Iâ€™ll tell you one thing straight. Iâ€™m a young black woman. And I got pregnant at 19. And at 17. And at 16. You think once would be enough to let a young chick like me know that protection is important and not something to play with. But the reason why Iâ€™m pregnant and so many other girls have fallen into my footsteps is because I had no real dreams for myself.
Grades werenâ€™t a thing in elementary and middle school. You got As for dressing out in physical education class and for coming to homeroom on time. I spent a lot of my time in class not really learning anything from teachers who werenâ€™t really teaching anything.
What middle school guys and girls didnâ€™t talk about sex or giggle at the slides of vaginas in health education class? I know I did. My hips were getting a little wider and I was starting to develop a chest. The boys liked it. And I liked the attention.
I liked the attention so much that I allowed it to become my world and all I knew. School didnâ€™t matter to me anymore. All that mattered were spending countless nights on the phone talking to more than one Â guy at Â a time and acting like I was the ish. And dressing like I was the ish. All the paychecks I earned at Subway went toward buying hot clothes and shoes at the mall and making sure I looked sharp from head to toe. I earned enough in class to pass and get promoted to the next grade and I found a little time to be the baddest chick on the step team. However, if you had asked me when I was 16 what my passions were or what ambitions I had, I would have told you nothing but making money, being popular, and boys. Seriously.
To read this entire post, click here.