Time is Up. Shit got Real.
My mom went up to my brother’s school and called all of those ignorant, neglectful, disrespectful teachers racists and read them like a Psalms verse on Easter Sunday.
Because it’s the 15th time she’s had to call a meeting with the Principal to complain about biased and racist comments they’ve been making to black students (including my younger brother) on a daily basis.
“You’re probably going to end up in jail.”
“You look like a little gang member.”
“Your mom wouldn’t even mind if I whooped you. Black kids like you need discipline.”
“You dress like a little thug. That’s going to get you killed.”
She straight up said, “I’m tired of being nice black mom, little miss courteous, little miss I’ll come sit at your stale ass fucking PTA meetings, but I’m really sick of fucking tired of you all thinking you can just say whatever you want to these kids, and you’ve definitely lost your fucking mind if you think you can’t talk like that to mine. You must need to take a quick nap right now since you’re fucking brain already went to sleep on you because you CLEARLY were not aware of how far you stepped out of bounds. You don’t get to run all over my child. You don’t get to break down his self-worth. You don’t get to break down his self-esteem. You don’t get to put a death sentence on his head. You don’t get to put him in Jail. What you gon’ do when it comes to me? You gon’ check your fucking self before you wreck yourself. If you’re not there to teach then you need to take your ass somewhere else and retire. How are you going to stand in front of the fucking classroom and not be accountable to those children? If they’re not succeeding, it’s because you’re fucking up. You thought that I, as a black mother, didn’t care? You thought that I wasn’t going to come up here, to this school, to your classroom, to put you in check? You’ve got me fucked up. I work with my son every night on his homework to make sure he does it right and gets it in on time. And if I can’t help him, his sister can. And if she can’t help him, that’s when he comes to you and asks for help. But when you choose not to help him, you’re contributing to his failure. INTENTIONALLY. And for that, all of you have got me fucked up.
I raised a young woman who gets paid to go to college. They. pay. her. What are you doing with your life though? And who the fuck do you think you’re dealing with around here? I’m tired of smiling and curtsying and nodding my head and shucking for you racist motherfuckers. I’m trying to raise a GREAT man right now. Not no motherfucking average kid who gets left in the fucking corner and spends his life, living to die. Fuck that. I’m done with your shit. I’m fed up with the ways that you all talk to these young black children at this school. You don’t police these white children. You don’t mark little fucking Timmy down for his purple hair, so why drop my son’s grades simply because you didn’t like his sneakers? What the fuck kind of backwards racist shit is that? So if you can come and talk to them out of pocket, then I must have the same right to talk to you in the same manner. And I’m going to do so. Loudly. I don’t get to sit idly by and watch you singlehandedly attempt to ruin my son’s future. I will singlehandedly ruin your fucking livelihood. How come you don’t call us to let us know when our children are doing okay? How come you don’t encourage our kids to become leaders? How come you don’t tell our kids that they can be anything they want to be? How dare you criminalize our children before they even know what it means to BE a criminal? I’m not dealing with that shit. I’m through with that shit. You want me to talk nice? Smile all in your face? Fuck that. Because it’s a war out here on our babies. And y’all are offering them up to the front lines, but guess what? Not mine….”
She said a lot more apparently as she called me and told me about how she knocked on each of these teachers doors one by one and told them off individually all morning.
It’s 11:08 am right now y’all.
You’d be surprised how much we really do have to fight for our babies. If you have a little brother, sister, cousin, niece, nephew, reach out to them. Be there for them. Mentor them. Tell them you love them. Tell them they’re beautiful. Tell them they’re black gold. Lift them up. Inspire them. Give them dreams to dream about.
Because they’re not safe in the streets. They’re not safe on the playground. And sadly enough, they’re not even safe in the classroom.
If we don’t step up y’all, we’re failing them, too. Shit just got real.
Luna, my dash is truly nothing without you.