Angry Letter

13May08

Sometimes when I think of you, my gut reaction is to punch you in the face.  But I take a breath and realize, that that simply isn’t acceptable grown ass woman behavior.  You can’t deck people in the face, for as much as you think they deserve it.  I mean shit, look at Remy Ma aka Remy Smith.  She’s going to jail for 8 years because someone tried to take 2grand out of her pocketbook and in response Remy Ma pulled out a .45 and shot this person in the stomach.  Twice.  And left without calling the authorities.

Now seriously, if you had shot someone in the stomach.  Twice.  Why would you even be thinking about calling the proper authorities?

While I know the person Remy Ma shot is permanently injured, I can’t help but side with Remy Ma.  Someone was trying to take what wasn’t theirs.  In a lawless land that was this country, she could have shot that person and gotten away with it because popular opinion would have let her.

But I digress.  Well actually not really.  This letter is an angry diatribe to all those people who I want to bitchslap, but can’t.  I present myself with the outwardly appearance of professionalism because gosh darn it, I’m not a kid any more.  No matter how much I wish that wasn’t a fact.  It simply is true.  There is this thing called the law and you simply can’t take it into your own hands.

Although with that said, it’s not like I haven’t seen members of my own family try.  My pops’ brand of justice is similar to Remy Ma’s.  His .45 is a normal sight to me.  Sadly, I say that.  When we first emigrated to the States I know that one of his first big purchases was a .45.  It hung out at the bottom of my diaper bag and when I was too big for Pampers, my dad anxiously put it away.  During halloween, as trick-o-treaters came by our door, a black clutch bag rested on our coffee table.  The loaded .45 ready for trouble.  When squirmishes presented themselves in front of my father, he answered with .45. 

Anger, pain, fear, protection, worry, resolution, guarantees. They all come with that big block of metal and iron.  And while I knew my dad wouldn’t harm my family with it, I worried that he’d harm someone else.  And then I worried who would take care of us if he went to jail.  And my eyes wouldn’t sleep.  And this sucks because why should a seven year old think of such things.

Now as a grown ass woman, I know that violence begets violence, trouble leads to more trouble.  But damn it.  Sometimes.  All you want to do is fight.

L

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