The Tragic Reality of Teenage Parents Today

Okay:

Unplanned teenage pregnancy is nothing new. It's been a problem in our community for decades. For me, as a teacher, however, it has become increasingly sad.

Two examples have cast this dark shadow over my normally gipper countenance.

One of them is a young lady who attends my school. Let's call her Heather. Seventeen years old. She's about 4'11", butterball round, half-deaf, half-blind, mildly retarded and seven months pregnant. The world is not ready for this demon seed.

She's a foul-mouthed sweetheart though. You've never been cussed out and loved every vulgar syllable of it. She just sort of wanders the halls, sauntering about, knocking on doors and cursing at people all day. Literally. No one has any idea what to do with this kid.

The other day she knocked on my door around 9. I answered the door. She just sort of stood there silently, face scrunched up like she had a gas bubble. Then she spoke. "Give me some candy, nigga."

"Good morning, Heather," I said, smiling.

"Give me some gum, nigga."

"I don't have any candy or gum, sweetheart."

She looked disappointed but didn't walk away. She stood there for a while, breathing heavy, her large pregnant belly peaking out from below her too small, dingy t-shirt. She looked around me and saw a half-eaten blueberry muffin on my desk.

"Well, then give me some of that mothafuckin muffin, you bitch."

"Give me a hug, honey," I said, then wrapped my arms around her wide frame. She loves hugs. Starving for human contact. Only she slicks her hair down every day with a whole tub of that brown styling gel. That shit'll get all over you if you're not careful. Yucky.

She was satisfied with that and walked away without saying goodbye.

God clearly fell asleep on this one. If they find the creep that knocked her up, they should castrate him and make him the towel boy in a male strip club.

Then there's the kid with traumatic brain injury. He was in a near fatal motorbike accident some years ago and hasn't been the same since. He's a real piece of work. Pencil-thin. Resembles Lil Wayne. A loud raspy voice that resonates throughout the floor. You can hear him in all corners, cussing people out and threatening staff members. He's also a spitter. That is, if you really piss him off, he'll probably spit on you. People keep their distance.

Unfortunately, this summer he became a father. Again, God asleep at the wheel.

Because of his traumatic brain injury, his memory is pretty much shot. Sometimes he gets lost on the way home. Sometimes, he forgets where he is and why he's there. When this happens he may just get up and leave in the middle of a conversation. It's weird. Sad, too.

So I said to him, "I hear you're a father now."

He said, "Yeah, I done went and impregnated me one of these little bitches out here."

(That's a direct quote, by the way.)

Holding back the laughter, I inquired further, "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Oh naw," he returned, "I ain't bring me no little bitches up in here. I got me a boy."

"Well, what's his name?"

"Zaida, Zadda, Zelda or some shit like that. I asked the bitch why she give the little nigga a African name. But it's in the bible, so I guess it's cool."

"Have you been spending time with him?"

"I seen him once or twice, but the little nigga just be crying for no reason. That shit be getting on my nerves, so I just be leaving."

Conversation wasn't quite as funny as it sounds. It's really depressing, actually. Makes me want to get my daughter a chastity belt.

And chain her to the radiator.

And make her try out for the girls' volleyball team.

Thanks for reading.

GO OBAMA!

BOB JOHNSON IS A SELLOUT!

Factoid: According to Dr. Ruth's Sex for Dummies, a woman can get pregnant while she's on her period.