C is for Cookie!

C is for Cookie...that's good enough for me.

C is for cookie, that's GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!

Yep I've been waiting for like five days to post this. C is for Cookie. That's good enough for me. Wait'll I get to S when I do even better things. C is for CRAZY JOE CLARK!

Crazy Joe Clark. See, my husband and daughter went to work together in Eastside High... a cesspool of a place (Crazy Joe Clark is gone now.) Ok so maybe it's fictionalized - SO WHAT? I saw what he did with that place. And...he turned it AROUND. He flipped that shit right around on them. Got them kids' test scores right around on them. When he went outside after he locked the doors (to keep the drug dealers out). The fire marshall went to the school and chastised the guy - You just DON'T lock the door. Hell YES you do - you keep the drug dealers out and cleaned UP that school.

He stood in the door with a baseball bat and chains and told the fire marshall "NOW I'm BATMAN". Uh, because he stood there with a baseball bat and told them to GTFO. Oh and weren't they after him after THAT. They locked him up in jail. Like Nelson Mandela or something.Poor kids; they only had to pass the MINIMUM BASIC SKILLS test. Uh, they passed. Thanks to Crazy Joe Clark - "Well NOW they can call me BATMAN" because he went out there with a baseball bat. He simply KICKD OUT the miscreants and the drug dealers. Just told them to GTFO and kept the drug dealers and the miscreants OUT. Just chained the doors and told them to GET LOST.

There was one very young boy who BEGGED him...don't lock the doors, kick them out but not ME! I can't go home and tell my mom I got kicked outta school! PLEASE let me in. Joe brought him up to the roof and said "If you're gonna kill yourself DO IT EXPEDITIOUSLY!" Well Crazy Joe was not a cruel man...well yeah he was; he brought the kid up to the roof and said "You do CRACK don't you!" Kid was like, uh....yeah. (He said, well, just call me BATMAN!" uh, LITERAL bat.) He simply wouldn't put up with fuckery! Maybe this should have gone to L. But we wain't up to that yet. That's L. And it seems a long stretch, pal. Lent is a long desert of a stretch. Catholics. Guilt and penance. (I was raised stretch,and it's a long long dry desert of a stretch. Lent is too long. Well, they asked him and he said,"Lent is too long." Well IT IS! Screw lent (apologies to any Catholics; I was raised Catholic. We know GUILT. I had a lovely "counselor" once, and she pierced my soul; she said :You have a lot of misplaced guilt." Uh, yep, I was raised Catholic! Guilt is part of the program.

At any rate,the kid was over-eating on GUILT; good Catholic boy. (I didn't know blacks suffered that guilt.) And frankly I didn't know blacks suffered from it. Guess I shoulda suffered from GUILT. Well fuck guilt. Saved is saved. I've never been able to get the guilt. I thought guilt was ALL MINE. My lovely conselor told me "You suffer from a lot of misplaced guilt." Well I sure suffered from guilt didn't I? (Mom drilled it into me didn't she?) She said most of it was misplaced. And...it set me free. I have suffered from GUILT since day one - misplaced? Are you SURE? Because guilt s seet me up. Guilt? WHY? What in the fuck had I done wrong? I was a straight A student. I never got into any real trouble. So how the fuck was GUILT a part of the equation? Maybe I shoulda saved this for G but...nah. You know why guilt was part of the equation? BECAUSE I'm GUILTY of everything. Who FUCK guilt. Judy told me it was all misplaced. Now WHY did they send me back to my parents? Back in the days when "reunification" was the watchword. I didn't want to go back to a cruel family. But didn't they send me back there. Idiots. Not really because the WERE

Well, they sent me BACK. BACK to those cruel jackasses. "They favor reunification." As IF there was any hope of resolution. They just DOUBLED DOWN. Not that that's saying much. They were CRUEL. They were goddamn dirty DOUBLED DOWN. Nt dather hung up a list of ny punishment. My idiot stepfather made a LIST (which hung over my desk. A BIG list,) A list that I was to follow without question, And it was LONG. I couldn;t see my only source of comfort (grandparents) - OK, she can't see her grandparents. That was the most cruel (but didn't he LOVE cruelty.) He posted it over my desk - You shall NOT see your grandparents. Um, they were my only source of comfort, so THAT was cruel. You can't go rollerskating. (AHHHH!) You shan't do this and you SHALL do that...the fucking list was a mile long. Every week I was "good". Um, I THINK I was. Wipe the table, even your idiot little brother's dried-on SUGAR from his cereal. Do dishes.

I had VERY bad hair - I mean it was VERY bad hair. S the freak. He threw waghter on the hair that I'd worked I once asked him, could we have a new rule? Make S WIPE UP HIS Sugar-soaked cereal just ONCE. He had a fucking fit. And you ain't seen nothing 'til you see that man's FITS. He ..well I guess he beat me didn't he? I don't know why, but he just wet INSANE. He lost it. He droped his basket. He just started beating me.

Yeah, see, I had never defied him in any way; too terrified if his rages. But THIS time, as he's leaning me over my bed and beating my ass, I looked back at him with RAGE. Oh sure, he said "Ok ok, GO AHEAD, GET MAD AT ME!" Well, I did. First time I'd ever done that; I couldn't take it anymore. I hyperventilated and looked at him with utter hatred. I don't think he was expecting that. Hell, **I** wasn't expecting that. I hyperventilated and just showed him how much I hated him. He got cold; he just said "OH YOU'RE MAD??? GO AHEAD GET MAD." I was 13,too old to be "spanked" (if that's what you call it; I still call it torture - I call it...torture. He hit HARD.) and I looked at him breathing heavy and through my facial expression and hyperventilating, and I didn't say anything,but I expressed my hatred anyway. YES I HATE HIM. He had his good points, but beating a child wasn't one of them. He said, "Ok Ok,GO AHEAD AND HATE ME!" Hg=hm that was almost the last. One day he threw water on my HAIR (my most sensitive points - my HAIR.) Apparently my grandmother told him that the doctor recommended throwing WATER on her HAIR...they didn't know my hair was my most sensitive point. I'd been tortured about my hair since grammar school. Or maybe they didn't care.) So the sonofabitch just threw water in my face and in my hair (for the sin of ASKING if my stupid little brother could JUST WIPE UP HIS SUGARY MILK - and that IS hard to get out once it's dried.) Lemme tell you, DRIED sugary shit on the table IS hard to get up Especially if you're twelve.)Um, did I just tell you he didn't beat me? HAH! You BET he did. Cruel fuck. Yeah he sure as fuck beat me.

I called child abuse hotline and asked "Well, if he beats you but it doesn't leave manuy marks,THEN what? Guess what? NO HELP. There's more but I don't have the heart to write it. I might NEVER write it. Well maybe but I'll l'll leave itfor another day; I'm gonna see if Bety Brioderick is on. Hugs,