Congratulations Mr. & Mrs. Smith. You are the proud parents of a beautiful, bouncing baby girl. Raise her well.
And she grows and is trained in the things of God that would warrant a very positive and rewarding future if she continues to do as her mother incessantly pronounces, “Naw, naw, naw, baby girl, you got to be holy through here”. That followed by her grandmother’s words to live by, “Baby, God is Awesome!”.
And she grows and she attracts boys because she’s beautiful and girls because she’s popular and babies because she’s fun. She notices how society passes off good as evil and right as wrong as two left shoes and what is really wrong with two left shoes since the world is going to the left, to the left hemisphere of social irresponsibility and spiritual abandonment but she remembers, “Naw, naw, naw baby girl, you got to be holy through here”. She can’t get with the dapping, leaning sistas and the twitching, curtsying brothers who, in concert, have allowed others to convince them that their behavior is due to a genetic malfunction and they have no control over their sexual orientation but controlled orientation is how they got there. A little bit of this and a little bit of that until the little bit of this and that blossoms into a bold much, too much to be purged before a pattern is set. Now they’re trapped, confused and…liking it.
And she grows and she attracts men because she’s beautiful and women because she’s popular and youth because she’s fun. And she faintly remembers "Naw, naw, naw baby girl, you got to be holy through here-
comes the games that people play to be popular by outwardly proclaiming what they are not until they become what they have professed only to realize that it’s not like it is on the big screens of Hollywood…Ooops. Now how does she get out of this madness that once was popular but now she doesn’t like it. She’s too ashamed to stay in but too messed up to get out.
And she grows and finds herself in the throngs of admirers of ill repute and suddenly realizes that she has become what she despised. “What is that thing that momma use to say?”…Naw, naw, Naw she can’t remember and she can’t call home because she pushed her parents away because they were judgmental as sin and she knows she has become the sin they judged. Now she hates everything about her, everybody around her and she’s having thoughts of suicide, homicide and genocide. Suicide to rid herself of herself because she hates what she’s become. Homicide to kill those she allowed to introduce her to what was socially acceptable and spiritually rejected and genocide to kill the children born because of it. Naw, naw, …she thinks hard as she remembers choosing a party over revival. She felt good living her own life, calling her own shots ..in the middle of the night, hovering in a corner hoping the bullets without favorites don’t come her way. She asks herself "What am I doing here?‘. She’s living and doing her and doing her is doing her in. She thinks she’s too young to be tied down to the Old Testament of someone else’s unfulfilled desires and too old to be reinvented by the New Testament of long awaited promised and threats.
And she grows and finds herself carrying a pillowcase choked full with attitude to lay her burdens down on ‘cause she’s got that right. She’s got the right to be angry because she was left by the man she gave her heart to. Left with confusion, hurt, anger and resentment because she gave to so many what she knew they were incapable of giving back, She’s got the right to be leftwinged in her thoughts because it makes her an individual. Singing..“I am woman, watch me roar!”…She’s got a right to exercise her left brain existence because that’s just the way it is. She’s got the right to tell it from the rooftop like Snoopy, the pet, and then lay on her back all day with her legs in the air like Snoopy, the dog, needing her itching ego to be scratched. She’s got a right to be angry because she didn’t ask for this… but she allowed it to be the answer. She’s angry because she can’t scratch the itch of her adult past, the itch of her present and she’s dreading the scars in her future that will come from the itches she could not reach.
No matter how well she dresses, when she looks in the mirror she sees the true reflection of her existence. Tasteless like the drug chlorophide, classless because the school of hard knocks is teaching her nothing useful for a future she is certain she is living now. In her drunken, drug induced stupor, she again recalls what her Granny would always say when she was a little girl.. “Baby, God is Awesome”. But now with her speech slurred, her state of mind in a miasma, her chemical maladjusted presence, she murmurs, “Baabeee, Gods is Awful”. As she chuckles and staggers and stumbles, she’s looking for a place to lean. She leans against a brick wall that matches what her heart, her hopes and her head have become. She slides down the wall and only remembers hearing footsteps slowing, footsteps stalling, footsteps turning away from her. She hears more footsteps that stop where she is. She’s rendered defenseless by the pick me up she snorted that put her down. Her arm is being pulled. She’s being lifted and encouraged to walk. Then she’s being carried. Her plea of “Please don’t kill me”, doesn’t make it past her thoughts and… she… awakens. She awakens in a king sized bed beneath her body and a feathered down pillow beneath her head and she smells…she smells… cooking? She eats but can’t remember the last time her breakfast wasn’t inhaled and her dinner wasn’t drank.
And she grows, and life for her continues. She compells them to let their past and their present contribute to their future but not be the sum total of it. She says, “Naw, naw, naw, you got to be holy through here”.
She attracts men not just because she’s beautiful, and women not just because she’s popular and youth not just because she’s fun. She attracts them because now… she’s anointed.
Baby, God is Awesome!!!!