Beat-Boxing the Baby
In no way am I supporting child abuse but having rode the NYC subway I know for a fact that there are some bad ass kids in need of a beating…ah…I mean spanking. I don’t mean anything excessive just a few love taps to communicate the importance of not putting your ass in grandma’s face, not blasting your music when God and Sony made headphones for a reason and not telling your friends and the entire world how well you can f*ck when you just got your period and your first pubic hair last week. The Super is old enough (won’t say how old) that I come from a generation where Time Out wasn’t invented, and if you disrespected or in any way disobeyed your parents, there was a strong possibility that your parents might put you in a headlock followed by a suplex. On more than one occasion when I was young my mother snatched me up so hard that I found my feet dangling five inches off the floor. What’s up mama! Was it something I said?
Let me apologize right now to my mother for revealing her, “it’s my way or the highway” or “I put you on this earth and I will take you out” parenting style to the entire web. I only bring this up now because all over the news is the scandal that mega church Pastor Creflo Dollar might end up in Sing Sing because he hit (choked) his child. I don’t know the story behind it and I don’t need the press release, but the incident inspired a question in me. Apparently the teenager defied her parents and as a result her father went ape shit…I mean… got angry and gave the child a beatdown she won’t soon forget. Some folks applauded his actions while the other half condemned him for being a bully. To my readers, riddle me this, in a time when kids have gone wild and parents have lost control of their kids, is it right or wrong for parents to make their parental point by balling their fingers into fists?
As a parent, is it acceptable to climb into the ring to beat-box your toddler or teenage baby until they tap the mat in surrender and give?
Tags: child abuse, children, creflo dollar, discipline, parenting
Barren or Baby?
The Super has no babies, no bambinos, no chile and no children. My mama is a granny without a single grandchild to her name. When I was getting educated she rejoiced in my childlessness and would tell anyone who would listen that I was pursuing perfection and had no time for a passel load of kids. Fast forward a decade or so and now my mother would borrow, steal and beg if I would give her something— anything, brown and fat and just under 8 pounds.
The Super is not barren; kids are possible. For me the timing just hasn’t been right. Sometimes I have the penis in my life to make a baby happen and sometimes I don’t. My dilemma is that time is running out. I’m not a hundred years old, but forty, which was in the distant future, is now a few blocks down the road. It’s do or die time. I hear my biological clock ticking, banging and slamming hard against my ear. I envy men with their ancient sperm that they can take out and use at any time. Fifteen or eighty, it doesn’t matter, they are good to go. I’m jealous that they can wait forever and change their mind at the last hour. Women just don’t have that luxury. Left up to me, I would wait a few more years, travel around the world a few times, accomplish a few more things, save some more ends and then welcome a child into the world. I would make a great mother. My own mother is aces so I’ve learned from the best. I want children and not having any isn’t an option, but damn if being female isn’t somewhat inconvenient. I’m a bachelor at heart except I have lady parts. I love relationships, the kids and all that family has to offer; I just need more time.
Mother Nature is being a bitch. She’s breathing down my neck, threatening to fry my eggs into an omelet and shut down my baby maker if I don’t get to it. Boyfriend or no boyfriend, husband or no husband she could give a good god damn about my plans and my priorities. I have to close the deal sometime in the new millennium before the Mission becomes Impossible. Somewhere my baby’s daddy is walking around and a child is screaming, “Mommy” at the top of her lungs. I hear you calling little one but I’m busy rewiring my biological clock.
Are the only options Barren or Baby if you can’t stop the clock from ticking?
Tags: black superheroes, black women, Careers, children, Family, fertility, motherhood, pregnancy, Relationships