Precious

“A good-for-nothing man is an evil-doer; he goes on his way causing trouble with false words…” (Prov. 6: 12).

Baby girl, you are so precious.  You are so precious, you don’t even know.  Your Mama and I loved you from the moment she brought you into this world.  Even before that.  Your Daddy left early on, but we loved you just the same.

We rocked you, walked the floors with you when you were teething, saw you take your first step.  We cooked for you, we mended your clothes.  We saw you on the bus that first day of school.  You were so pretty, your hair all done up in ribbons.  Maybe you can’t remember, but I do.

You and I, we lost your Mama to hard work, then no work, then those devil drugs.  You must have asked me a million times where she was, on those nights she didn’t come home to us.  But she loved you.  She tried her best.  It just wasn’t enough in this cruel world.

Your Mama tried to help you with your lessons, in the beginning, taught you one and one makes two.  Do you remember that?  It was just that the lessons she had to learn were harder – lessons about hard men, and the hard road a woman faces alone.

Now you want to run after this man!  This good-for-nothing man?!  You think he’s going to give you something you don’t already have?  He doesn’t want to give.  All he wants to do is take from you.  Take your hips, take your fresh young face, take your smile.  But you believe his promises, promises as empty as noise.

Is it because your Daddy wasn’t there to tell you how special you are?  Is it because you didn’t see yourself in his eyes?  We tried, your Mama and I, tried to tell you that, tried to show you every which way we could.  Try and remember, baby girl.

I had to turn her out, your Mama.  I know you remember that.  You cried and cried.  You went and sat in your closet, nearly cried your eyes out.

You think I didn’t love her, my own daughter?  But it got to a point she’d take anything in the house, anything she could sell or trade for those drugs of hers.   And we didn’t have much to start with.  It got to a point I had to say no, had to stop forgiving her.

I know the Lord says seventy times seven.  I know.  But when it got to seventy times seven and one, when I had to choose between you and your Mama, sweet baby, I chose you.  After all, you had no one else.  What else could I do?

I was too old to start over raising a little girl.  Only I couldn’t leave you, not with those big, sad eyes of yours.  It broke my heart, when we heard it was over.  But she’s at peace now.  At least your Mama is at peace.

As for you.  You worthless piece of trash.  What are you doing sniffing around my baby girl?  You don’t fool me.  You’re not “thirty something”.  That’s a load of horse manure.  You’re old enough to be her father!  For shame!

Do you want the same done to your own little girls?  To the children you left behind you like Easter eggs, with a half-dozen different women?  Or does it matter to you at all?

Of course, you’re not a talent scout or a fashion photographer.  Don’t make me laugh.  You’re nothing but a mangy dog!  You’re never going to make anyone famous.  All you ever wanted was to take my baby’s clothes off, maybe put her on the streets working for you.

I’m sure it was a thrill raising her hopes, when all the time you knew you were telling her lies.  But I taught her better.  My baby’s beauty is on the inside, as well as the out.

Don’t do this, baby girl.  Please, don’t do this.  He’s not worth the pain he’ll cause you.  And you’re precious.  Remember that.

Originally posted 4/2/17

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