Dee Dee Russell: Village Ghetto Land

Dee Dee Russell: Village Ghetto Land

NWNW is highlighting the reality of the obscene numbers of African “American out of wedlock births resulting in fatherless households. Too many fatherless kids fail, go to jail and have horrible lives. Stop talking about slavery stop blaming the white man go help raise your kids. Your excuse is not an excuse anymore!”

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Dee Dee Russell Sexist Womanist Bohemian Artist

No Wedding No Womb makes sense. Young single Black girls don’t have babies until you’re married, how hard is that?

If he wants to hit it raw, dump him! Move out of the hood as soon as possible. Open yourself up to men of other races. Right now I think that the Black Community has no moral police, it’s disgusting, that’s why I like NWNW. The church? Please. Hiphop is the single mother’s babysitter. You’d almost be better off letting a pit-bull watch your kids than the insane colorism and misogyny of today’s hip hop.

NWNW is highlighting the reality of the obscene numbers of African American out of wedlock births resulting in fatherless households. Too many fatherless kids fail, go to jail and have horrible lives. Stop talking about slavery stop blaming the white man go help raise your kids. Your excuse is not an excuse anymore!

NWNW is Not Shaming. But if you are a broke-ass single mother/daddy please stop having kids! Nothing worse than broke parenthood!
NWNW Is Having a Moral Compass. If you can’t feed your baby than don’t make a baby. Thanks, MJ.

NWNW is Common Sense – Use a Damn Condom. Since it’s Black men impregnating Black women you’d figure those hip hop homies would open up pleasure stores in the hood, flavored condoms for all! Dats whats up, yo!
NWNW is Dedicated to Healthy Families – Put The Children First! Notice those tense women using harsh verbal commands with kids? No man to help. Why are all those black men not helping to raise their kids? Why do they get passes and the women don’t?

Send One Your Love
One pivotal 1990′s visit back home to Milwaukee I was greeted on the street by several teen girls that I knew as children; they eyeballed my oddball bohemian San Francisco clothes, one shifted a quiet baby on her hip: “You live in California, huh? You have kids?”

“Girl, I don’t have kids, I’m single and divorced! Why would I have kids if I’m not married? That doesn’t make any sense.”

One huffed “you don’t need a man to have a baby! You should have kids before you get too old to have a baby! X got a baby… Y got two kids… and they only 16! ”

Say wha? We exchanged skeptical looks… I could see them adding up my life… divorced, San Francisco, no kids equals a childless man-less dyke!

Oh brother. “And no, I’m not a lesbian! I like men but why would I have a kid without a husband? Kids need a mother and a father in the house. Hell, I’m in therapy now cause my mama raised 7 kids and my daddy didn’t come around, that shit messed me up.” They shrugged at each other as though I was an alien. Therapy??

I went back inside the family home, “Mother, all these young girls have kids! When did this happen?” Mother pursed her lips & shook her head back and forth… perhaps lost in memories of her own experiences as a 20-something divorcee. Abandoned with 7 kids…

Isn’t She Lovely
Why doesn’t Daddy love me? I’m a good girl. Why doesn’t he call? I wish he cared. I’m smart! What did I do to make him not love me? I wish he would call. He never calls or comes to see us. I want my daddy! I wish he would call… what can I do to make him love me?

As a fatherless/abandoned girl I sought refuge in cartoons comics and literature, escaping into libraries. My favorite childhood book was Charlotte’s Web. Greetings and salutations! I identified with the Fern the tender hearted animal lover- she had a loving Dad. All my favorite heroines had loving Dads. Even my beloved Mad Magazine showed divorced dads being part of the kids lives.

I longed for him. At 13 I asked big sister L to escort me to his house. “Ah girl forget about Daddy he’s with that new wife he don’t give a damn about us… pfff… Daddy ain’t shit. Forget him but you’ll see.. he ain’t changed.”

I couldn’t ignore him like the rest…

L kept a watchful eye from the sidewalk as Daddy opened this porch door. I identified myself and asked why didn’t he visit us, phone, or pay child support? We’re his flesh and blood, how could he do it? What about my parent-teacher conferences? I remember using childishly big words.

He got angry! “Get away from here go on get back home… did your Mother put you up to his?… or I’ll call the police! Get yo ass off my porch!” I cried tears too bitter for a girl and told him over and over that he was a bad father and a bad person. I was cracking up. “You need to get your sister up outta here,” he gestured to L as she stood arms akimbo with a blank look on her face. She patiently patted me on the back as I cried all the way home “see Dee Dee, I told you that Daddy wasn’t shit. I told you, that’s how Daddy is.”

Later that night Mother looked sad “It’s a low down shame your father did that a man’s not supposed to treat his daughter like that… now you know better than to go round there.”

I Just Called to Say I Love You
I morphed into a 15 year old sarcastic know-it-all bookworm and a hard-core Stevie Wonder fan-girl. I fancied myself an intellectual and vowed to remain a virgin all through high school cause my Father showed me that children don’t bond men to women and that some men have screws loose.

While in community college I married a handsome young Black man, it was a good way to get out of the house. Of course the marriage failed. Soon, I relocated to San Francisco and became a performance artist and public cable access tv personality and did lots of psycho-dramatic art about my father. I couldn’t get him off my mind.

December 10, 2008 I phoned Daddy for the last time to tell him that Mother was currently off-planet. Before her transition Mother was the victim of elder abuse by M! I got Daddy’s voice mail, of course. Daddy never picks up the phone. “My Mother is dead you motherfucker, you son of a bitch,” I cursed calmly “you made Mother’s life hell…. men like you ruined the Black community… you had better not come to the funeral! You’re not invited to the funeral!”

“I don’t believe in God” I blubbered “Cause if there’s a God you should be dead! Mother should live! She raised everybody she did everything you did nothing! Now my Mama’s dead and I don’t have anybody else to love me like that!!”

Love’s in Need of Love Today
I was a classic ugly duckling born into a matriarchy of six sisters and our only brother is autistic. I never got used to not having protective men in the house so I doted on my brothers-in-law and had crushes on my teachers. I was hungering for male approval. I was vulnerable.

Fortunately big sister D’s husband got me hooked on Stevie Wonder. Wow! I fell in deeply in love with Stevie Wonder’s lyrics – he loved us little Black girls, and how! I studied Stevie’s lyrics like gospel. I bought tee-shirts, wrote fans letters, put pictures in my locker made a scrapbook kept a diary. Played his records over and over. Soon, I forgot to think about Daddy…

At 15 I paid for a ticket with savings from an after school job at Sears. Chaperoned by big sister M we saw Stevie Wonder perform at the Milwaukee Auditorium. He was 45 minutes late. The buzz… the excitement!

Whoa! There he is STEVIE WONDER! His voice and force swept over me I shed happy tears… we were breathing the same air! My father figure my first boy-friend the man who soothed & comforted me, the man I worshiped the man who proved to me that yes, little Black girls are lovely and worthy of love.

The man who brought joy inside my tears. I felt bold. I wanted everybody to know how much I love him.
” I’m gonna get closer to the stage!” M sat back and smirked. I confidently walked down down down the stairs and climbed up on that stage!

I sat at the feet of Stevie Wonder as he played his electric piano!
I felt his life force. I felt at peace. I felt alive and loved. I felt at home. I felt powerful.

I studied his shoes -black with red and black stacked heels. I turned to the audience, thousands of people enthralled with him.

At that moment I broke that fever of feeling unrequited, unclaimed, unrecognized and uncared for.

My dream is to be on the Oprah show. “Well Dee Dee, who’s your favorite artist?” Suddenly, Stevie Wonder is lead from around the curtain!

My dream is for more Black parents to marry each other and love their happy and smart children till the end of time.

My dream is Mother sitting on the patio with her bible eating a peach talking about giving cookies to squirrels.

My dream is that an absentee father reads this, picks up the phone and tells their child how wonderful and loved they are.

No Wedding No Womb
Chose better. Be better. Do Better.For the children.


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