assigned through high school graduation; no exchanges. If you end up with Damien from The Omen, you better bind it and cast it out.

(6) as parent of record, draftees bear the same legal and moral responsibility as natal parents

(7) draftees will only receive $100 per month per child in food benefits; all other costs associated with raising the child(ren) are the responsibility of the draftee; don’t worry because God has a purpose for your struggle, remember?

(8) once a draftee has been assigned three children, they are relieved from future drafts; UNLESS there is an emergency…I mean, this is just based on 8 states so far.

(9) draftees who have not been assigned three children are not excused from draftability until the age of 70; no retirement for you

SEC. B.  APPEALS PROCESS.

(a) APPEALS PROCESS.—It is the policy of The Wayward Daughter that—

(1) Ain’t none, bih! If you didn’t want to get drafted, you shouldn’t have gone around telling everybody you’re anti-choice.

 

 

 

 

Attest:  The Wayward Daughter

             Queen, Judge, Clerk, “Ugh…I Can’t Stand Her”

             May 26, 2019

 

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Why I Hate The Internet: The Game (rapper) and His Wayward Fingers

Technology has been a blessing. We can do things now that we couldn’t do 5, 10, and 15 years ago. One of those things is wide access to the internet and social media. For all its good, though, one of the worst things about these advances is that anybody can post anything no matter how wrong it is and they’ll have an audience that believes they’re right and agrees with them. Now, that may seem like a strange thing to say coming from a blogger, but it’s simply the truth. I mean, I get on here and talk shit all the time. Love it, hate it. It is what it is.

But what I cannot…will not let slide are statements like that in the following screenshot made by famous rapper The Game (government name, Jayceon Taylor):

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Of course, my first reaction was something along the lines of, “If he doesn’t shut the fuck up right now..!” My second reaction was something snarky like, “They don’t think past Friday, so why would they plan for next Thursday?!” My last reaction, the one that matters, was to point out the lack of fact of his statement.

Let’s back up though and analyze the post for what it is. It’s steeped in a type of misogynoir that overlooks the harm perpetrated against Black women and girls by Black men. It overlooks the violence perpetrated by Black women and girls by non-Black men. It’s the kind of misogynoir that has allowed the Chicago illiterate who shall not be named to continually violate Black women and girls and go unchecked for well over two decades. Similar to the racists who claim Black people have it “easy” because of food stamps, it seeks to give credence to a self-made plight by pretending that Black women have no plight whatsoever.

Now that that’s out of the way, I want to take some time to school Mr. Taylor. According to the Violence Policy Center citing numbers from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, as of 2016, Black women were nearly always murdered by someone that they know and usually with a gun.

The study goes on to say this: Compared to a black male, a black female is far more likely to be killed by her spouse, an intimate acquaintance, or a family member than by a stranger. Where the relationship could be determined, 91 percent of black females killed by males in single victim/single offender incidents knew their killers. Of the black victims who knew their offenders, 58 percent were wives, common-law wives, ex-wives, or girlfriends of the offenders. More than 10 times as many black females were murdered by a male they knew than were killed by male strangers.”

Further, an 18-year perusal by the CDC of 18 states found that while the nationwide rate of female homicide was 2 per 100,000, for Black women, it was 4.4 per 100,000.

And we may as well talk about sexual violence, too. Black women are disproportionately prone to being victims of sexual violence.

What’s telling is that one of the risk factors for sexual violence against women is a sense of hostility towards women. The Game is in an industry known for every third word being a pejorative for women (Black women, in particular) like, “bitch” or “hoe.”

One of the community risk factors for violence against women is the tolerance of sexual violence. I just finished pointing out that “the community” allowed the Pied Piper of Pedophilia run roughshod over Black women and girls for over two decades (closer to 3, really).

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I hate to break it to The Game and all the other Black men who think Black women are walking around doing Irish clicks over puddles like Fred Astaire, totally secure, but we are probably more at danger than you are. I’ll tell you why very shortly.

But, while we’re here (insert sarcastic smirk), let’s talk about this violence that renders you all unable to make plans a week away. That violence? Yeah, that violence is perpetuated by you all as well. I’m certain I don’t need to say any more on that.

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So to recap: y’all kill us (and our children). Y’all kill each other. Do Black women a favor and stop trying to drag us into what is clearly your own maladaptive pathology. If you can’t make plans for next Thursday, look to your left and your right while you’re in the studio laying phat beats, (or, you know, a mirror), and you’ll see the reasons why.

 

Dear Democrats: What The F*ck Are Y’all Doing? Flea Market Part II

The last time I wrote about politics, there were 8-10 Democratic hopefuls. At the time, I called the race a flea market because there were so many people running and a lot of them were randos who came out of nowhere.

Well, it pains me to say that it’s gotten worse. At last count, according to this article, there are 21 hopefuls. I don’t even know what to say.

house of cards 2

Remember the show West Wing? Even though I only started watching it well after it was off the air and on Netflix, I love that show. Same thing for House of Cards and Madame Secretary. Do you know why? Because every political move was written as if it was all planned. Politician A promised politician B a seat on some committee if politician B could convince politicians C-E to vote a certain way. The best part was when party A put up politician C to run for POTUS and talked politicians D-M out of running for POTUS for the benefit of the party.

I loved these shows because I could clearly see the parallels between real life and the drama that was written “for entertainment purposes only.” I was convinced that Hollywood, that had managed to um…”predict” so many other political happenings, had the inside scoop.

But, I swear….this Democratic race has disabused the fuck out of my conclusions.

As I’ve said many times, I’m a Centrist. I actually wouldn’t mind seeing Mitt Romney primary Donald Trump. I’d even like to see Kasich give it another try.

house of cards 1

But when I read articles like the one I posted above and this one that talks about Democratic hopeful #47753037 selling bumper stickers so they can get on the debate stage, I become a tad perplexed at whether the Democrats even have a plan for lunch this Thursday, let alone their nominee or the direction of the country.

ridiculous

Yes, I know that anybody who meets the criteria to be POTUS (and has the donors or cash to sustain a campaign) can throw their hat in the ring. I just wonder if the “top” Dems have stopped to look at what’s happening with the party right now long enough to realize that they’re going to have to use actual strategy this time around instead of just hope that Millennials will be so touched by student loan cancellation and Medicaid for all that they’ll rush to the polls to put whomever the Dems settle on into office.

Because you see, they did that last time and we all saw (and are seeing) what happened.

what-did-you-expect-its-a-f-ing-bear_o_170070

Let me back up though.

In my opinion, the Dems have tried to engage in a sort of political foreplay. They got their constituents hyped about Russia, Russia, Russia. They’ve spent (and still spend) inordinate amounts of time pointing out every spelling mistake Trump makes on Twitter. Then, they pretended to take the ADOS Movement’s demand for reparations seriously.

But what happened?

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No penetration. You can forget about an orgasm.

They knew good and damn well that they had no real intentions of pursuing impeachment. Instead of organizing or drafting some type of substantive and REALISTIC policy initiatives, they wasted time pointing and laughing trying to make Trump look like a clueless illiterate buffoon (ie. the 3 months of “covfefe”). And last I heard, many of the hopefuls say that they agree with reparations but (in the words of Iris Murdoch) between saying and doing, many a pair of shoes is worn out.

Then, they trotted people like Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez out as the progressive voice that they know they will never support en masse because they know Millennials love that shit.

dumpster fire

I never thought I’d say this but Republicans seem to have more sense at this point than Democrats.

How?

They are backing one person. Even though many (if not most) of them think he’s the wrong choice for POTUS, they are putting the party above their own personal feelings simply to have the GOP rule the roost another 4 years. They are closing ranks; and although I take issue with many of the things that GOP’ers do and say, I must state that they are doing what’s logical when you want to win.

southpark.gif

I suggest the Dems do the same. I’m no political pundit but I think they need to all…ALLLLLLL…sit down and have a come to Jesus (that’s HAY-SOOS, not your Lord & Savior) meeting and choose 3-5 nominees to put up that they truly think can compete and defeat Trump. Then, those chosen can get busy strategizing and forming a sound set of policies that they can easily support during the debates and beyond.

nasty food.gif

But this thing they’re doing now where everybody and their cousin is suddenly running is simply too many cooks ruining a broth that, to be quite honest, wasn’t that good to begin with.

Nevertheless, I’ll end this the same way I ended Part I. I wish all the candidates luck.

 

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The Wayward Daughter Rants: Drive It Or Park It! On Mini Coopers and SUVs

Warning: The following blog contains many expletives. If you’re a soft whiny twit, you’re probably one of the wretched souls I’m talking about in this blog so you DEFINITELY need to read it!

I live in Texas. There’s a lot of stereotypes surrounding Texas and they’re all true. I’m not inspired to defend Texas in any way so go ahead and stereotype. I don’t particularly care.

dunce

One of the hurdles of living in a state that I’m pretty sure is being slowly poisoned through the water system, is that most people have a hard time doing very simple things…like driving.

No, this blog isn’t going to be about the fact that there’s either a genetic variant or actually something in the water that makes most Texans not understand that “signal, brake, turn” makes more sense than “brake, start to turn, then signal.” This blog is not going to be about how I’ve recently noticed that many Texas drivers apparently never got clear on the difference between left and right. It’s not even going to be about the fact that the influx of um…”newcomers…” have somehow managed to acquire driver licenses but not insurance and now we’re all paying an arm and a leg in case we’re hit by someone who isn’t officially listed on any government roll.

ImmenseInformalEuropeanpolecat-small

No. This blog is about you mutha’ fukkas who are 6ft. 4in. and 300lbs and think you’re okay driving a Mini Cooper. This blog is also about you exiled citizens of Munchkin City who have the nerve to hop behind the wheel of a fucking Denali, Suburban, or anything similar.

So, I’m driving down the street. Come to a red light and I’m behind someone in a Mini Cooper. I kinda’ like to be the first person in line because my birth chart states that if I’m not, I’m behind someone who never should have left the house in the first place (apparently). The light turns green. The person in the Mini Cooper tries to go but he’s having a tough time…adjusting. So, after I think a few shits, damns, and fucks about the situation while I’m waiting for him to change lanes (seems like it took him 5 minutes), he finally gets the fuck out the way and I drive ahead.

small car

As I pass, I turn to my right (because the law states you must turn and scowl at the person who pissed you off on the road) to see a man who could easily be a contender in the WWE. His head was almost through the top of the Mini Cooper and this was NOT a convertible. I look in my rearview mirror and even a big junk truck (my word for the very common trucks in Texas hauling everything from office furniture to coffins) passed him.

Now, this man may be a perfectly fine driver under other circumstances. The problem, in my estimation, is that he has no fucking business driving a Mini Cooper. Contrary to popular belief, cars are not meant to be driven with your knees or your gut. If you find that your gut reaches the steering wheel before your hands, you need a different car. Rule 1 of driving is to drive defensively. How can you drive defensively when you have to sit in both the driver’s seat and the passenger’s seat?

Dígame.

Part two.

You barely buffering jackasses who dare jump behind the wheel of a large SUV and then cause havoc on the road because your legs aren’t long enough to press the gas/brake, see over the steering wheel, and stay in your own gatdamned lane all at the same time….

LMAO

I do not buy into the myth that women are worse drivers than men. Even insurance rates dispel that notion. But, girl…you are 5’3. Unless Payless came out with some commemorative I’m Gonna’ Git You Sucka’ 6-inch platforms so you can reach the peddles, you behind the wheel of the YUGE SUV ain’t it, chieftess.

suv

It’s not our fault you out-procreated your Toyota Camry, Karen.

But let me broaden the scope of this. Summa’ y’all, regardless of gender, drive like 8 year-olds emulating what they’ve seen on a cop show, and look like children playing behind the wheel of a truck that’s not on. In fact, I think that’s the solution. Don’t even turn your big SUV on but to meet the oversized people in Mini Coopers at a 7-11 and trade titles and keys.

I’m simply asking that you two groups of people realize that you’re not the only ones on the road and decide to either drive a vehicle suitable for your particular um…genetics, or park it.

Until next time, drive safely! I’m out!

motorcycle

 

 

 

 

Have Mercy: The Wayward Daughter On Religion

The last almost two years have involved monumental change for me. What I thought would kill me, made me stronger. I got the opportunity to practice self-care by walking away from things and people that were no longer good for me. A door opened to allow me the chance to get paid doing what I love. I gained the older sister I always wanted but never had. Best of all, I experienced a spiritual awakening that I needed but never knew I did.

I’m like many people. I grew up being taken to worship services every week. I went through the rituals and practices by rote. I didn’t choose it. It was chosen for me from the cradle. Many of the other people knew me before I knew myself. They also knew my parents before my parents knew that I was on the way. It was tradition. It was formulaic. It was choreographed almost perfectly. I knew exactly when to stand, sit, and bow my head. I knew what to do if I messed up. Even the prayers, what was supposed to be intimate communication with the Creator of the universe, were mechanical.

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But, this new season required a new perspective on how I tended to my spirit. I told you that my previous spiritual practice was like many people. Now, I’m going to do what many of that many do not do – tell the truth. After decades, I found that I really got nothing out of it. There were lots of platitudes and control by fear. But there was never the connection that I needed. On top of that, as someone with anxiety, telling me that “God” could say “yes, no, or wait” was never a sufficient explanation for unanswered prayer.

I was blessed, however, in that my soul sister really did open me up to that which has fed my soul. She is a santera in the Lukumi tradition. It is the practice of honoring and communing with one’s ancestors as well as reverencing the Orishas, African deities. It’s been less than 6 months but in those 6 months, I’ve learned a lot. Even more important, I’ve encountered what I was told I was supposed to experience for decades in the belief system I was “born into.” Here are the first five experiences so far in my journey.

Eggun
1. New found confidence. One of the hallmarks of my day is communing with my ancestors; called eggun. These aren’t just the ancestors that I know, but those going all the way back to the beginning of the bloodline from which I came. I’ve experienced a different level of confidence knowing that even though they no longer live in this realm, they yet live and are acting as guides and protectors. They have my back, which is something you can hardly get from the people you see every day. Further, having recently lost very close relatives (2015 and 2017, respectively), knowing that the love they had for me did not die with their physical bodies but is still being showered upon me every day is a comfort like none other.

2. Freedom from guilt. Instead of what many call “being convicted,” I receive guidance. I no longer walk around thinking about if what I did or said was wrong. I don’t have to wonder if something happened as divine retribution for something I did, said, or thought three days, months, or years prior. I don’t feel guilty when I experience real and valid feelings about people or situations. There is no scolding; just redirection.

oya dance

3. Validation of my intuition. To piggyback off of #2, I’ve received much validation of my gift of intuition. My intuition took a beating during my rough patches. I stopped being able to trust the dreams and intuition that I had been experiencing since I was a young child. As it has recovered, one of the things that is happening in the natural world is that I’m constantly receiving signs that I was not crazy. I was not wrong. Those people that I haven’t particularly liked and people said it was wrong to feel that way? I’ve received proof that I was right to distance myself from those persons. Those opportunities that I turned down or walked away from that people said I shouldn’t have? My eggun is allowing me to see where I was indeed right to leave. Those people who were malicious, or who I suspected were jealous, or envious or had some other bad intention for me? Their ability to hide is now impossible. The best part of this is that there is no finger wagging about how I’m supposed to love everybody because God does. There is no inner pressure to forgive those who are not worthy of it lest God not forgive me. There is no admonition to put on a phony smile. There is complete validation of who I am and who and what is best for me and my spirit.

Oshun-1

4. Answers. I don’t just mean answered prayer. I mean real-time answers to real questions. I’m no longer sitting around wondering if what’s in my head is the real answer or if, in fact, I’m going to play the “Yes, No, Wait” game again. This has saved me literally hours of futile searching, kvetching, and worrying in reference to the most pressings things in my life. My eggun haven’t been wrong yet and something tells me they never will be. There has not yet been a need for me to convince myself that my confusion or curiosity is a part of the “mysterious ways” of the Creator.

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5. Kinship. This is arguably the most important part. Anyone who has studied the Bible will know the anecdote of when a pregnant Mary met up with the pregnant Elisheba (Elizabeth), mother of John The Baptist; the man who would grow to baptize Jesus. In this story, when the two pregnant women met up, Elisheba’s womb leapt. The meaning of the anecdote, or so it has been taught, is to note that even before birth, Jesus and John The Baptist knew that they would have a special relationship. I can relate. When I am communing with my eggun, my spirit bears witness. When I am petitioning Oshun, I feel it. The other night when it stormed and I was awakened and immediately began to petition Oya, I knew it wasn’t in vain. I said to my sister today that I feel that your spiritual beliefs should be as habituated to your spirit as your ear is to your mother’s voice. You don’t have to see your mother to know it’s her speaking. You know your mother.

AsheI’m not preaching and I don’t need anybody to preach to me. I can only relay what I’ve experienced and I can say that I feel freer now than I ever have before.

 Ashe

 

 

I’m Tired: My Thoughts on Child Suicide

When I was in 5th grade, there was a girl named Lacretia. She was rough around the edges. Well, as rough as a 5th grader can be. She made fun of people. She talked back to the teacher. She was academically lacking. She came from a dysfunctional family. She physically intimidated people she thought were weak. She was your classic bully.

One day, before Language Arts class, we were in the restroom. This was the day Lacretia decided to set her sights on me. I was in the stall handling my business and when I was done, I went to try to leave the stall and couldn’t open the door. Lacretia had put all her weight on the door and laughed as I kept trying to get out. What she didn’t know was that by 5th grade, I had been swimming competitively for two years and being a naturally broad-shouldered girl, and at that point, angry at her bullshit, I was able to move her and the door. That’s what I did. With all my might, I pushed the stall door and Lacretia went flying up against the tiled wall. The onlookers were in awe. I washed my hands and went on to class without uttering a word.

Lacretia never bothered me again. In fact, the next year, she matured and we even ended up friends.

Today, while scrolling FB, I came across this article. This little boy committed suicide because he was being bullied due to his weight. This is about the third report this week that I’ve seen about children resorting to suicide to escape constant bullying by their classmates and other peers. Then, there’s this report about how the number of children being admitted to the hospital due to suicide attempts has increased.

It is exhausting for me to think about the fact that there are people who are walking this earth and have developed feelings of such hopelessness before they even hit puberty. As adults, we know that life, while beautiful, comes with mountains of shit upon shit that we have to deal with on a regular basis. We know that everybody isn’t nice and won’t like us. And while I’m not opposed to children learning some of the harsher realities of life, I am crushed at the fact that any child has had such exposure to these mountains of shit and “not nice” souls that they feel that the only way out is to take their own life.

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I read these articles and the comments and they are filled with adults posting “RIP,” and “that’s so sad”, and “something needs to be done.” I wonder if they realize that it’s us, adults, who are the ones who must do “something.” Childhood is supposed to be mostly carefree besides fractions and dodge ball day. The reason that it’s becoming less and less so is because of us.

It’s not just the parents of the bullies who are messing up. It’s all adults who are failing to pick a side.

What do I mean?

Not only are we fostering environments where children grow to be callous to one another before they even know how to spell the word, but we’re also fostering environments where children feel they only have two options: bully or martyr.

This, in my humble opinion, is a problem. We know that children who are bullies weren’t just born that way and that behind their behavior is an adult who is probably bullying them. We know that children are not born hopeless and defeated, but that behind the scenes, there are adults who aren’t engaging with them in a way that exhorts them and affirms who they are. Interestingly, this is the case for both the bullies and the martyrs.

The side that adults are failing to pick is the side of the children.

We are failing to view children as whole individuals. We forget that children have egos, and souls, and spirits; and that they are filled with emotions, and thoughts, and worries just like we are. We forget that they have needs that go beyond clothing and shelter, and that, just like we want those in our life who claim to love us to nurture and protect those parts of us, children want the same thing.

Telling children to ignore hateful comments or that “sticks and stones may break [their] bones, but words will never hurt [them]” is irresponsible. Further, it’s a lie. There are words that will hurt 1,000 times worse than any stick ever could. The fracture of one’s spirit is the harshest break of all.

*shrug* I don’t have all the answers. But, I do know I’m tired.

The thing is, 10 year-olds shouldn’t be.

Don’t Give Broke People Rides: Wisdom That Has Not Failed Me Yet

***Disclaimer: when the Wayward Daughter was 20, she was a lot more tender-hearted. The events in this blog with today’s Wayward Daughter would have never happened because…I don’t give broke people rides.

When I was about 20, I had a friend. I had a car. She didn’t. One day, she asked me to take her to the grocery store. “Sure!” I was an enthusiastic 20yo who hadn’t figured out that most people are annoying and should be avoided at all costs. I didn’t mind taking her to the store because being 20, away at college, and having my own car was the bomb dot com. Plus, at 20, I was too stupid to know that driving sucks and the quicker you can get home and stay there, the better.

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We set off to the store. Once she got what she needed, she got back in the car and asked if I minded a “quick stop” to her cousin’s house to pick up “something.” The cousin just lived about “5 minutes away.” No prob, Bob! Off we went to the cousin’s house. My friend was the GPS. Next thing I know, we were getting on the highway. Um…that ain’t 5 minutes away.

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Finally, we arrive at her cousin’s house where she goes inside while I sit outside the house waiting for her to retrieve her “something” and come back out. Well, 20 minutes later, she re-emerged…with the cousin in tow. Apparently, he needed to “run up to 7-11 real quick” for some soda or something and wanted to know if I minded taking him. “Um, yeah,” I said through my teeth. The cousin was a little…street…so I decided it was best to play it cool. Take him to run his quick errand, drop him back off, and get the fuck out of there.

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We get to the 7-11 where, apparently, the cousin knows every single person who works there, hangs out outside of there, used to work there, and thinks it his duty to greet and chat with them all. A quick “run up” turned into a good 45 minutes because, “no, you can’t smoke in my car” and if that’s the case, “Imma’ smoke one out here real quick before we leave.”

Finally, we make it back to the cousin’s house where his two friends are waiting on him. He gets out, I start up the engine (remember, I was 20 and knew not the wiles of hood living; otherwise, I’d never have shut off the engine and given myself whiplash booking the fuck out of there as soon as his 2nd shoe hit the ground; I could count on physics to shut the door) as he was walking up the walkway. I put the car in gear just as my friend yells, “Hold on! He’s asking me something.” Yeah…he was asking her for another favor. He was asking the person who did not own and was not driving the car for another favor.

niggas are broke

This time, it was a trip to WalMart to get something for his mama. His friends start walking towards the car because apparently, their mamas needed shit too. They all hop in my backseat. I have to repeat my “no smoking” warning and one of the little pissants decides that just rolling down the window and propping his cigarette-holding arm on the door is the same as “no smoking.”

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By this time, I was fuming on the inside. Maybe an hour later, we get back to the cousin’s house where I stopped him mid-sentence while trying to ask me to cart him and his friends to a party further across town. Absolutely not! It was dark. I didn’t go to college in my hometown; not even my home state. This nonsense had begun at around 3pm that day and we were bordering on 7pm. I was pissed, tired, and HANGRY!!!

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I sped back to the campus, dropped my friend off, went to my dorm and never spoke to her again.

By the way, I received no gas money for any of these “errands” I helped people complete.

All that because I was being nice and taking my friend to the store.

From that day on, I decided that I would never again give broke people rides. You see, we know a few things to be true:

  1. Broke people are broke. If you aren’t broke or less broke, you probably have more than they do; or at the least, you likely have something they need.
  2. Broke people know how to survive.
  3. Survivors survive by using (operative word) anything at their disposal to get what they need and they don’t really give a damn if they have to go rogue, or in this case, rabidly impolite and shameless to get it.

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See, my friend had needed to go get “something” from her cousin’s house probably all week. I’m sure her cousin and his friends could have been gone to WalMart for their mamas if there was a true need. But, nobody had a car. By virtue of me being a car owner, I was a target from jump. Could the cousin have walked to the 7-11? Of course. I’m sure he had many times before. I’m sure that they’d all taken the bus to WalMart and wherever else they had to go hundreds of times. But when the opportunity arose to more easily get their needs met, they took advantage (operative phrase) of it.

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They didn’t care that I may have had other shit to do (I didn’t). They didn’t care that I may think them classless individuals who needed to take a course in etiquette (I did…and still do). They didn’t care if the gas they used up was the last gas I had for another week (it wasn’t). All they cared about was themselves. I wasn’t a person. I was a device for them to use for as long as they could.

And there it is. My rule against giving broke people rides has nothing to do with elitism or classism. It has nothing to do with thinking I’m better or above anyone. It’s about the fact that we all need to practice rogue self-preservation like the 5 individuals I was unfortunate to encounter that day.

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Since that day, I have been very selective of to whom I give a ride – in the name of self-preservation, of course.

 

 

 

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Who Is He? The 2020 Election Cycle Is A Flea Market

Well, it’s that time again! The time that, these days, never seems to not be “that time.” Elections. I can remember before He Who Shall Not Be Named won the 2016 presidential election, everybody was excited about the fact that Hillary was a sure bet to win.

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Here we are again but this time I think the collective excitement has waned.

I feel like how I felt when my AP English teacher had a heart attack on the first day of school and was temporarily replaced by another English teacher in the school who made us read and report on the longest books she could find. Eventually, we all found ourselves wondering why we couldn’t have just had a regular substitute who didn’t give a damn and at the 3-month mark, many of us became awfully religious and started praying that our regular teacher would recover. It wasn’t because we thought she would have been so much nicer but because she wasn’t the tyrant with whom we were stuck.

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Fast forward (way forward) to the 2020 election cycle, and just as I suspected, Tonald Frump’s (not an error) victory has convinced everybody who ever had more than 20 “likes” on a FB post that they, too, can be president.

Now, we have the regulars. The people we figured would run. You know, current politicians.

Elizabeth Warren, the white woman who did what every white person does when they want to make sure they aren’t a target of conversations about racism: claim Native American heritage.

Bernie Sanders, the guy who would have beat Trump in 2016 had it not been for…nevermind.

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Cory Booker.

Some white women politicians I don’t really know.

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This isn’t them…I don’t think. But they’re white so they’ll do.

Next, is Kamala Harris. Black people loved her when she was giving people the business in congressional hearings but now they hate her because when she was a prosecutor, she favored laws that punished criminals (or something like that…I’m still not clear about why we’re supposed to not like her). Also, she’s not Black anymore, her husband is white, and something about Wakanda.

There are a few other notables but then, we have random people who have decided that they are worthy of the Oval Office. We have a woman whose official job is “spiritual guru.” Apparently, she used to hang out with Oprah. Allegedly she’s down for reparations although I wouldn’t be surprised if she just wants to tell Black people to use Law of Attraction to get the back pay for all the work our ancestors did.

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There’s another guy who is a tech startup dude. He announced his candidacy before 2017 was up so he’s ON IT! He wants to give Americans $1k/mo. of guaranteed income as reparations for machines taking over jobs. That’s cute.

Then, there’s the mayor in Indiana that nobody (but the people in his city) have ever heard of before. He’s young, married, and gay. Kudos on your ambition and may the odds be ever in your favor, sir.

Let’s not forget Howard Schultz, CEO of Starbucks. He hasn’t officially announced but I don’t want to hear shit from him until he makes sure ALL of his baristas know what “breve” means and that handing someone one Splenda packet and no stir stick (I guess I’m supposed to stir with my middle finger) is a violation.

Lastly, there are all the famous people who have “toyed” with the notion of running for president like The Rock and Kanye West (whew chile).

must be crazy

While there’s nothing wrong with self-confidence, the fact that a short-order cook screwed up my eggs doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump over the counter, throw on an apron and start whipping up Hollandaise sauce and doing flambé.

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Further, I think that most of these people are in crisis mode and think that if someone doesn’t save us from  Eonald Rump (again, not a typo), we’re all set for the mass graves conspiracy theorists say exist. But, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that doing major shit out of fear is almost always a bad idea.

hoarders

Exclusive footage of the 2020 Democratic field of nominees.

Nonetheless, I wish the candidates luck.

 

 

 

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Elizabeth Warren: White People Are Never White When It’s Time To Address Racism

This week, Elizabeth Warren issued an apology to a Native American tribe when it was found out that on her bar registration in the 80s, she listed her race as “American Indian.” If you’ll recall, a couple of years ago, Warren declared herself Native American and Tronald Dump (intentional) made fun of her about it, much to the chagrin of many a Liberal.

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Maybe four months ago, after DNA testing, it was revealed that Warren is anywhere between 0.1 and 2% Native American at most (6-10 generations ago according to this report). I don’t recall what her reaction was at the time (and I’m not finna’ look because this is a blog, not a scientific journal) but I know I laughed like a humyena© (human + hyena…get it?!) and so did many people of beautiful brown hue because we knew what white people didn’t and that was that the results would turn out exactly as they did.

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Fast-forward to earlier this week. Warren issued a perfectly-timed apology for calling herself “American Indian” and I’m pretty sure it’s due to the speculation that she will throw her hat in the 1st-grade prize grab bag that is the Democratic race for the 2020 presidential election. Warren made a point to say that she was apologizing because tribes decide tribal citizenship. Those of you who can read between the lines know to chuckle and shake your damn head at that line.

The reason this is concerning is that whenever the topic of racism comes up, it’s white people’s natural default maneuver to claim some other heritage or religion to deflect their receipt of white privilege and deny that they have racist philosophies or have engaged in racist practices. The reason that Black people were not surprised when that DNA test blew up Warren’s spot was because 99% of us have been in conversations with white people about racism, prejudice, or inequality and heard them claim that they are actually “part” Native American (Cherokee…it’s ALWAYS Cherokee) (or Jewish) and therefore cannot be a party to racism because their pale, straight-haired, blue-eyed, aquiline-nosed selves aren’t even really white.

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I went to college in Oklahoma. By the end of my first year, I had gotten my fill of white people claiming Native American heritage to explain (without anybody asking them) why they were part of the minority scholarship class or were receiving some type of stipend to make their lives easier while in college. I would usually look at them and then walk away because I knew that it was all bullshit. Plus, I’m Black. I’m still owed reparations with interest in the names of the estates of my ancestors for building this place and making white people comfortable enough to pretend to be another race so they can continue to knock POC, particularly Black people, down several more pegs.

I also had a Black friend while I was in college. Her great-grandfather was at one time honored for his work as a Native American elder. I saw the pictures. He was a real Native American. She and her family had been trying to get their official standing within the tribe. They couldn’t…because they are Black.

See, here’s the thing: white people don’t realize how pervasive and insidious their anti-Blackness is. Their brand of anti-Blackness, where they don’t believe the treacherousness of their ancestors is still alive in them today, where they don’t want to hear how their past actions have negatively affected African-Americans generationally, where they even think they can be Black better than actual Black people, has seeped into the psyche of other races as well. That’s why my Black college friend couldn’t get her tribal membership approved (though she was the spitting image of her Native American ancestor), but Rebecca with the blue eyes and honey blonde curly perm could proudly state that she was Native American while knowing 0 actual Native American people, participating in none of the customs, celebrating none of the hallmarks, and speaking none of the languages. Even true non-white people are anti-Black and complicit (to varying degrees) in systemic racism against Black people.

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Back to Warren, not only was what she did dishonest, but it’s harmful. If I had to bet, Black people are some of the most “mixed” people on the planet (due to centuries of rape) but we don’t get to opt out of being Black when the circumstances don’t suit us. We don’t get to get the job at the 99% white tech startup by declaring we’re actually the 15% Anglo or 6% Chinese part of us. We don’t get to become 11% Greek before we walk into that job interview, or courtroom, or hospital so that we can have a better chance of a successful experience.

Further, if suddenly the visual standard of a race is the whitest with all the conveniences and privileges that come with that skin, where does that leave the authentic members of a race when it’s time to get real about systemic bias and change in virtually every industry in this world? What happens to Jacy Runningwolf when “Native American” now applies to Jessica Richardson, the random white woman who “pulled herself up by her bootstraps”? What happens to Tamika Jenkins when “Black” now applies to Susan Q. Whitewoman who has been able to step in front of more educated and experienced Black women all her life?

People

White people need to get real about race in this country and that includes giving up the game of Psychological Brown/Blackface they like to play to avoid being held accountable.