"Sexy"

From Journal Entry of December 23, 1992 that I Will Label
“The Problem of Being Called ‘Sexy’”

I wrote this entry when home for the holidays and in response to thinking about the issue of teen pregnancy.

. . . “I wonder what can protect little black girls from premature exposure to sex. (Black boys need to be preserved until maturity, too). But black girls are the ones who have the capacity to be prematurely impregnated, while boys are not forced to be inextricably bound to another life inside the body. It is not enough to cry “stop teen pregnancy.” I’ve discovered that teen pregnancy is not the problem and stopping it is really only a band-aid solution. The real culprit is poverty and the crowded conditions that breed the availability of sex with young, unattended girls, often daughters of single mothers. Such conditions are promoting some freakish desires in black men. I’ll never forget a crying classmate at Spelman who stated that eight out of the ten little girls who she’s supervised had been sexually violated and abused.

I wish I could help to stop this craziness. Maybe I did help one girl abstain from premature sex. I was a volunteer at the local black YMCA during my last two years of high school. The group that I set up and supervised had kids, boys and girls, of all ages in it. Still, I refer to them as “my kids.” They were so beautiful. Two of the oldest girls were alone with me as the young kids enjoyed the game period that I allowed before lessons in black history, individual tutoring, and social graces. One girl, the one who was obviously contemplating sex, was thirteen. She asked me if I had a boyfriend. (At that time I was 16 and dating a handsome Lanier football player. We’d been going together for three months and had not kissed. We did not kiss until June of 1988 and I was seventeen when that happened). So naturally, this preteen was scaring the hell out of me. I acknowledged my boyfriend. She told me that a boy liked her and she was thinking about letting him . . . she never fully articulated her ambivalent intentions, although I sensed what they were. I, being cautious, explained that my boyfriend and I were getting to know each other and that we valued each other’s company. I stressed that he was my first one, at 16, ever in my life and that waiting for such a person was worth it. I also stressed that girls should demand the utmost respect from boys and should not allow themselves to be pressured. I caught a pensive vibe from her, so hopefully she abandoned the idea of sex. [A few weeks later, a few days after he came over to the Y to pick me up after one of my sessions, she and another girl, a little awestruck, told me how cute they thought he was and could not believe that he was a football player-at Lanier-when seeing his jacket; her seeing him, while coincidental, was the best thing that could have happened and hopefully convinced her that she would have plenty of time later on to think about boys].

Maybe my sheltered existence has protected me from boys, then men. Really, a combination of things have protected and preserved me. My family, although not strict, set a good conservative example for me. I never had a stepfather or any stray presence who could have potentially abused me. My neighborhood helped. The same families have always been here. In some black communities, full of boys, girls, and teenagers, sexual experimentation is rampant. I’ll never forget the day that I was visiting a cousin in my extended family. Her friend went bike-riding with us. My cousin was pulling me on the seat of her bike, and she was beside us. We were 11. Riding through the streets of Twin Gates (my Grandmother would have had a fit). We passed a house which she cited as the place where she and this boy had kissed. I was taken aback, for it was inconceivable to me that people that young would do such things. I had a crush on a boy in my class, but I delighted in his art and agility in P.E. My ultimate fantasy was for him to pass me a note. Today, my ultimate fantasy is to be honored in a poem, so not much has changed, except maybe my idea of the person who should do it. I thought they were “fast.” They used profanity, too. In my neighborhood, eyes and ears were all around. Even if I had tried to sneak around with boys, I would have been busted. Really, there were no boys, just a couple, and we rode bikes. “Doctor” and whatever else were not on the agenda.

In later years, my appearance has shielded me from the masses of men. Aesthetically, I have some of the things that brainwashed black guys would appreciate. I had some of the longest hair at St. Jude and a complexion that could stick around. Many times, I thought about how my life might have been under different circumstances, for the only obvious dividing line between those guys and me was my height. Men are conditioned to want superiority, and few men have the balls to stand a woman who could look them straight in the eye. They’d drop dead before having one who could look down on them. My uniqueness has therefore been a social detriment and a personal blessing at the same time. I doubt that I would have had the time to be as intelligent as I am now, because my entire experience and existence may have been totally different with a less intimidating presence.

It should be noted, though, that I still got bothered. Lustful juniors and seniors on the prowl for younger, vulnerable freshmen at St. Jude singled me out. My male friends thought it was funny. I thought that they would ruin my reputation. Every rainy day when they were in the lobby of the cafeteria and I walked out with my female associates, they would start. “Hey, Sexy!” They embarrassed me so, and I felt that I was being verbally gang-raped. At first, I thought they were making fun of me, but then I realized that their comments, however rude, reflected some kind of appreciation. To my understanding, from what my male friends overheard and told me, they thought that I was sexy because I didn’t try to be. I didn’t hang out, and my innocence turned them on. With my appearance in uniform (I was the only girl who wore ankle socks and penny loafers at St. Jude. I liked the preppy look and wore them as my style instead of stockings all through high school), they could tell that I was not consciously trying to be provocative like some of the other girls. Some actually told me, “You are going to really be something else when you get older," “You’re so sexy,” and “I like those tall girls with that long hair.” My female friends didn’t understand my alarm over their attention. They said that they would have liked it. My male friends enjoyed my paranoia. I’d say, “If they say I’m sexy, teachers may think I did something to make them think so.” “Evidently you’re doing something,” they’d say. “There’s nothing sexy about me!” I once retorted because of my paranoia. I wanted them to leave me alone. [So many of those rainy days walking out of the cafeteria, just when I’d think I’d gotten by safely and unnoticed, one would start it. I usually tuned them out and never looked in that direction, but one day when I was passing a group at school and one said “Hey, Sexy,” I accidentally looked and they got a big kick out of it. I never told my family about any of this, for I feared they might take me out of the school, and I wanted to stay]. However, I must admit that older guys who were still there when I ran for SGA vice-president at the end of 10th grade helped to make me a political machine. It took me a long time to ask for their support, but I knew that I needed it because there were more boys at St. Jude than girls and a girl I knew had lost a year earlier because she was one. “We’re voting for you, Sexy,” was the response when I finally approached their lunch table the last day of the campaign. I reminded them that they should vote for the best qualified candidate. “We don’t like him. We’re voting for you.”

I have certainly been lucky. Yet, I pity those girls who haven’t been. Active sexuality will be my choice. I was not a pregnant teen and am mentally and emotionally strong enough not to become a pregnant young adult. There is no man that I could conceive of making a baby with at this point in my life. There’s no man at all, but maybe the silence of being alone is better than hearing the pitter patter of little feet or the breaking of one’s heart. The right person will come along.

When Will You Be You Again, 7/30/90, By Riche' Richardson, Age 19

When Will You Be You Again, 7/30/90, By Riche’ Richardson, Age 19

When will the pain end?
When I die-completely
I say completely because
a part of me died a long time ago
centuries before I was born
and because sometimes I’m convinced that you really
do wish I’d die
or when we experience a rebirth
-a resurrection from our
seemingly perpetual nightmare?
When will my tears subside
When will I laugh again?
When will I watch my endless dream
Come to life, giving me life, becoming
my coveted reality?
When will I have social desirability
in keeping with your vision of
happiness and heaven on earth
-must I perish in a living hell?
When will you behold me as a
beautiful being again?
When will I not be a stumbling
block, secretly or unconsciously
Or overtly despised when I am in
your life, unsightly
in your eyes and unworthy
of your affection?
When will we have our time
together again?
Do I have to forever beg for and
borrow your time and be tolerated
and settled for as you inwardly
fantasize about your idealized
stepping stone
-An idealized stepping stone
Who will seemingly give you
security and freedom
and manhood that society
as a whole will not and
can not surrender
-only you can become the radical one
and set yourself free; you can only make
yourself yourself-a man for all seasons
When will you want me to be your mirror image again
-Must you deny that I am a reflection of who you are forever
When will you stop hating me for all that I am, in turn, hating
Yourself for all that you are?
When will you realize what we are?
When will you realize what I am-
that I am a woman-that I long
to be treated like a woman,
and that I want to be your woman
When will you want me again-as I am for
what I am?
When will my love be reciprocated
abundantly and willfully?
Do I have to be beaten and insulted and raped
and negated until the end of time-only because I can’t
stop hoping and praying that you’ll love me someday?
Do you really hate me for loving you?
Is this your way of showing me that you are hurting?
When will our reign as victims of ourselves and victims of
society end?
When will you be king again and when will I be queen?
Must we wait forever to perpetuate the legacy of our primal parents?
Must I always be the most despised, devalued, distressed woman
on earth?
When will I be free again?
When will I be free to be me again
Without the need or desire to celebrate the raping of my
foremothers; without the need or desire to glorify
borrowed beauty or bottled, borrowed beauty
-borrowed beauty, that makes me forget who I am-
where I am and where I’m from
borrowed beauty that reminds me that I am a remnant
of a broken home
borrowed beauty that I want you to love, yet hate
borrowed beauty that makes me wonder who I am
and who I want to be
-borrowed beauty that makes you celebrate and glorify the
raping of our foremothers
-borrowed beauty that outwardly gratifies me today
-borrowed beauty that makes me wonder what it was like
to have been born yesterday
-borrowed beauty that makes me wonder if there is really
hope for tomorrow
When will our beautiful brothers
and beautiful sisters unite again, knowing
that all of us are beautiful?
When will I be human again?
When can we join the world as
secure human beings
-human beings open to brotherhood and
sisterhood in terms of our global family
Because we have finally cultivated
unity and complete pride
in all aspects of our lives;
because we have our minds again
When will we realize and accept wholeheartedly
The magnitude of God’s love for everything that ever was
and for all that we are?
When will I know who I am again?
When will I know what you desire again?
When can I set your heart on fire again
and completely trust my heart in your hands
-knowing that you will not break it
-believing that it will remain intact
When will you kiss me again?
When will you hold me again?
When will you make love to me again
-loving me and giving me
all that is within you
planting the seeds of life
Must I be punished and doomed forever because
I am not what you dream about
Punished and doomed forever because I am not what you
Dream about being with and touching and
loving completely
Punished and doomed forever because I will not be forced into the
arms of another man?
Because I won’t be caressed by another man
Because I won’t be undressed by another man
Because I won’t be possessed by another man
I can’t be seduced by another man on earth
I really can’t concede
I want you to succeed
Must I celebrate celibacy forever?
Must I die a virgin
When can I trust you again?
When will I be free to shower
you with unmitigated respect
again
-free without external forces
that plot everyday
to dwarf you in all eyes, including
your own eyes, by trying to sever
the tenuous thread from which your
manhood is suspended?
When will you respect me again?
When will you stand for me again?
When will you stand by me again?
When will you talk to me again
and hold my hand
-must I forever harbor unfulfilled fantasies
of walking beside you as I walk and cry alone
My loving you can’t make you whole again;
yet, I give you my love anyway. When will it
be complete
Your loving you will only make you you again
Then you can love me again, completely,
without limitations, to the fullest extent
When will you love me again?
When will I be whole again, whole again, without
Limitations-as a woman to the fullest extent
When will you let me be me again?
When will you let me love me again?
completely-as a woman to the fullest extent?
When will you love you again?
And when will you be you again?

On Student Council Campaign Speeches and Elections

Before tenth grade year, I made a vow to myself that I would not go to bed at night until I had done my work to my satisfaction. That year, for first and second quarters, on the curve, and because of the quality of my leaf collection and research paper on circadian rhythms, I was 78 points ahead all sections in sophomore biology. In the advanced and smallest geometry class, I was also the top test scorer and at the end of the year, won the award for "Most Oustanding Geometry Student." I was inducted into the National Honor Society and also won the essay contest that it sponsored that year. All of these things made me want to be even better as a student, and gave me the confidence to set out into the sphere of student leadership. I organized a fun campaign and made a range of striking posters featuring popular figures from Janet Jackson to “Ernest” of “KnowhutI mean” fame. The Janet Jackson poster featured her face, and cascading black hair, and the earring hanging from her ear in the shape of a key was three-dimensional, and it said “If I am elected, you won’t have to wait a while for me to take control.” I also had signature buttons featuring slogans such as “Elect Riche and Make the Difference” and “Vote for Riche’, She Cares.” My campaign committee wrote and performed a rap and popularized slogans such as “Riche’, Riche, All the Way!” Standing at the podium, I boldly ended my speech by saying, “And finally, one more thing. Remember, that if I am elected, you won’t have to wait a while for me to take control. KnowhutImean? (quick wink at the audience). Thank you.” The student body went wild over the speech ending and the wink, which gave it a sultry edge. The wink was totally unscripted and spontaneous on my part but entirely stole the day, and many people complimented me on how great it was. People just seemed uplifted. This was especially true of the senior guys remaining among those who had harassed me outside the gym on rainy days as a ninth grader and given me the nickname “Sexy,” and some of them remarked that “We knew you had it in you!” A year later, I was elected student council president, a goal that I'd had even "before" I arrived at the high school, so it was a dream come true. As I ended my term as SGA president, and introduced the slate of candidates who were up for election, I chose to give a very bold and direct (even angry) speech that confronted a lot of what I felt was a lack of ambition among some in the student body, and ongoing problems like detention, saying things such as "You can't do what people at public schools do because you're different, you're you . . . and if you think soooo much of students at public schools, JOIN THEM!(pointing to the door of the gym)" I ended the speech with the words "Learn to work, learn to like it, and learn to love yourselves. Stay out of detention. Stop wasting your time. Then and only then, will you “take it to the top.” I got a standing ovation.

Radicals v. Commoners

Increasingly, as I took on student leadership roles, my close friends in student leadership and I began to formulate what we thought of as the "radical lifestyle." By the philosophy, there were three kinds of people, "radicals," like us, "commoners," the people who were not committed to achievement in school and to student leadership, and those "hopelessly suspended in the middle." We would spend hours discussing these differences, drawing on works like Richard Wright's novel Native Son. Some of my poetry addressed those perceived and sometimes confusing differences. We just couldn't understand or accept why some people were not doing their best. The poetry, in places, addresses the conflict with which I dealt as a student leader and my resolve to remain true to my own mission and goals in life.

The Eight “Its” of Success, 9/8/1986, Age 15

If you believe in a dream, live it
If you believe in love, give it
If you feel something, say it
If you have a problem, weigh it
If you have a journey, take it
If you have the will, make it
If you have the answer, find it
If you have your business, mind it

I’ll Take It to the Maximum 10/26/1987, Age 16

I’ll take it to the maximum
I’ll set the record straight
I’m going to reach the pinnacle,
Before it is too late
I don’t care what they do
The only thing that I’m concerned about
Is making my dreams come true
I’ll be the best, I’ll do my best
No matter what it takes
I’ll get exactly what I want
No matter what the stakes
I’ll step aside for no one
Never mind who it might be
The only thing I’m concerned about
Is making sure I’m free
Free from all the pressures
Of this warped world
Making sure I know the truth
Before it starts to unfurl
I can’t say I’m sorry for staying ahead
While others stay behind
But I can’t afford to care anymore
I’ll stick with my own kind.

War is Hell (Rap) 2/11/1988

They hate me-hate me for what I am
I used to care-now I don’t give a damn
I tried-tried hard to make them see
But now-all I care about is me
They put me on a pedestal-I’ll play the role
With all of my body, heart, mind and soul
I’ve cried-stained my face with tears for them
I learned a good lesson in that gym
I dare them-don’t ask me what I want to say
I’m a bona fide brand spankin’ new Riche’
I’ve been crossed and deceived in every fashion
I hate their ways with a crushing passion
Oh yes, I’l ltake it to the highest max
We’ll see if they’ll ever be able to relax
They put me through hell in all my classes
I’m back to stay and I’m kickin’ asses
They’ll see- oh yes! Just who I am
I’ll burn ‘em up in smoke –I don’t give a damn
I’m determined as ever –I will let them know
That in hell there will be ice and white snow
Before I let them do it to me
From now on I’ll have the victory
From fools I’ve taken my helping hand
For myself only will I stand.

The Enemy 5/2, 5/8, 6/8/1988, Age 16 and 17

The piercing eyes of a sadistic foe
Can make a person cry
The enemy wishes harm to you
And wishes you would die.

He tries his best to ruin you
And makes your life a hell
If you were in a field alone
He’d push you down a well

If you were on a mountain high
Though it is not fair
He’d surely push you off the edge
If you were standing there

If you would dare to turn your back
He’d pierce it with a knife
He hates you with a deadly passion
And wants to take your life

Stand your ground on all mountains
Plan to win the race
Don’t sell out to your enemy
Just keep him in his place

5/5/1988, Age 16

I hate being naughty sometimes
Sometimes I couldn’t care less
Sometimes my life is the ultimate
Sometimes it is a mess
Sometimes my associates treat me nicely
Sometimes they dog me out
Sometimes I want to be real naughty
And show them what it’s about
I won’t apologize for being myself
That’s who I really am
If they don’t like it I don’t care
I don’t give a damn
I’ll be the best and nothing less
That’s right I’ll never stop
I’ll do exactly what I want
And take it to the top
Some people have limited goals and dreams
They never want the stars
That is why they live their lives
Chained up behind “bars”
I’m am daring, a radical one
Adventure I won’t forsake it
I won’t stop until I get enough
Until then I will fake it

My Dreams 5/23/1988, Age 16

I don’t care how much it takes
Whatever I have to do
I will always try my best
And to myself be true
I won’t stop until I am the person
That I want to be
I will live life to the fullest
As God blesses me
He has a purpose for me here
I don’t know what it is
All I know is that I believe
That I am truly His
I don’t care how rich I’m not
Or how “rich” I will be
All I want is security
A happy family
I know that I am not perfect
Yet I am the best
That is because I don’t conform
And blend in with the rest
I want my life to be a challenge
A chance to love and live
I believe in helping others
Of myself I give
I never intend for my life to be
A hopeless perpetual bore
I will make it exciting and hopeful
Fun forevermore
I believe in truth with all my heart
My dreams I will fulfill
I wholeheartedly believe in me
And I always will

A Leader’s Follower 6/13, 7/10 and 7/13/1988, Age 17

The world is taken from his reach
The moment he takes a breath
He never makes an enemy-
Just “friends” until his death
He never has true finesse-
Just a little “charm”
He would never want adventure-
Wish a person “harm”
He would only live his life
as a commoner
A second-class citizen
A leader’s follower.

The Commoners 7/2/1988, Age 17

Won’t let me get an identity
Won’t let me be myself
They force me to be who they want me to be
A complaisant, hopeless elf
Better known as commoners
On the other side of the road
I will finally overthrow the crew
Get rid of this heavy load
I will assert my identity
And finally be myself
I will live out my own life
Forsaking whatever else

I Believe 8/28/1988, Age 17

I believe in nonconformism
I believe in mystery
I believe in faith and love
I believe in destiny
I believe in myself truly
I believe in being me
I believe in truth with all my mind
I believe in honesty

Positions Nevermind 10/10-10/11/1988, Age 17

I am so lonely I could cry
My life is so confusing
Sometimes I wish that I could die
It seems that I am losing
I need to know what elates me
Positions nevermind
Sometimes I’m blind-one day I’ll see
Fulfillment I shall find
I have so many hopes and dreams
My future I am chasing
Happiness is not always what it seems
With Destiny I’m racing

Wholeness 12/6/1988, Age 17

Whenever I become myself
(The day that I am whole)
Indeed I will be very grateful
To fortify my soul
I will feel that I am a woman
I will feel complete
I will become fully human
I’ll have few needs to meet
I will be a happy person
I will be fulfilled
I will be invincible
I will be strong-willed
I’ll wholeheartedly love myself
Myself indeed I’ll be
And I will be exuberant
Because of Destiny

Born to be Common 11/16/1988, Age 17

Commoners are apathetic
-can’t see the other hand
Always blindly sympathetic
They just can’t understand
They refuse to accept the truth
(They refute the other side)
Impeded by their perpetual youth
They always need a guide
They’re burdens on society
And victims of it too
They can’t stand variety
It’s sad that this is true
They were born not to know
And born to be the fools
They don’t know which way to go
And they can’t make the rules
They are hopelessly behind
Can never get ahead
It is sad that they are blind
They always must be led
One could never be a man
Or grow into a woman
They get by as best they can
Those born to be common.

She Never Gets Ahead 12/8/1988, Age 17

Of all the never!
Life treats her like a whore
It tells her what she does deserve
And gives her nothing more
It makes her feel like she is dirt
It really dogs her out
Her feelings are hopelessly hurt
And she’s always in doubt
She never uses life for gain
It uses her instead
Always standing in the rain
She never gets ahead
(The Common Girl)

Invisible Sadness 5/14/1989

When I look into a mirror
I see it in her eyes
But others cannot see it there
She keeps it in disguise
She has a silent cross to bear
It makes her feel such grief
Others just don’t seem to care
She hardly feels relief
She stands alone most of the time
And truly wears a mask
No one knows just what she feels
And they don’t care to ask
She possesses opaque eyes
No one can see through them
They keep secrets very well
If only people knew them
They would see that she is human
She's not invincible
The pain is such an endless storm
It is invisible

***Untitled 6/20/1989, Age 18

At last I’m feeling beautiful
And all my teeth are straight
My eyes are simply wonderful
I certainly feel great
My height is such a gift to me
My nails are getting stronger
My legs are shaping up so well
My hair is growing longer
Indeed, my voice sounds good to me
My skin is getting clear
I get better by the day
And wiser by the year
Slowly dreams are coming true
At times I still feel down
But I can’t wait to start anew
To leave this boring town
Atlanta will be so exciting
Spelman will be great
Morehouse will be just as nice
Can’t wait to get a date
Yes, I’m going to the top
In every way I can
I’ll do very well in school
I’ll have a Morehouse Man
At last I’m feeling beautiful
And all my teeth are straight
My eyes are simply wonderful
I certainly feel great

From the Radical Woman, to the Common Girl (written around Sophomore year at Spelman), Age 19

In spite of everything I am
In spite of what I do
One day I truly wished that I
Could trade places with you
Because, in essence, you are free
You answer to no one
You answer only to yourself
And you can have the fun
You have a foolish kind of freedom
That hurts your dignity
That always gives you what you want
With fake security
Whereas I must have the strength
To be what you are not
To do things that you’d never do
To show them what we’ve got
I have to know what you don’t know
So I’m the one who’s sad
Your ignorance gives you all the bliss
That really makes me mad
I have to face reality
I have to know the truth
And I have to be a woman
You can keep your youth
Sometimes I think that you hate me
Because of what I am
Sometimes I hate you twice as much
‘Cause you don’t give a damn
Now, even if I could
I wouldn’t try to be
Anything other than myself
The self I know as me
But, I know I love you, too
I want to set you free:
To show you what it’s really like
To be someone like me
To show you that you are somebody
To help you set you free
To take you with me to the top
To be all we can be