Wow...

I was bad today yall.

Tenacious partook in some cannabis with some friends.

*hangs head*

I know I know. Drugs kill. Weed is bad for you. Yada yada yada.

But weed is from the err-ffth. Besides, I couldn't be rude right? It would be rude of me to not puff puff give?

Besides I don’t have another drug testing for another 6 months.

Of course you know me. My goofy ass always gotta bug out. I got the fit of giggles (as always when I smoke the Buddha) and couldn't stop. Tears of laughter just streaming down the face. Who knew everyone could bond over a common subject. The subject: Ass whooping and Black parents. You know I had stories for days for that ass.

My mother holds a black belt in "tapping that young ass". She is the Mr. Miagi of ass whoopings. Only she ain't patient and the only "wax on, wax off" our asses had was that belt on our little brown asses.

Anytime was an ass whooping time in my household. She handed out whoopings like it was candy. “Ma, we hungry”. “How about a whooping? You won’t be so hungry after that”. Um actually we would because all the hooping and hollering and jumping around burns calories. As you can see, getting slapped was my “specialty”. My brother and I were the poster children for child abuse. (Not for real but for play. You know I have to put that disclaimer in there. I don’t want the “Child Abuse Is Not Funny” rants). I mean he was just the general rug rat bad ass who got it for just being an all around bad ass little boy. I was the sassy, "always in grown folk business constantly getting popped in the mouth" one. As you can see, not much has changed over the years. And her favorite lines:

I'll knock you in the middle of next week!

Shut up...Before I give you something to cry about!

Oh hell naw...It must be ass whooping season tonight!

I will knock you: my color/into another world or some other variation of that

Fix...Your...Face!

Oh so you wanna "show out" huh? Well me and the belt is about to be your audience!

So many quotes. So little time. My mother could sling a belt with the best ones. Hands move at the speed of lightening across your mouth. Now my mother is a thick woman but I swear she could move across the room like she was Flo Jo or something. One minute she in the kitchen next minute she's standing over you like, "Now pick your muthaf*cking grown ass up off the floor. And get that tooth that rolled under the TV. You will NOT f*ck up these floors!" And she was known for the word "simple". Usually it was:

Get yo simple ass in the house!

Now pick your simple ass up and get in the house!

^^Said while lurking in the door with that f*cked up housecoat/robe that seems to be the requirements for all moms. You know the robe. That robe that's been around since Moses split the red sea. Was once Terry Cloth but the sh*t done wore down to just thread. All holey and feeling like the towel you wipe the car with. At one time had a belt to it but its long gone so she gotta hold it closed with her hand. And let's not get on the slippers. The old vinyl ones that's all cracked and split and sh*t. My mother, who is Queen of Not Throwing Sh*t Away, would just use duct tape to close the f*cked up vinyl and sh*t and even that is f*cked up. And the only reason I hurried (besides trying to rush past her so I won't get popped on the head) was so my friends won't see her.

Oh but don't worry. My mother made sure she stepped fully on the porch. Rollers and all. Screaming about the streetlights being on and why we ain't in the f*cking house. Usually followed by she don't give a f*ck about what your friends' parents let them do (if you were stupid enough to whine about the curfew). Don’t get it twisted--this is her house. "When you pay some bills around here, then you can comment. Until then shut the f*ck up and get in the house".

Umm yeah my mother has a potty mouth. And then wonders where the f*ck we get it from?

And don't let us fall or trip on something outside. You thought we would get some sympathy? HELL NAW! We got that, "Since you can't ride your bike/walk/play outside like you got some sense, get in the house. Go get the 'Tussin and lay your simple ass down for a nap". Don't front like you don't know about the 'Tussin. My family is the walking Negro Spiritual/Folklore.

Hmmm...Maybe that's the source of my "favorite past time". Hell all those forced naps.

Luckily my mother never had to come up to the school for me, but of course she did for my brother. All our teachers were scared of her so usually she was allowed to talk to us (or in my brother's case--get that ass whooped in front of the class) any way she felt: "This is my child and don't tell me how to talk to my child". Usually I'm writing HELP ME in big letters behind her to my teacher. My mother is a stickler for education. Oh lawd don't let me get a B in a subject. Yes people, a B. She was so not on that with me. Can you say punishment for a month? Oh lawd and don't let the teacher say something like I did poorly on an exam. She would arch that eyebrow (teacher ducking for cover meanwhile) and say real calmly: "Tenacious we will talk about this when we get home". The calm before the storm. I'm shaking all on the ride home. But as soon as we get in that house...oh she's lighting into my ass with one of her usual 4 hour tirades (where she's talking to you about you but not really but she really is) and I end up without phone and TV privileges until my priorities are straight. Umm yeah. I didn't get an ass whooping for grades but I got them for virtually anything else.

Oh and my mother was an equal opportunity ass whooper. If she couldn't whoop you, you couldn't come over. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. If you were a party to the crime, you got the same punishment. And other parents had the same permission with my brother and me. Oh and let's say you wanted to be on that "No Snitching" policy. You wanted to stick together and not say anything. That's fine. She would just whoop everyone. Pretty much deaded that "No Snitching" sh*t quick. We were like jail house snitches and sh*t. Never mind that nine times out of ten you were probably a party to it as well. We're tricking on you. Sometimes that was a double edged sword though. As one of the older kids I should have been "watching" who ever did it (usually it was someone younger), so the older kid get an ass whooping as well by default. The only thing that saved you is if you were running an errand, sick, or you were heard telling someone to "stop". Otherwise you got that ass tapped too.

There wasn't any "falling out" in public. Kids today got it made with this sh*t. Parents begging them to get up and sh*t. Let that had been my mother in the late 80s-90s. Yeah aiight. Although she already ran the script before you even went in the store (DON'T TOUCH, ASK, OR LOOK AT SH*T 'CAUSE YOU AIN'T GETTING IT. AND LET ME HAVE TO CALL YOU...). Of course, we had those times when we wanted to "try" her. We've seen one of the little white kids from school fall out without any consequence and in our young, Black, naive minds, we assumed we could do the same. We forgot our mother was a hip, urban, warrior Queen whose pimp hand was strong indeed. We were wrong. Oh so wrong. If our face needed "fixing" or it just looked like that knee cap was about to hit the ground, my mother had no problems getting a display belt to handle our problems because obviously we had lost the left side of our minds and she was there to “find” it. After thoroughly wearing our asses out in the aisle of Venture's (or Goldblatts, or Jewels, or Montgomery Wards, or church... *lol*) then we would probably get it again for embarrassing her in public. My mother has gotten soft with this since the birth of my nephew. Now she just let him fall out and she just leaves him there. I look at him like, "N*gga you got it made". I would have gotten the ass whooping and still had to push the cart. And please don't run up on the back of her leg with the cart.

On Mother's Day I'm going to dedicate a whole post to my mom *lol*

When it came to Tough Love, my mother was it. Don't get it twisted though. My mother told us she loved us every night and when she wasn't dishing out whoopings, she hugged, kissed, and play around with us. My mother has a wicked tongue and a sharp wit. She is my favorite comedian. She has me cracking up every night when I talk to her. She holds no punches. She's a better story teller than me, the self professed Drama Queen. Hell she made me into the woman I am today.

Like I said, I got high and had the fit of giggles over Black Parenting Experience. What about yall? I mean the ones who got an ass whooping? Any common themes here?

**Don’t worry there’s more…**