On the Verge of Dating White Girls: Baby's Mama

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Let’s face it, for whatever reason—and there are many—there are a lot of angry Black women out there and a lot of them have Black Children by other Black men.

This ain’t no contest! This is reality! In the year 2005 it’s not uncommon for young Black parents to have 2 different households. So let’s make the best of it.

Why be unreasonable about it? I get to see my son every other Friday through Monday. That ain’t shit (excuse me Shee-Yatt). What I want to know is why is it when I go to pick up my son you—my baby’s mama-– even have the nerve to ask me if he can stay for dinner?

I’m saying: He just ate dinner at your house for like 1, 2 3…12 straight nights! Can’t I get my 3 nights in row? I mean damn. Can I get 3? Tres? Tray? Mahfuckin Trizzle? Can a nizzle get trizzle in this bizzle without you going crizzle? And then you gotta weight the decision on him? I think Tupac said it best… “…and you wonder why we call you bitch.”

It’s unfortunate that things are they way they are when it comes to the Baby Mama and Baby Daddy drama.

All I pray is that I can be the best parent--regardless of the situation--and that in the end my son will see that.

When it comes down to it, I just look toward the future and hope the it’s much better because right now, it’s all bad.

In this world of language where expression is so slippery that you have to be articulate and possess the ability to elaborate in order to communicate or just to get your point across, unfortunately, all I have to do is say "My Baby's Mama" and ~~any~~ 9 out of 10 Brothas will instantly feel me.

Why is this? Because it's real.

As if the Bush agenda, police, economy, or even the price of gas weren't enough, I gotta wake up every day and brace myself for the next bullet of her actions.

Just today when I questioned my son at soccer practice why he didn't follow my instructions and call me every evening after he completed his homework, he simply answered, "You gotta talk to my mother about that."

Knowing my son, I knew that these weren't his words--they were the words of his mother.

Being that it was just a matter of minutes before his mother picked him up, it was it not the time and place go there with him about the importance of our communication, I just had to stand there and take the emotional bullet he--unknowingly--just delivered to my chest.

Amidst these days of times where co-parenting from separate households is just as common as Kanye West in the top 10, why must we make raising our children that much more difficult?

As much as I love son, I fight the urge to hate his mother. To this day, he is the best and worst thing to ever happen to me.

The best being him.

The worst being the relationship with his mother.

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