Category Archives: WTF

Oh Hair We Go!

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A male friend (who wears locs), commented on a New York Times article regarding US Surgeon General, Dr. Regina Benjamin. The article titled “Surgeon General Calls for Health Over Hair” was commentary on how studies revealed a third of Black women exercised less because they were concerned it would jeopardize their hair. That of these women, 88 percent did not meet the CDC’s guidelines for physical activity, which is 150 minutes of moderate intensity exercise each week, or about 20 minutes a day. What pissed me off were his ending comments…

…
Are you one of these sisters? Real talk. Whether you rock a curly hawk or a sew-in special, we honor and respect you. Now get your sneakers and go sweat your perm out! With such an awesome task ahead of her, our hair should not have to be on Dr. Benjamin’s radar. And let’s be clear, this is not a School Daze – straight hair, natural conversation. This is a show-your-daughter-that-sweat-is-your-swagga-and hair-ain’t-your-dagger-conversation. A new priority. A paradigm shift.

I am not commenting on the merits/demerits of the surgeon general’s or the journalist’s comentary (Black women are fat ’cause they got their hair did), but on his.

You have NO idea how it pisses me the fuck off that it’s always the people with wash and wear hair and others who don’t have to deal with our hair every day always telling us what the fuck to do concerning it.

I don’t know any woman who goes to the gym regularly and only does twenty minutes of “moderate” exercise. For those of us that go to a gym to work out, WE WORK OUT. For me, if I’m not doing at least forty minutes on the floor, it’s not worth the time of changing into my sweats. Once my hair gets funky from sweating it’s funky for hours until it eventually peters out or I wash it. I planned my gym days around when I had time to at least damp wash (which is an extra maintenance time unto itself), if not to fully wash my hair.

My hair is thick, when I had it permed bone straight it took three hours to dry naturally. Yes, it only took about an hour with a blow dryer, plus whatever additional curling time if desired, but no woman in her right mind, is going to damage her hair by blow-drying it two or more times a week, every week. Not if she wants to keep her hair. And here’s the irony, even women with a weave need to have some hair to weave it to, so we can’t damage our natural hair underneath by blow-drying it constantly. Even a loctician will tell customers not to heat dry the hair, because it’s damaging. So I need to wait it out.

I currently wear braids, once wet it takes considerably more time to dry than when straight, especially if I want it curled. Even the weather affects drying time. I have washed my hair at 7pm on cold damp days and woke up the next morning at my usual 5am only to find it still damp. Every spring and fall, I risk catching colds for this reason alone. I’ve asked and a lot of my sistas wearing whose hair is long in twists, dreads and locks have similar drying time issues.

A few years ago, I wore my hair in an all-natural Afro for three months one summer. I’m not going to comment on all the societal-political ramifications from such, that’s a blog for another day, but it was the most miserable time I’ve ever had with my hair. If the wind blew strong, it was messed-up. If I leaned back in a tall chair or on the subway, it was messed-up. If I wore a hat, or pushed my sunglasses up, it was messed-up. And like most women, different parts my hair grow and behave differently than others, so sometimes it was just messed-up. I felt I was always in a mirror checking it, making sure it was nicely rounded and I don’t have time in my life for that kind of vanity.

I’m single with adult children, so I have no demands on my after work time except the ones I put on me. However, I can tell you from experience that there are not enough hours to work, commute, run errands, be mom-wife-girlfriend-lover as is, in a day. Going to the gym meant something else was being put off until another time, or I was in for a very late night. If I just spent half of my day (usually a Saturday, twice a month, when I should have been doing something else), in a salon for four or five hours and spent serious dollars for the privileged to boot, you’re fucking right I’m going to try to maintain that look for as long as possible. Even women with locs/twists have to take time to get to a loctician every couple of months or so for maintenance and I guarantee you, they are not likely to be doing ‘moderate’ exercise, let alone a full-on work out for a few days after that until it sets.

Should our hair not be an issue (read excuse), for exercise? No, it should not be, I fully concede to that, but let’s be real. Even for the regular exercise enthusiasts, the majority of the day is not spent in the gym and we have to deal what we look like when we’re not in it. We may not care what the average stranger on the street thinks, but it’s bullshit to pretend the average woman is not, on even a subconscious level, thinking about how she presents herself. And it’s equally disingenuous to pretend we’re not being measured, if not outright judged on it, down or rather up to our hair, even by the people whose opinions we may care about — our own friends, co-workers and families.

To him I say: You are not the one having to take more time out of your schedule because of return trips to the salon (or home maintenance), to get that do back in order for the next day. A month from now when your comments are relatively forgotten and you’re greeting – hugging – standing next to a woman and her hair is smelly as all get out, at that moment, you are not going to be thinking check out Sistagirl taking care of her health. You’re going to be thinking damn her hair’s funky!

We’ve all scrunched-up our noses at the woman who otherwise looked fine, but the hair wasn’t up to par and that was before we were close enough to smell it. In a perfect world every woman would look fab in whatever style that washed and dried in no time, but it’s not a prefect world. These are our realities and belittling it down to pithy sound bites because it’s not your hair apparent reality doesn’t help (our hair or our fat asses for that matter).

It Will Never Be Funny

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“Nazi’ing”?!  Nazi’ing? Are you fucking shitting me?!

I saw the above on a friend’s Facebook page and had to comment.

You want to ask yourself if they have no idea of what they do. For a split-second, you’re praying they really were just that ignorant as to what they do. But the fact they created a tumblr blog page for this is indicative of their blatant complicity in it. There is no reconciliation of how culpable the Bang Bang Blog and TUKS FM radio station were for this. The non-chalant way in which this was displayed was appalling to say the least.

“Planking” and “Owling”, be they ever so marvelous examples of how inane some of us humans can be, there is relatively no harm to any one other than the individuals engaged in the stupid acts. These acts of nazi’ing insulted millions of people in one fell swoop. Millions. We have come so far in humanity and then shit like this rears its ugly head to remind us of just how far it is we have to go. We will never be far enough removed from such atrocities of humanity as the Holocaust that this will ever be in the most remote way possible humorous. The term Nazi became something foul as a noun due to the acts of many who wore that title proudly, it should never be a verb.

The good news is apparently enough people were as outraged as I about this. I did a Google search and the above page is gone. It is replaced by rexing (I’m guessing doing something that impersonates a T-Rex by the photo). Rexing is something as equally stupid looking and relatively harmless, as planking and owling, but not as reprehensible as the above.  There is some hope for us, after all, but the shame of it is that this ever existed as a source of humor (however briefly), in the first place.

Got MILF?

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Got Milf? by Sarah Maizes
Got MILF? by Sarah Maizes

Got Milf?: The Modern Mom’s Guide to Feeling Fabulous, Looking Great, and Rocking A Minivan.

According to the Amazon.com Product description:

YOU’RE EITHER A MILF OR YOU’RE A MILF-DUD. TAKE YOUR PICK. 

For thousands of years, women have been expected to hang up their “hotness” once they had kids. They disappeared behind their families and the dashboards of minivans…Until now! Whether sporting a cardigan and jeans, sweats or a business suit, today’s Mom is a shining example of confidence, poise, and age-defying beauty. Even as she juggles carpool, PTA, and the demands of the office, or shrieks, “GET IN THE TUB, NOOOWWW!”, she’s pretty darn hot.

Really? No, REALLY?!?!?

In all fairness, I do get the point Ms. Maizes is attempting to make. That a woman should not feel that she is somehow less attractive just because she became a mother. She’s still a beautiful woman (can’t you all but hear the regardless inserted there), and she should never lose sight of it. I get that. What annoys the hell out of me is her so subtle title choice to get her point across.

To be or not to be a MILF? Ain’t that a question!  Because, yes, if there is one descriptive above all others that I want my accomplishments to be expounded upon, it’s via the use one of the most objectifying adjectives for a female, straight out of internet porn.

I’m guessing referring to a female parent as a Mother I’d Like to Love is far too hard to change into an acronym and pronounce, but I digress.  American Pie brought the lovely phrase MILF (acronym for Mother I’d Like to Fuck for those who truly don’t know), to the mainstream lexicon, but the phrase, as well as mothers worthy of garnering sexual attraction have existed long before then. Stacy’s mom (80’s song reference), was definitely one. Mrs. Robinson (The Graduate) was one. Hell, if you go by the bible (and Cecil B. DeMille’s), depiction, so was Nefretiri. But I bet you wouldn’t have called any of them a MILF to their faces without immediately receiving a backhand to yours. Nowadays, a woman is not a decent mom if she does not wear her MILF t-shirt proudly. Oh wait, no decent MILF worth her cardigan would be caught dead wearing one.

And here’s the kicker… If you think about it, this book is aimed at mothers of children middle school age and younger. So, where does that place us mothers of college graduates? What about the mothers of very adult children? Are we suddenly relieved of the pressures of looking sex worthy once the kiddies are safely past adolescence? Wait, I think there is a term, what does it say above? Oh yeah… Milf-duds. Aaaah, don’t we feel so much better about our station in life now? I guess we can go back to using our brains to get by as we won’t have much of anything else going for us in the looks by then.

As if what the average mother needs -after her teenager has compared her to Satan for insisting that homework get done, as the middle-child brings in a very feral looking stray for pet potential, just as the little one swipes the cell phone and presses the end call button on her boss – is something telling her she also needs to look like a Hollywood starlet while doing it.

Take your PHDs down and put your FMPs on, it’s all about the hawtness baby.

/rant – sarcasm drip – major eye rolling

Who is a Man?

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New York Times article “What is a Man”?

El’Jai Devoureau was not born a man, so fucking what? Look at him. Yes, I said “him”.  Because if I passed Devoureau on the street I would not have questioned his maleness.  I guarantee  none of the males utilizing the drug testing facilities questioned  it either.  They did what they had to do. Mr. Devoureau did his job and that was that.  No one had an issue with him doing his job on that first day until the employer made it one by firing him on the second day.

Devoureau’s employer “heard” he was transgendered and asked if he had surgery, because only “men” are allowed to perform this particular job.  WTF?!  Is she even allowed to ask such a question legally? If she had had not heard Devoureau was transgendered would she have asked? Was any previous male in that position asked to verify their manhood before taking the job? Or did she take their masculinity at face value? El’Jai rightfully declined to answer the question because it was a private matter (aka nunya effin’ bizness), and was fired for it.

The state of Georgia where he was born recognizes him as a man. The state of New Jersey where he lives and holds his driver’s license recognizes him as a man. Hell, the federal government via the Department of Social Security recognizes him as a man.  What is the issue here?

This is hardly the first time someone transgendered was fired from their employment because of their identity. Though apparently this the first time a case takes on the question of a transgendered person’s chosen sex. There are the rare discrimination cases out there, but most settle out of court and I can fully understand.  Why is it whenever anyone has to fight for their right to do (or in this case be) something in the courts of law they must have all of their personal business dragged through the public to do so?  Everything in such court cases places the person under a very hot spotlight and few want to go through that.

“They were judging me for who I am, not for the job I was being asked to do, and that’s wrong, and I was hurt,” he said. “I’m doing this so everyone knows it’s wrong, so it doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

It’s a damn shame that even if he wins this case (which I think he will),and wins his job back at the drug testing facility  his fight is hardly over. You just know there are going to be the “uncomfortable” to the downright hateful who will do their damnedest to make his job miserable. Still, the fight has to start somewhere and I say bravo for Mr. El’Jai Devoureau for being willing to bring this out to verdict, knowing his privacy is soon going to become very public, and not settling out of court.

Who is a man? El’Jai Devoureau. Fight on dude.

Get That Nigger Out of There!

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Oh Yeah!  Twitter has been all-abuzz today and for a very good reason.

It seems new copies of Huckleberry Finn will eliminate the word “nigger” from its editions in order to be less offensive.  What. The. Fuck.

Now that I find offensive!

Changing “nigger” to “slave” is about as historically accurate and intelligent as saying that thousands of blacks fought for the Confederacy. In case you are confused, yes, thousand of blacks did fight for the Confederacy, and now you understand while historically accurate, how completely misguided that was.

I read Huckleberry Finn as a pre-teen and even at that age I understood, that the writing was a reflection of the mindset of what was acceptable of that period.  If I could figure that out at ten, do the publishers of this revised nonsense, think current readers will not be smart enough to get it?  Or that the teachers intelligent enough to trust their charges with such material will not be able to discuss why such a word was allowed to exist in the first place with them? If a student is uncomfortable saying the word out loud in class, that’s one thing, removal of the word all together hurts the learning experience.

Is the word despicable? Yes, it is.  It is necessary to keep it in the book? Yes, it is.  Never mind that by trying to remove the word nigger from a classic piece of literature as though it has never existed, you give it the very power and offense you think you’re trying to take away. You defeat the point of why it was in the novel in the first place.  Mark Twain was one of the pioneers in the use of local vernacular in literature. He was trying to give an account of the language and culture of the people of the time of the novel. Revising the book does not change the culture known to have existed then regarding Blacks. And please note, I did not say African-Americans, a term some (arguably) claim is revisionist in itself, (nigger/negro > colored > blacks > African-American), but that’s another argument.

So thank you publishers! Thank you for not even giving us the chance to think it out for ourselves. After all these years the book has existed, we’re obviously much too stupid to be trusted to understand such now. Because yes, my life will be so drastically uplifted now that “N” word will be removed.  Oh but damn, wait, I read the book in its original text, I know the word is in there whatever am I to do? Can the publishers come and remove all traces of it from my mind as well?

While you’re at it publishers, let’s just grab all the books everywhere and wipe out all the niggers we see. Hell, let us just re-write American history all together.  Turn us all into that asshat faction that wanted to convince the world that the Holocaust never existed.  Anne Frank was fictional character made up to gather sympathy to the gullible. You can say – oh, I don’t know – slavery here in the New World was just a a precursor to the modern-day scam those Nigerians are notorious for even to this day.  The Civil War was just a tiff among the household domestic that got a little out of hand.

I suppose all the Ebonics will be revised next, wouldn’t want people to think the niggers -er- slaves had no command of proper English while out in the fields or in the Big House.

* Rolls eyes  and pulls out a copy of The Catcher in the Rye*

Hard Black Women

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“Why are Black women so damn hard? I don’t have time for their crap!”

Warning I’m venting…

I feel that most Black American women have had the wonderful pleasure of dealing with two layers of oppression: racism and sexism for the majority of their lives.   That can make anyone “hard”, tough,  especially if you feel you constantly have to “fight” just to come close to being on a level playing field. It sucks to have to go out into the world, face one or both “isms” in your professional time, then go out and face the same isms  in your personal time. This has been the plight of most Black American women in just about every era of this country’s history.

Does this mean Black women have an excuse to be negative? Absolutely not.
Does it explain why our collective psyche varies from Black women from other nations? Somewhat.

If we dress sexy, we are upholding the Black woman as sexual stereotype passed down from the slave masters, who used us as sex toys, when we had so much choice in the matter and then label us as promiscuous and whores for our troubles. .If we dress more conservatively, we’re accused of dressing like old ladies or a *gasp!* church girls, as though that is a bad thing.

If we are up on the latest street fashions, know the difference between Lil Wayne and T-Pain on sight and can neck roll with the best of them, we’re low-class and/or ghetto. Yet if we speak proper English, have clue as to how to set a proper dinner table and actually know the lyrics to songs played on non-“urban” radio stations, then we’re “Bourgie” (slang for bourgeois) or “Oreos”.

Who we are, who we have been, and who we want to be has all been influenced by our collective experiences. We cannot change that. Individually, we try to take different approaches, but collectively, our struggle is unique. We have had to (and continue to struggle with), defining what femininity and womanhood means to us; especially in relation to our men. Being a Black Woman in America often means defining our womanhood through our relationship to men in general, but Black men in particular.  In addition, all too often, the onus of responsibility falls on the Black woman and the finger pointing turns to us. We don’t raise our males correctly. We are not walking away from the abuse. We keep accepting the bullshit and so on and so on…

I don’t think I’m harder on men, specifically Black men. If anything, at times I think I’m not hard enough on some as I accept so much bullshit in various forms of oppression from “brothers” without consequence or recourse, that it all but destroys my spirit, all for the sake of being “loyal”.  This loyalty, innately expected of us as Black women, regrettably is one that is not often reciprocated in kind. This seems to be even more heart-breakingly true of my generation and the generations coming up. THAT, if anything, is what wears us down… makes us angrier than others, sadder than others, more depressed than others, etc.

Yet THE MOMENT we stand up for ourselves — we are hard, we are cold, we are “the bitch”; the ball breakers; the misandrists.

Females are taught from an early age to grow up and get married. Being in a relationship (preferably married), means at least one someone wants you (what’s love got to do with it? -as Tina would sing).  Therefore being single is to be deemed undesirable by anyone.  And the longer the woman is single, obviously, the more undesirable she must be – right?  Now add in being fat and oh yeah – Black.

Another problem… Black women rarely speak to anyone other than other Black women about this. Women who are more than likely also swimming in the same muddied waters.  The advice from many of our matriarchs whether by words or by actions, was to just deal with it. “A single man is over forty a confirmed bachelor. A single woman over forty is a shame.” Yeah, more lovely pearls of bullshit dropped into my once young ears.

Instead of coming to the defense of our fellow sisters of color, who speak out, many of us that raise our voices, often find ourselves stuck between a rock and a hard place alone. Because there is some invisible code of honor not to OUT our current public status of being too much to deal with. We are “airing dirty laundry”. How the fuck is it ever supposed to get clean then, if we can’t even acknowledge the fact the track marks exist?

As women in general, we’re raised to believe, it is expected of us to be so loyal with our men. We accept it. We suffer in silence for want/need of a man. We wear a smile and act like it is okay. We hold a great deal of our hurts and thoughts inside. We hold it in for as long as we can, and then lash out. If the relationship doesn’t survive, we’re now once bitten-thrice shy with the next soul, who inadvertently may suffer the penance of another man’s sins.   It’s generally unspoken, but that expectation of loyalty is even higher with Black woman in a relationship with a Black man.

Still, because he is a Black man, and I am a Black woman, I am supposed to be instantly all ready to drop my drawers (and you can’t begin imagine how much I abhor that word as synonym for underwear), simply because he decided my name is “Baby gurl/Mami/Boo” and wants to talk to me. If he wants a moment to see if I’m worthy of his body, why am I not afforded the same courtesy? If I give in too early, I am an easy lay/skank/freak and men don’t buy the cow if they can get he milk for free. If I make you notice my worth by waiting, I’m “playing” hard-to-get, or I’m gold digging and why should you work for it when there’s always someone more willing around the corner.  I’m punished whether I’m Madonna or Mary Magdalene.

Many women of color state having difficulty-finding mates of any color due to issues many in general state about American women of color. Some men take the rejections or run-ins with some Black women that they experienced (and I won’t lie – the are some negative ones out there), and then use it to color how they view all Black women. The men who complain the most about Black women being low class/ghetto – gold-digging/bourgeois (note the contrasts), are also quick to write off  my entire racial gender with impunity and never look beyond their own negative stereotyping. They are so content to push all women of color into one, maybe two, shallow categories and never see the reality: that we are so much more.

Yet these same men would never think of writing off another entire racial/ethnic gender as a whole due to a few negative experiences. For these men, other women are given the chance to have their actions and how they present themselves judged on an individual basis … but most Black women, it seems, are not afforded this courtesy. And it is a damned shame.

The beauty we admire on most classic statues is due to someone taking the time to painstakingly whittle/smooth away what’s seen on the surface and expose the warm exquisiteness within.

Do most Black Women have thick skin? We have to, to protect our hearts, minds, souls, selves.  But we are so worth the time and effort to the one who sticks with us long enough to get to our cores and find out.

Is My Sister My Keeper?

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I hate it when one fat woman makes all the rest of us fat women look bad.

I was at a bus stop and heard this from a woman passing-by, speaking on her cell phone to someone else. While I do get the spirit in which the statement was meant, I found the actuality of it galled me. I mean was she (the presumed offensive woman)…

• being loud and obnoxious?
• wearing some major fashion faux pax (at least in the speaker’s eyes)?
• jolly (hey, there are some who really would think this a bad thing)?
• *gasp!* eating a croissant on the bus? (I have a few friends who will get that.)

When the Anderson/Lee tape was all the rage, did their actions reflect on every Hollywood couple out there? No. Well, I’m sure Tommy Lee was more than happy to be living proof as one of the exceptions to the rule about a certain stereotype, but I digress…

When Camryn Manheim appears on the red carpet looking magnificent, does it magically elevate all the rest of us fatties? Uh, no.

People constantly fight for their individualism, but are then grouped together and painted with the broad brush of one person’s actions. In a world a gazillion-plus fat woman, it’s a ridiculous conceit to think my actions will impact each and every other fat woman out there.

What sin was so egregious by this anonymous fat woman that her actions have now painted every living fat woman in existence with that stigma? After all, by this woman’s theory (the one speaking on the cell phone) she, I (and Camryn Manheim) now look bad through no fault of our own. So, how do we rectify it? Exactly, we can’t. As though we don’t already have enough on our already overfull plates! (Pun fully intended.) Each fat gal now has to also remember each and every thing we say/do/wear/think will reflect on every other fat gal out there.

But hey, no pressure…

‘She has…cleavage!’ Gasp!

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“The networks exclaimed, ‘She has…cleavage!’ Gasp!” the blog post states.

ABC and FOX Censor Lane Bryant Commercial
http://www.adweek.com/aw/content_display/news/e3i9d00b780a7553c2192d61a976986d33a

You can view the ad for yourself here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMxyZQfMmM4

Before now, the closest we ever came to seeing a plus-sized models in bras on TV it was for Playtex. I have absolutely nothing against Playtex, after all, I have worn my fair share of them when nothing else could properly support me. Still, while having some pretty bras on occasion, the brand is not exactly known for bringing on the sexy for us big gals. Thanks to Lane Bryant we finally, FINALLY have not just a bra, but an actual lingerie commercial featuring plus-sized (by industry standard) models and this flak is the result.

Kudos to Lane Bryant for not just standing up, but also speaking up openly about this!
From Lane Bryant’s Inside Curve official blog:

ABC restricted our airtime and refused to show the commercial during “Dancing with the Stars.” Fox demanded excessive re-edits and rebuffed it three times before relenting to air it during the final 10 minutes of “American Idol,” but only after we threatened to pull the ad buy.

Yes, these are the same networks that have scantily-clad housewives so desperate they seduce every man on the block, and don’t forget Bart Simpson, who has shown us the moon more often than NASA, all in what they call “family hour.”

Apparently it is perfectly fine to air an entire hour of Victoria Secret’s fashion shows on TV during “family hour” but a less than 30 second commercial featuring woman with more meat on their bodies than Vickie’s “Angels” is taboo?!

As one of my lovely friends pointed out on Facebook “but Rai, you have to understand… it’s not that she’s underclothed… her body is inherently obscene. :p.” “Plus, she should be ashamed of her body, not confident and sexy!!! duh.” Yes, that was said with full dripping sarcasm. I can all but see the eyeroll as she typed it.

But sarcasm aside, she has a point. HOW DARE WE!

How dare we be *GASP!*:

• Happy!
• Confident!
• Sexy!

And not just unashamed but boastful of, our as my cousin said, “Dangerous Curves”.

You’re damn right it’s dangerous! It’s a bunch of fat girls prancing around in their undies! Scandalous! What’s the worst that can happen? That more people start to realize there is more than one type of beauty in the world? Whatever will the diet industry and fashion magazines do?

Don’t believe me? You obviously haven’t been to The Adipositivity Project‘s website.

Come on ABC and FOX come and censor THAT.

HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?

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Seven Year-Old Girl Pimped-out at Party by Step-Sister
and Gang Raped

To say I was speechless upon first reading this article is an understatement. I have oscillated between pure rage, pure sorrow and depressed resignation since I first read it, over a week ago. My head realizes what has happened, but my heart simply cannot process this.

Yes, the step-sister bares a magnificent portion of the blame here. She was fifteen-years-old.  Not a legal adult by law to make the decision to prostitute herself on her own, but obviously old enough to know what she was doing. The social and moral wrongs of her own acts are not debatable; she was wrong. What she did/allowed to be done to her little step-sister is so beyond wrong there really is not an adjective to aptly put this in any perspective.  However, as much as I put the share of blame on her for what happened, she was not the only person at that party.  No matter which way I turn this I keep coming back to one question infallible question to the men involved in this:

How Could You?

The statutory rape of the fifteen-year-old girl was disgusting enough. Granted she was officially prostituting herself, but you – however much/little you paid for her services, you were raping her.  However old you are above or below the age of consent, how could you have even thought about wanting to, let alone actually do the brutal act of, inserting your penis into the vagina of a seven-year-old child?  Where in the depravity called your mind (because you obviously have no soul) did you take a look at this child and thought to yourself that this was something good? You deserve to spend the rest of your life as a eunuch.

According to the reports, there were at least a dozen people at this party.  My God, what form of hell had this seven-year-old doled-out in a past life that she should be so punished in this one? To be led, by her own step-sister, to an abandoned apartment full of misogynistic, depraved individuals, to be gang raped?  What kind of culture is it where not even one person in that room thought it was wrong and left to call the police?  Not one person ONE FUCKING PERSON in that room simply said “No.”.  Whether they took part in it, or turned a blind eye to the event, they are all perpetrators in this crime and all culpable.

The ONLY good news in this will be the penal system. Even a prison system has its bottom of the social barrel, and that is those who mess with children.  We won’t hear about it, and if even one iota of prison stories are true, we won’t want to hear about it. We never know how it gets out, but information about child molesters/rapists always gets out in the penal system and when it does…

…Let’s just say justice, for this seven-year-old child, will be served.

And now what…?

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I was putting out my garbage for the morning pickup when I heard all this ruckus going on behind me where my neighbor’s car is parked in a sort of open area between buildings used as  a driveway. It was seven teenaged-boys at least sixteen years of age fighting. Rather, I should say, four were throwing some serious punches; one was counting numbers and laughing at the fighting with another boy.  I was a little familiar with the basic concept of this. The ones doing the beating only had to the count of one hundred to do whatever they wanted to do to the one getting beat and then they had to stop. Depending on how much the one getting beat was disliked it could a semi-fast count or a really slow one.  If anything interrupted the fight, even if the count was already at ninety-nine, the count had to restart from the beginning. If the ones doing the beating had mercy they could choose to reduce the recount to fifty or twenty-five. My first thought was boys (even ones more than big enough to know better) will be boys.

It’s near 6pm in the evening; I didn’t see any one coming or going on my short block, I did not have my cell on me and above all I was out-numbered by males a lot younger than I. In all honesty , I wouldn’t have gotten involved at all except, this was happening on the property of my apartment building and they were too close to my neighbor’s car. There was a school yard a block away, if they wanted to fight over whatever stupidness it was about, take it over there. Then I saw the seventh one who was getting beat.

He was not a teenager; this boy could not have been older than twelve at the most.  The smallest of the teenagers doing the beating had a good six inches and at least twenty pounds on him and there were four of them.  At this point I forgot about my neighbor’s car. I was worried about the child balled up in a near-fetal position against the fence.

“What the hell are you doing? Get away from him!” I yelled. Luckily for the child the count had just reached a hundred and the teenager counting had called for the break before I yelled. My trying to help could have made it worse for him as I only remembered about the recount rule after I was back in my apartment.

“Yo, mind yo business!” The counter sucked his teeth.

“Boy, don’t even try to act all man up now. You and your friends are beating up on one child nearly half your age. You get no cred for that.” I stared him down, “Besides, you’re on my building property; it is my business.”

If he or his friends were going to say or do anything else; it was cut short by a teen-aged girl who appeared and called him stupid and pretty much said what I was saying.  However she said it, it was enough to get him to relent.  Just then, one of my other neighbors came running out brandishing a baseball bat, and stopped short when he saw me.  From the side window of his apartment he saw the four boys beating up on the one and came down for that, but I was in front of the building out of his line of vision,  he never saw me out there. Not that it would have stopped him.  We all gave each other evil stares as the five of the teenage boys and the girl passed, but no one said anything.  The fifth teenager was trying to help the kid, but drew back when the kid yelled to get the fuck off.  He and the sixth teenager stepped to the side as the boy came out. He was limping, and his face was going to be a series of bruises by the morning, but seemed otherwise alright. I started towards him, but he looked at me with such malice, I stepped back just as I felt my neighbor’s hand on my shoulder about to pull me back. We both watched as this boy limped away in the company of the last two teenager.  I’m not one hundred percent sure but, I believe as they passed, I heard one of the teenagers say to the other that the kid had guts and took it well.  Took it well? What the fuck? The beat down was on purpose?

I can’t swear on it, but I believe what I witnessed was something known as being “jumped in”.   This child purposely let himself get wailed on as a gang initiation rite. If this is true, I am even more scared of that child’s future than I was of what I saw.