Winter’S Rain: Deeds of Mistreatment

By Wynters Reign

Winters Rain tells the story of a time when life remained an unfair spiritual war game. It was a time when there were uncertainties and untold mysteriesand for some, fame. It was a cold day in hell, where no one could tell what it was like living in a jail cell. It was a time when challenges spread their way across the sky and when great torrential downpours and blocks of ice astounded more than the pounded dough of the American pie. It was when heavy winds ruled over rough terrains pooled in the distillation of predatory fears. It was a time when the merchant of death ruled like a plague with no breath, but not without the pain of knowing persistent suffering once again.

Winters Rain uniquely portrays hidden sadness and loneliness. Of the many that embarked upon this sad and lonely journey, far too many lay in waste due to unattended gurneys. All have been consumed by the bombardment of fear. All have fallen prey to its savage rival steer, for not even hell can resist the stall of innocent pain when nighttime falls upon the dream of life during a writer's Winter's Rain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Oct 19, 2010
• ISBN: 9781426942488

Wynters Reign

Wynters Reign was born in the mid-fifties and raised on the “Cracked Streets” of Harlem, going through just about enough to be considered a true survivor. He’s done it all, living fast and finding out the hard way that crime doesn’t pay. He currently lives in Atlanta, Georgia.

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Winter’s Rain

My Winter’s Rain was a time when life remained an unfair game. A time when there was uncertainties and untold mysteries and fame. It was a cold day in hell where none could tell what it was like living in a jail cell. It was a time when challenges spent its way across the sky. When great torrential down-pours and blocks of ice astounded more than the pounded dough of the American Pie. It was when heavy winds ruled over rough terrains pooled in the distill of predatory fears. It was a time when the merchant of death ruled like a plague with no breath, preying as the weak and the strong appear. It was an everlasting event; sprawling out without a scent. But not without the pain of knowing long-suffering, again. My Winter’s Rain had hidden shame and loneliness do to lack. Like no other challenge that none could dare say that happiness was a fact! Of the many that embarked upon this sad and lonely journey. Far too many lay in waste due to unattended gurneys. All have been consumed by the bombardment of fear. All have fallen prey to its savage rival steer. For not even hell can resist the still of innocent pain. When night time falls upon the dream of life during my Winter’s Rain.

A Forward:

It is a fact that everything must change. Every creature in God’s creation is formed from deformity; even from the soul of man’s reproduction organism to the embryonic deformation of the woman’s womb. The fetus is manifested into the embodiment of mankind. The magnificent art and science of procreation is the dynamic exemplary of change. It is from this point of birth that life continues to grow. Or prosper as it is known. Just like the young becoming the old. It is also said that during this process a man must perform long-suffering; a constant change. I simply describe it as a journey of crustacean. Consider the man (John Evans) for instance, whose set of values are developed and regressed under duress, deprivation, repercussion, havoc and a social proclivity. He is leaning towards co and social dependency and is fitted for the art of survival. Place alongside him a woman who is also socially inclined but instinctively cast more in a moral mold (Florida Evans) than a clinical helpmeet (Louise Jefferson), how then is his fate set in stone. Now with elements geared towards health the childhood struggle of man-and-womanhood becomes an important ingredient to the nurturing aspect of their learned adolescent experience.

In many cases before a child could learn to talk they’re coaxed into taking sides by competitors who lean towards comparativeness instead of contrast. Even as siblings grow up together, one child learns to think better of himself rather than better of the other. A defensive thus cost effective affect. The adolescent is then taught, through the natural progression of peer pressure, to compete. Through his youth he is taught what to think (instead of how to think) and is molded by the mainframe of social dilemma. The unprofessional unskilled waste of the undesirable, low-class and disenfranchised are met with decisions based on the product of their environment who are players, gangsters, crooks and thieves. Whereby the art of instinct becomes a lifetime social defect provided by the lesser intellectual species. Whereby the structural indifference becomes a social proclivity and a pathetic guideline for disaster. Whereby the greatest influence of a child’s developmental behavior is controlled by his or her mental and emotional reaction to abused, misuse or misconstrued influences, his or her entire state of being is determined, not only the end result but the generational structure of his or her upbringing. Whereby the layman is ill-equipped to socially reproduce the professional aspect of himself. Whereby a good influence is a gift of the socially enriched environment; a bad one is a developmental curse.

A generational curse is simply put: A seed or idea planted in the heart of the ill-fated presence of man encircled with wrongful thought patterns of superstition and negligence, giving way to the unnatural powers of mankind. It is sufficiently malnourished by a disproportion of ignorance acquired by certain members with social indifference. Blinded by the ignorance of cultural breed inevitably afflicted by the emotional due process of the disenfranchised. An influence that has, once fully developed, unfolded a heart of unequal measures. A heart that has become greatly overpowering of the mind’s mental stronghold and weakened ability of containment and control. For the heart holds the secrets of life’s power of success and failure. For however contained, it also holds all the forbiddances of man’s own destruction as did the Tree of Good and Evil.

Once the courage of man takes control in a healthy environment it soars with great streams and good outburst, like a skyrocket on The 4th Of July. However, an unhealthy environment will cause even the strongest heart to sizzle out of control. It is with the ambulance of a failed (underdeveloped) mind relinquished of its power to rule over matter which causes the continuance of life in a disastrous way. A good heart can only be ascertained by a strong mind. As the power of the hidden curse grows in the offset of light and circumstances, it is the power of the mind set to encroach and diminish its derogatory development to pause. Like water that dowse the flame, the mindset must control the assets of the heart. It is that which shapes and develop, making up the true ribbons in the sky and the true earthly wonders of the world. The Heart and the magnificent love of mankind, in the untraceable sky, makes that which twinkles far beyond the unreachable approach of man’s own hardened heart, inconceivable. Far beyond the comprehension of man’s deepest knowledge lies a dream. Far beyond man’s dreams of life and love and health and joy and peace is faith. Beyond man’s accomplishments lies a heart so strong and unobtainable that, in full recognition of its own resources, it is incomprehensible of man’s theory and unjust way of thinking. Although, through his righteousness, man can develop that which is obtainable only by fairing through that which the soul could hardly bare. The Winter Rain!

A Public Service Announcement: Overcoming Adversity

To Whom It May Concern:

Since life is not granted or provided with a formal written reference manual attached to it, I have written one.

Since we do not have the rights, the power or ability to choose what our forefather’s life expectancies were for us, I have written one.

Since we are required at birth to ascertain a measure of predisposed dysfunctionalization as a prerequisite of life, I have written a song to sing to our parents; to our children and to our community at large. So that if we could try our best to be so UNLIKE some of the characters depicted in this song, the entire world would be a much better place for those of us who listen with profound understanding .

The title speaks for itself.

It is the height of the abused… The tour of the oppressed… The rise of success and the falling in and out of love.

It is the struggle of the fetus terrorized by the womb; victimized by the crib; justified by the streets; marginalized by love and ritualized by a society caught up in guilt and fear.

It is a life so ritually tormented and cursed beyond reproach that it’s success was written off and nevertheless sold a lie.

It is a folklore about death and despair.

It’s a pop song about birth and determination.

It’s an alternative to the indifference of love and happiness.

It’s the blues about pain and suffering.

It’s an R&B about war and poverty.

It’s a hip hop scenario about the survival of the fittest.

It’s a song about Winter’s Rain.

Winter’s Rain is composed of several complicated therapeutic regions orchestrated for the purpose of offsetting the plague of anger and rage. It is a song to teach the liberal heart to understand and accept the truth about themselves and mankind. It’s a song written to extinguish the heart’s anguish burning deep in the darkened soul of man. It’s the song that soothes the savage beast; the source of fear and the pain that stalks the broken hearted. It is one that will encourage the weak; inspire the strong and develop the down trodden abandoned by political conditions created when spooked family and friends go awry. It’s a song produced by the villagers who failed their young, depriving them of the most important assets in life. Their future! Whereby, permitting their immoral acts of indecency with promiscuity and dysfunctionalization, they’ve preserved the already destructive behaviors manifested by a socially enriched oppressed environment.

It is with my fondest desire that Winter’s Rain be used to develop closure. Not merely for myself; a battle worn crustacean finally surfacing after many struggle-torn years, but also for my peers presiding with great pain due to the warped conditions of life. I sing this song believing that life is what you make it; thinking that you can make it if you try; knowing that this is not just another scheme to exploit the people deemed exploitable or a cliche designed to baffle the unwitting. Nor was it created to dazzle the brilliant! Winter’s Rain is my true and honest way of giving back to a community defeated. A defeat that I have help to accomplish. An accomplishment entitled to relief from all deprivations and worthless characters. I have written proof that if I can make it… anyone can.

I would like for you to know that it doesn’t matter what you do in life. Anyone, from the lowest of the low to the highest of the high, can make it. For it is not WHERE you stand that makes you a man but HOW you stand. I would want you to know that that sparkle you see is the light at the end of the tunnel. And that it doesn’t matter what else you think by what your ears may hear; by what your heart can tell, you can create your own vision the same way you’ve helped others create theirs. And with a keen sense of knowledge and a hint of wisdom, you can determine your own fate and destiny. Not in a superficial dysfunctional way but with a true focus on human righteousness, determined by a morally conscious mind and a heart with true love and kindness attached. Thereby, be your own judge and follow after faith and righteousness with a fear to do evil and then govern your own prospective and influence your own point of view. Follow after goodness no matter what. No matter what you’re going through know that you can do what ever it is you want. Build right confidence in yourself and follow your dream. Shed shiftlessness and shame. Learn to despise your own laziness. Focus on your own fault so as not to develop failure. And if poverty is your cross… overcome it! And if it is strife that you must bare… deal with it! And if it is hatred and/or fear… shed it! And if pain be your suffering… endure it! If you’re called to sickness… treat it! Do not despise those who are blessed… Pray for them! However, love every bit of your goodness as you have loved others; knowing that it is the power of love that helps one to endure much. And that it is the slightest bit of faith that can give the most strength in the time of need. And know that the race is not given to those that reach over huddles faster… or end the race quicker. Victory comes to those that persist with patience, having endurance; being determined to supersede in their endeavor with great difficulties; all the way to the end.

Endurance is the manifestation of a struggle. With strength and encouragement, honor and respect and integrity, one could surely imagine that the storms of life will eventually pass us by. However, it is in those times when the superficial grip of the enemy (hatred and fear) is also under betrayal; to which during the social grip of turmoil the powerful laws are released to that which allows for a defenseless pause. A resetting effect for a more positive course geared for the opportunity of change. No one has the power to determine their beginning but everyone, well within the right state of mind, has the capability to make a difference or to start anew. It is with my fondest desire that the skills be required, even as I have acquire them; that you pick up the pieces of a dream, shattered by what becomes of the broken hearted. And that we abandon the fears manifesting hate and shame. And that which predestine our destiny, filled with disasters built on lies, and turn them back around. We must put the pieces of a dream back together again, even though it hurt so bad; knowing that it’s gonna take a lifetime to determine our good deeds. Believing that the tedious task of building love, instead of hate, will no doubt be justified if we stay strong and faint not.

Disclosure:

Winter’s Rain is not for the justification of any particular lifestyle. It is not for the provocation of hate, dissident, rebellion or any anarchistic protest; asylum, rescue or belief. And although the Fifth Amendment has provided the protection of certain rights and liberties, the forward thoughts, however offensive, are based on the opinion and the experiences of the author of Winter’s Rain and it is not to be the representation of any organization, group, religion, culture, creed or race. And in addition, neither is this book written to be of offense to the mothers of whom, had it not been for their strengths and endurances, their love and kindness and their ability to persevere, there wouldn’t be a black community. It is suggested that it be read in totality; digested intellectually; understood spiritually and disseminated logically. Rationalize this song and sing along with me. In key! Off key! Or out of key! Harmonize and familiarize your own key of life. Sing in acapella; rip a rapper’s delight or dance to the beat of the drum, but seek an understanding about the individuality of mankind. And discover the Finding Nemo mentality in you. And by all means be educated… but also be well entertained.

I have written this song to help identify some of the problems facing the black community. To help locate oneself and identify the issues needing change; to make a difference in one’s life. For the black man who was forced to turn his back on his own family. For the black man who was forced to turn his back on his own community and for the black man who was forced to turn his back on himself. For whatever reason and for as many reasons as possible, I sing this song for you.

For the child… For the young man and young lady… For the little boy and the little girl who was made to be unhappy because of conditions and situations he, she or they were never responsible for… For them that had been forgotten, lost in the source and caught up in the shuffle as victim of the blame game… For them that had been discounted all the way from birth, set up for failure, growing from neglect…Them that had fallen by the weigh side, misguided by blind ambition and foolish thoughts; ignorance and desperation… For them that had been conceived in lust, raised by failure, bred by deception and manipulated by lies… For them that had been suffering from lost, neglect and abuse, I write this song in the key of life. That it might be understood that you are not alone. That you are a productive member of society and that you really do count. That you might learn to appreciate your existence beyond superficial means ascertained by low-self esteem. And that you might forge a way through strife and ignorance and lack and be an encouragement to yourself and others as you strive for a better position despite your situation and despite your pain. And you will live without shame or indignation; without fear of social despair; without fail and without ignorance; without violence or being vile. And with hope for tomorrow, that it may be filled with understanding, perseverance, courage and wisdom; sensitivity, peace, love and kindness, joy and happiness, patients and temperance, faith in God and His prosperity and the Fruit of His goodness.

If only for the sake of identifying the one who’s misery lies as an accomplice to the emotions I share, Winter’s Rain can be a necessary source of healing for you. Necessary in order to help, by providing comfort in knowing that this is just a growing process to help in your true development of manhood. To understand some of the reasons why we do some of the things we do. And to ascertain and implement ways of recovering ourselves from blatant disasters and hidden failures, which are a kin to the withering death set by decay. This is a call to life and a way to save ourselves from the ritual sacrifices of life and despair. A call to prevent the unknown number of times each one of us have died, living in fear. Whether you are black or white or any other color, race, creed or culture, we all incur fear, causing multiple deaths within ourselves and within others.

We all have the right to live and to develop into whatever God has intended for us. We also have the right to choose whatever suit’s us, so long as it is good and doesn’t offend anyone else around us. Whether a man chooses to be a good father or a great president… Whether a woman chooses to be a good mother or a great first lady… Whether a child chooses to be a good son/daughter or a great student, the principle’s the same. Rights aren’t established under the ability to choose but under the ability to choose wisely, which is the key to success. As I beseech you to start taking part in establishing your right of choice and change, it is for the betterment of life, through self education and structural learning facilities and for the rise in moral standards and the establishment of righteousness for the fragile future, that I encourage you to use discretion. Making use of the wax of discipline, the exfoliant of dignity and a hint of integrity to polish up and groom the soul for a better pursuit for mankind.

It is with regret that I must admit that far too many of us are called to war and to crime and punishment, and to impoverishment in oppose to being drafted into schools of music and Art and Science. And although, it is the school of hard knocks capturing like fish in a net, still I must dissuade the force of anger. The use of violence for low-self esteem issues is an enemy of the black community. Along with the use of drugs and the force of ignorance and the dysfunctionalization and the prefabrication and the dilution of grandeur stereotypically expressed when young girls parade around revealing their best assets while enticing boys who sojourn with their penal institutional intentions exposed.

This Is Dedicated To The One I Love:

The only way for me to describe my dad is good. Because he was good in every aspect of the word. No doubt there are other words I could use to express my reconciled views about my dad, but nothing can convey his life and what he meant to me, in all of its glory, better than good. For good is pleasant and it is kind. Full of joy and happiness. It is loving and it is warm. A gentle breeze that’s heaven sent. It’s the preparation of peace; a wonderful quality of tranquility. Its strength is in its endurance which is consistent and everlasting. It is admirable; full of fun and laughter. The way it makes you feel in your heart when it smiles upon you. Never worried. Always concerned and filled with fruitful inspiration. A quiet, calm but strong and secured sense of well being. It is the richness of heart. Never one to fuss or having bad words for anyone. Never afraid to stand up for what’s right. Always on time and never late. Availing much in righteousness with the epitome of faith, hope and charity. Assertive in the presence of evil yet calm always, he only lacked in the power of doing harm.

Because of my dad I have changed. Because of my dad I have learned patience and gentility. Because of my dad I have made better choices and stronger commitments. Because of my dad I have learned about dedication, I have learned about loyalty, truthfulness, trustworthiness and faithfulness. Indirectly, my dad has taught me how to love and be the perfect dad, brother and son to my love ones. Remaining a man indebted to life, living and rewarding love with honor, faith hope and charity. None other than a man could teach me how to be a man. None other than a rather good man could teach me how to be good. A truer word could never abound as much. No other word could ever amount to as much. Another word would never describe my dad’s truest worth. If I could only be half the man my dad was, I’d be happy. I would still be better than average. I thank God for the times I shared with my dad. I thank God that he decided to stick by me and my family. I Thank God for his presence and the little time he shared. And I miss him very much. May God bless my dad’s soul and may he rest in peace.

Many of us hadn’t had the opportunity of being raised by a dad. For this I am deeply touched… I could not imagine what hell would be like without the power of a strong man to physically guide me through. For those of you who suffered from that lack of experience, I give my true condolences. For a child to be without his or her dad is the most disproportional aspect of deprivation and depression there is. A father’s presence is extremely necessary. It is equal and proportionate to a mother’s. It is physically, emotionally, psychologically, ecologically, spiritually, socially and economically impossible for a woman to raise a man to be a man by herself. Just as it is impossible for a man to be a mother by himself. Any and every household is operating under extreme difficulties without the presence of a dad. Just imagine life without the sun or rain. It is not to say that those who have been produced as a product thereof are not good. Young people can adjust to many circumstances. However, there are some minor defects or dysfunctions which lie underneath the surface; which cannot be ignored; that can indubitably affect a child’s lifestyle. It takes a man to teach a man how to be a man. It takes a father to teach a son how to be a father. It takes a real man to be a dad. The void of manhood cannot be distilled by illusions. It is not to say that a woman cannot raise a man… nevertheless, her image and strong persona has a conflicting affect on a small percentage of males growing up in black communities; not making them gay… but also not instilling the actual affect of being a real man. A mother cannot teach a boy how to be a good father, although she can, inevitably show him how to be somewhat similar to the aspect of being a mother, which could eventually inspire a formidable spell of rebellion. A young man will tend to think, in the absence of a dad, that household chores are a woman’s work as he may become lackadaisical; assuming he has a maid instead of a mother. His adjustment may be as simple as witnessing a real man helping out around the house amongst other things. Otherwise, this could lead to some extreme social behaviors that could cause conflicts in other dysfunctional relationships. A young man may honestly get the impression that it’s a woman’s duty to love and take care of him after witnessing so many years of a hard working mother supporting him. Despite the fact that she tried her best to instill the virtues of a hard working man, without witnessing it firsthand, it is quite impossible to expect the young man to adjust to his bitter indifference. The young man may lack the incentive, motivation, ambition or faith in the system, instinctively; and completely over the perturbing objections of a mother surrogating as his father of which he naturally learn to despise.

Crime In The Hood

Crime is a tradition in the hood. One that was deeply rooted long before the Louisiana Purchase of 1800s and the ceding of land with The French, The Spanish and The English, battling in dispute of it. Long before The Dutch and The Irish, The Italians and the Jews took up residence in the hood. Crime is as much a part of America as apple pie and baseball. Not to say that it’s right but what’s going on in the inner cities had been perpetuated for centuries. So, having criminal intent is not an uncommon phenomenon in the hood and it’s certainly not a black-thing. Think about it. Plenty of blood had been spilled on inner cities long before blacks were allowed to migrate in. Crime was incorporated and indoctrinated into the moratorium of peace changing evolution into revolution. Acts of peaceful demonstrations and political rallies became criminal offenses for black demonstrators in the 60’s. Officially, it was the opponents of the Civil Rights Movement that actually criminalized the passive, oppressed and disenfranchised law abiding citizens, who innately became bitter rivals and breeders of hostile neighboring characters.

The fact of anything black having to be associated with everything black is a misnomer planted by the guilt and seed of racism. Most people in the neighborhood are victims and reluctant participants in the tradition of crime. Having shed their security while empathizing with moral hopelessness and despair; with anger and hostility as a commodity of normality. Where hitting the street is a high risk venture with no guarantees of return. Where innocence is killed everyday in a senseless drive-by. There isn’t a thing new about the casualties of life’s precious commodities, getting caught up in the cross fires of hostility. Insensibility is the norm. No one is safe in their homes especially if they have no kin to crime. If you are not associated with crime then, basically you don’t belong. You don’t have any defense because the police won’t sit around guarding your back door. The job of protecting one from itself has become a defenseless offense. Calling for the police is treachery, making the law abiding, betrayers and snitches in the community. If you’re a sellout you don’t belong and if you’re a partner you can’t escape.

Bite or be bitten and do or die are a few survival-of-the-fittest battle cries disseminating from the laws of the jungle. Like wild animals living under the rules of Mother Nature, survival depends on the character. The lion oppresses the hyena. The hyena oppresses the cheetah. The cheetah oppresses the gazelle. And the gazelle (the lowest on the food chain) smokes the grass. This is a natural phenomena in the wilds. Almost as natural as living in the jungle, a black person living in the hood is more likely to have an uncle who steals for a living. If you are black and you live in the inner city you are more likely to have an aunt who specializes in defrauding the government. If you are black and you live with the urban society you probably have a sister or cousin that strip and/or sell her body for a living. If you are black and you live in the ghetto, it is quite possible that you have a brother selling and /or using drugs. There is no doubt you have a neighbor…

Chapter 1: It’s A Hard Luck Life

A Social Dependency:

Obsession created a flood of social dependency.

Sisters pretended to be single…

As women sought independency.

Ladies declaring self-made images.

Girls trying to become women…

Just to be qualified for immediate…

Governmental assistance.

The man who had to disappear pretending to be gone…

Struggle up against his peer, so on the street he roam.

When social workers appeared…

Household appliances disappeared.

However in far too many social bouts…

Sister-mama-daughter-girl sold him out.

The idea of diverting social dependency is real.

Just ask the sons and daughters how they feel.

There was a time when they called her Big Mama. She was the pillar of the black community. The matriarch of impoverished dreams and the backbone of the family structure. She was the grandmother. Now she is commonly known as Tee-Tee, Big Sis or Nanna. In some cases she even called by her first name. And more than likely she, …don’t cook chicken on Sundays …Not anymore. She feeds her children meals at Mac Donald’s almost everyday. She only cleans her house once in a while and do a partial job of it. She takes care of her grand baby as if it was her own, teaching the child’s mother very little about her own maternal nature. She’s the woman villainizing her son. She’s the one scandalizing her daughter and sacrificing her husband while patronizing the man. She’s the woman victimizing her own home, vandalizing her community and emphasizing her own self worth. She allows her kids to run the streets, anytime of night. It’s okay for her daughter to have a bunch of babies as long as she gets assistance form the state. It’s okay for her son to steal and sell drugs for a living, dropping out of school and going to jail and having babies all over the place. They could smoke as much weed as they want as long as they bring some home to her. And she don’t mind the thugs hanging around her house as long as they share their beer and booze, and keep her wasted. She never got an education and she turned out okay. She never fulfilled her dream so why should they? She lived in the hood all her life, so why can’t they? What’s good for the goose is grain for the gander, she had been known to say. This is the true access of evil. This is the fruit of contamination; the Eve Of Destruction; the devil’s advocate. The black widow has an aspired reign over the degradation. By outsourcing her commitment to fear as a means of survival, she’s allowed an immoral dilemma to take control of her family.

An ergonomic dismantlement of the black community designed to eventually cause the gentrification of several thriving neighborhoods; causing the rerouting of space within structural matter and time; created a void in the black community. Devising that which was right, turning it into something wrong. It wasn’t the adulterating husband throwing himself wildly under the bus or the lawless son strung-out and roving in quest of life’s answers. Or the daughters who simply followed by leading examples. They were but mere casualties and symptoms of the bewitchment. The euthanized sacrificial lamb. They were merely the ones who were fed defeat by the triumph of destruction. It was the adoring widow, beguiled by lust, greed and desire, who had been formed with enmity to capsize the son of man with blistering faith. Black families across the nation have been thwart by guilt and fear, incubated by lies and terror stemming from the threat of their succession. Terror was the mule given to the breed of freed slaves along with twenty acres of heart-ship and mental anguish. A disastrous plow. Dysfunction and disorder was born to freedom. There was never any justice given to the black man. Unlike that of the Jews, the black man was never considered equal. Unlike that of the Indians, there was no pride given back for the disaster that plagued their forefathers. There wasn’t any land or culture provided; just plenty oppression.

By today’s standard, a woman who is able to care for her child, maintaining his growth and development until the ripe old age of eighteen, is considered a good mother. A woman that is willing to make certain sacrifices of herself to raise a child she’d given birth to is consequently a good parent. A woman that struggle to keep her child alive and healthy is considered a good mother in the black community as well. However, she is typically viewed as a burden to society. Why else is it that there are so many black mothers burying their sons or visiting them in jail? Why are there so many young black men being prepared for incarceration at such an early age if she’s not the breeder of fear and the fabricator of dysfunction? There is a breed of self-hatred geared towards young black men that even the best of black women cannot adhere to. However, it is the soul of her discontent and her inability to refrain from her resentment and the resignation she reveres for the father that promised to be there for the child and wasn’t. Her social reprieve and her antagonizing sacrifices were the reprimands of intercepted spoils created by the unforgiving, weakened soul. Thus, are the sons learning self-hatred by the souls of their outcasted dads?

When a woman feels that her 99% possession makes for good motherhood, that by merely having the child with her automatically makes her the good parent… That by providing food, clothes and shelter, she is beholding a man’s worth and is a better father… The child becomes the casualty of her disconcerting configuration. And in the same sense, the wayward dad gets the bad rap. His 99% deficit automatically makes him a deadbeat. The misnomer is that he has not been supportive… when in actuality, the biggest problem is the fact that he is NOT THERE! Period! Financially supportive or otherwise… And it’s a direct offense to the child who is made to feel unworthy of his love. The financial aspect has become like a wedge, driven. Who, but for the sake of the child, who should only hear the good things about him in his absence, (provided she mothered a child for a good man in the first place) the father should be dietized and justified. A good mother, for the sake of the child, should manufacture good faith stories alongside her bedtime fables, just as though she truly loved him and believe in his safe and definite return. For it is with that contentment of altered truth, as the gifts of Cinderella, Alice In Wonderland and The Prince And The Pea, that a low self-esteem could ever be disassembled.

In some cultures, brave men were called to war and many were called to work abroad. In the african-American sub-culture, the brave were called to lack and destruction. And whereby lack in the jungle meant that the animals instinctively cut back in their reproduction process, it is the total dysfunctional nature of minorities to do the direct opposite during mean-lean times abroad. They seem to have more babies. And a woman’s time of pregnancy is the worst time for a man. Her hormones go through so many changes that sends a man straight to hell. Combined that with his inability to find or keep study employment and he’s got hell on his hands. It is an offense to the child who has to learn to appreciate the facts of life from the heart of scorn. The poison is saturated within the soul of his childhood desires; nurturing his environment like fetal breast milk. How was she to know that it would be better for her child to learn the good things about his dad in his absence rather than the bad? …Rather than to have the knowledge of evil present in his development; for the good of the child being reared. Would it not have been better to abort an unwanted child rather than to produce a life spoiled by the rot of her dissatisfaction and his disapproval?

Merely having a child and being in possession of it doesn’t make for good parenting any more than going on through life with an undetected bipolar disorder. A chimp could possess a child and be more suitable for parenting than a spiteful woman. Every child should be provided the best opportunities in life, in the best environment with the best parental care. There are too many ways of abusing one’s authority other than neglect. His sore absence isn’t the only way. A man could grow soar turning the other cheek and declining to a deaf ear with a blind eye. Many couldn’t withstand the emotional abuse or the constant badgering, so they fled. Making excuses for his denigration is fanatical abuse, hovering in infant skies. However, manipulation is also a form of abuse as is his negligence. Criminalization and the practice of bad habits is the abuse that the man has alleviated through his absence. However, hypocrisy and the misappropriation of provisions is also a form of abuse as is her ignorance which is a capital offense. Parents should strive to maintain a level of self esteem that is high enough so that a child could look up to them with respect and admiration for many years so that he or she could achieve similar goals and attributes. If merely for the establishment of integrity, dignity and self respect, one might set a higher standard and be honored and respected for raising a scholar instead of a fool. How then could a person who is absent be blamed for the faults of a child that is present. So if a problem-child’s problem consist of his father being absent from his life, then who could be to blame for mentors beating a hasty retreat from her drinking-well? It is said that, it is better to dwell in the wilderness than with a contentious and angry woman.

Many fathers had abandoned their posts, planting negative seeds with neglect. Some with mutual agreements and promises made with lies. Many became angry and hostile, taking their frustration out on their woman and thus deserved becoming outcasts. Most were hardly able to care for themselves let alone a whole family. However, far too many were just unwilling to share in the responsibility of raising a child armed with the expense of a serious drug habit. It’s never easy being a good parent. Its even