Oh, they have me mistaken!
I am Angela Davis. I am Nikki Giovanni. I am Kizzy Kinte.
I am Harriet Tubman. I am Afenni Shakur. I am Thug Life.
If something’s not going right, I will at least break a bottle in protest!
Maybe it’s my soft looks, voice, or demeanor but the people are confused.
I admit, my generation is soft. We don’t fight for anything.
The man can fire 45 professors and we would sit back and say, “I didn’t like him anyway.”
We want handouts. Well, I am not that person. I’ll take what I want.
All these thoughts went through my head as I sat in the Superintendent’s office.
I walked up there myself. No one held my hand.
I wore a pair of black slacks and a crisp white shirt.
I looked polished and elegant like a doll.
My freshly suntanned skin glistened like a California girl who just came off the beach.
My hair left sweet ribbons of fresh shampoo in the air.
I even dashed myself with a hint of Ralph Lauren, Romance.
I felt and looked great.
Despite all the odds, I was sitting in the head guy’s office and I’d bypassed a bunch of goon middlemen. I knew I was supposed to be here. He’s a busy man, and doesn’t spend much time on anything because he has so many things to do.
But here I was, sitting for the last 30 minutes right across from him, comfortable like we grew up together.
I had my book “Crumb Snatchers” in my hand, fresh off the press. I did everything to my book on my own, with no resources but my brain. No one like me was supposed to make it this far, not even past his secretary.
Only big named authors, with big money was supposed to be sitting back, relaxed with the Superintendent, who has the power and money to say weather he wants your book in his schools.
I’d already handed off my book to his head reading curriculum personnel to be read.
She brought back her report early. I was happy for that. I sat back and ran his expensive $100 ink pen I plucked from his memos through my bony fingers.
The Superintendent was making important calls. Important calls for me.
As I listened in, I could hear the delight in his voice when he spoke of me to his other important friends. Important people know important people.
Each time he made a new call, he’d be so excited and say he had a young girl in his office.
“She has a book, and she did this, this, this, this and I think she’s going to go far. This is just precious,” he said, admiring my pictures from my very first book signing, my poise and confidence. And he was so proud.
I really started to like him. Until he made one more call.
He started the call to the “Dr… I have this young girl in my office, and she is impressive, genuine, what can we do to help her get her more opportunities.”
I dropped the ink pen. I’m saying to myself, I am a gangster.
If you ask a gangster if I am a gangster; they will acknowledge me.
I’m A business-woman. And I take care of mine.
I have no fears, no doubts. I’m pretty but, nobody better not touch me.
I abide by the G-Code. 100. This is my creed.
And now the Superintendent is going awestruck like I’m the belle of the ball at a Sweet 16 debut. I did tell him I earned my M.A. That took me five years of hard, hard work at school!
For the most part, I passed 16!
On one hand, my mom passed down dimples to me, and cheeks that flush rose when I blush. And my aunt handed me a slender figure, the stuff you can see on runways ran by youngsters.
Yet, this is no kid stuff. I need to get this book deal. This is my life. I plan to live my dream.
The way I see it, I am not Lil’ Bran, Precious, Sweetie or Susan’s Lil’ girl anymore for that matter. I am Brandi. That’s B.R.A.N.D.I., and I am about to take over the world!
People can’t call me Susan’s lil’ girl anymore!
I remember a lady around 60, who hit her husband on his shoulder and identified me as Susan’s lil’ girl to get him to by a book, she can’t do that.
The world takes big dogs seriously. I just look like a lamb, but I am really a lioness.
He hung up the phone looked at me and smiled. Then he handed over a card that turned into another guy giving me a check.
“You have the book deal, and go to all of my other schools and they will support you too, sweetie. Tell them I sent you,” he said with pride as if I was one of his kids he helped raised.
I sat in amazement and forgot everything. All I heard was, "go to all of my schools."
“You’re young and you’re going to go far,” he told me.
He looked deep in my eyes and I knew he looked past my pupils, past their connecting veins to something further.
I looked at the digits for the check and changed my mind.
I figured my new best supporter could refer to me as Susan’s lil’ girl anytime.
Hey, you can’t knock the hustle.
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