first, let me say off top:
fuck lil' dayvon.
lil' dayvon is that little dirtball nigga who is going sweetalk my niece, drop honey in her ear, and put wood in her that came from no tree . he is that purely degenerate bastard that driven soley by hedonistic pursuits. ol' disrespectful little nigga. he pops pills, drinks lean, wears sunglasses at night, rides with his front seat in the back, and fitted hats in the window. he bangs gucci mane and oj the juiceman and aspires to be nothing more than what he hears on wax or the t.v. every woman is a bitch, every man a nigga. aint read since the last time he played monopoly, and tells people not to call him by his government, cause this little dumb nigga thinks he's on the run from the boys.
when he comes to see my daughter, he's not going to take off his hat, or address me as sir. might not ever shake my hand. might try to dap me up. shit, he might not even come inside. might just tap the horn. smelling like reefer and henny. while he's waiting, he might do nothing but text on his phone.
and of course his swag is up. to 100 thousand million at last count.
or he is that clean cut young tom with a degree fresh from USC. the university of sambo coonery. this fella can't wait to shuck and jive for some change that fell off of the table. the big table in the big house. my little hearts should be lucky he chose them, because he could have had him a white girl. christina aguilera. coonin so hard... baby girl, he can't hear ya. he can't stand being around blacks when they are acting like true negroes. it shames him in front of his white buddies. he refers to himself as a buppy.
(aint that some shit though? a black yuppie. i thought we had a stand up name for them all ready...sambos)
now if i do my job right, and get my my daughter head on straight like a compass on a level, lil' dayvon won't pass the screening process. my daughter will know better, because she is better. and if her esteem is not enough motivation, her love for her father will be. and if that fails, then fuck it, her knees will shake and she will sweat her hair out worrying just what her father is going to do to her if she is has enough chutzpah enough to bring lil' d home. she doesn't wonder about what will happen her boyfriend, because she knows her father well. very, very well.
i think about this alot, and wonder if i'm wrong. if i should give this young man a chance. talk to him, try and right the ship. not judge him, let my daughter date him...and right there i have to stop because even typing it makes my stomach hurt.
i read this short science fiction story once called "arena". humans in the future have first contact with a alien race. and we don't like each off bucks. the shove is past wrestling and some furniture is about to move, and this almighty being intervenes. he places one humans, and one of the aliens in arena. instead of two races engaging in intergalactic fisticuffs, and the winner having a pyrrhic victory, the two representative can sort it out. the human tries to work it out the white doves and olive branches route, but what he is greeted with on that road is hate. hate so strong that it actually makes the human nauseated when his mind is exposed to it.
pray for peace, but prepare for war.
so fuck lil' dayvon. i'm not giving him shit but a swift kick in the ass and gunplay if he steps near my sandbox, or swings on my monkey bars. there is no "being cool" when your daddy, unless your sitting on the ice box and the air is on. people tell me that i will feel differently when i have kids. when my nieces get older. when i realize that their decisions have no bearing on my life. that you do the best you can do and move on.
i ask them...is this a game? is there some secret reset button code that you know about, and i just didn't get the decoder ring from ovaltine? is the real meaning to life is that this is a test run, and i get one more go on the ride before i run out of tickets and the carnival closes?
oh word,
it's not?
that's what i thought. now, kick rocks, push sand, take it on the heel and toe and beat it.
i'm popping out of trash cans my man. random college visits accompanied by 5 star restaurant meals and shopping trips. spankings. cell phone checks. private detectives. GPS on car chassis. whatever it takes.
i gotta get ready. cause lil' d been got started.
