Diary Entry: West African-American Mums Ideal For U.S. Presidency

I think of Didier's Mum, when I imagine an ideal Virginian, U.S. President. Also, my son's Jamaican-American babysitter in Hartford Metro, CT and the African-American, administrator/head of his Georgian, toddler-aged KinderCare.

 I spent three decades of my life completely obsessed with any books, magazine/newspaper articles involving African civil rights, politics, and wanted to serve in the Cote d'Ivoire. I actually dreamt of joining the Peace Corps for thirty entire years, twenty-two years of it was specifically, hoping I would one day serve the Peace Corps, as a nurse, in the Ivory Coast. I grew up in the D.C. Metro, African-American ghetto. That's the main reason why I was like that.

I attempted to learn Latin, French, Spanish, Gaelic, Italian, Portuguese, Mandarin Chinese, and Swahili on numerous occasions. Although enjoyable (only for me, not for fluent/native speakers), I should stick to English and a little bit of South Vietnamese/Pidgin Svenglish.

Due to the fact that my father raised me, in Virginia, I studied counter-terrorism. I believe I have read most of the Phoenix Force and Stonyman fiction series, growing up. I even memorized obscure weaponry facts, from those and Paxton Quigley's book. I love Sun Tzu. As a small child, I used to lie outdoors, on the ground, in the ghetto, with plastic, toy soldiers and developed their characters, for hours. They had names, were "U.S. Marines," etc. They understood that I was in charge of them.

I made them "create" farms, ranches, to serve the poor. I dipped them in muddy puddles, re-enacted battles, and wars with my cheap, yet incredibly precious collection of green, plastic, toy soldiers. If there weren't enough, old marbles, plastic, large, fake pearls, and toothpicks were used. My favorite one was called, "Chief." For some reason, he was a U.S. Navy "Marine." None of the Marines, looking back, were actually Marines. They were all U.S. Navy. In bad weather, they lived in a dollhouse, or rode Hot Wheels.

***Even now, with a skirt on, in my car, alone, I sit like a "tomboy." This is why "Mamas" to me, are closer to the South Vietnamese Army Rangers, who are POWs.***

I balanced my two opposing "inner childs/interfaith upbringing" with the book, "Mister God, This Is Anna." Truthfully, if you're raised strongly believing in prayer, in a South Vietnamese, immigrant family, prayer could seem like this:

I'll contact my "ancestor spirits," who will all match together into one "God" personality, with General Schwatzkopft's journal personality, from "It takes A Hero." I was once a Jehovah's Witnesses' NIV Bible student, after all.

I'll ask "God," in prayer, meaningful, spiritually evolved questions, e.g. "Should I worry if I don't have Gillian Michael's or Paula Broadwell's muscle tone in my arms, and rippling six-pack abs?" This was actually my current prayer dialogue with Him/Ancestor Spirits/Anam Cara/Soul Mate/Higher Power/Creator/The Lord Jesus Christ, Almighty God, or General Schwartzkopf's spirit, this very weekend.

My inner voice will then advise me, "No, but those four-star, female, U.S. Generals don't eat curly fries to look that way, or stay fit, strong, and healthy. The Dalai Lama probably would not want you eating chips, curly fries, chili hot dogs, buffalo wings, or chocolate eclairs either. Try having a raw, organic carrot, quinoa, vegetable soup, or raw broccolinis instead. Drink milk, or orange juice. Over time, you could get pre-diabetes from all of those curly fries."

***Sometimes the "God" I pray to could look like a female, U.S. General, or Reverend Jesse Jackson. Whichever way is totally fine. When I feel worried, the God I know, wants me to act just like Reverend Jesse Jackson, standing tall, with a condemning, Virginian accent, a Southern Baptist verbal expression of eternal, holy damnation, and put my hand on my hip, while acting assertive. My African-American, ghetto, inner christ self spirit must be more assertive, because I truly am a little version of Him.

That God image, the Reverend Jesse Jackson one is a very loving God towards me. "Kissy wissy, I nub you, my perfect baby daughter/little boo boos. Plus, you sound just like Aretha Franklin and Kathleen Battle when you sing in your car," is what that God says to me.

Anytime Stevie Wonder's "I Just Called To Say I Love You," or Whitney Houston's "Jesus Loves Me" songs come on the radio, I know, deep down, even though it's not really humble to admit it, that Reverend Jesse Jackson God dedicates that song to me, his favorite diva from the ghetto.

Sometimes, I like ending my prayer by making kissy faces, noises at my Reverend Jesse Jackson God's facial image in my mind. I highly recommend this for everyone.***

Prayer for all the Somali refugee victims:

Repeat this to yourselves:

"I'm perfect. God truly loves me. I'm a little version of Him, truthfully. The South Vietnamese Army Ranger POWs will need to drag away those nasty abusers and child molesters."

One other motivation for entering the U.S. Navy was the patriotic environment of D.C. When I refer to "Virginia," I mean Patrick Henry's influential "Liberty" speech, the beautiful, American flags surrounding the Monument, the Pentagon, the Vietnam War Memorial, the U.S. Constitution, the Lincoln Memorial, and my love for God, best expressed in Kathleen Battle's "Lovers" song.

Entering the U.S. Navy is about a love for one's country. A promise is made to your own "Dear Lord," much like in the "Lovers" song. To serve God could mean to serve "Virginia/D.C." I realized that recently, because I wasted a lot of energy being disappointed in myself for not being a nurse in the Peace Corps. I also got hurt by all the people who I can only describe as the opposite of Reverend Jesse Jackson.

It's very difficult to explain why I chose the" Pentagon God," and often it's not considered patriotic to do that, in such a libetal environment. I have had to redefine what God means to me, in the context of extreme violence and brutality. I feel like I'm often forced to apologize to my abusers for loving God, and my U.S. military service after being sexually abused by so many radically extreme, atheist liberals. The experience of female, minority, disabled veterans is a complex, and difficult path.