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CALL FORTH FROM THE DEEP

AuthorHouse

Contents

Introduction.............................................................1From Where Do I Come?....................................................7Roots in Revival.........................................................12Pre-Poo and Co-What? Co-Wash?............................................15Destiny, is that You Girl?...............................................21The Road to Destiny......................................................24It Starts with the Head!.................................................29Unhappily Situated.......................................................32Called for the Calling...................................................37You Don't Have to Call Me Black..........................................41The Road Less Traveled...................................................47Remembering..............................................................53Meet Destiny.............................................................54The Answer...............................................................55The Arlene Embola Hair Care System (The AEHC System).....................56Those Who Answered.......................................................64The Pleasure is Mine.....................................................75By: Austin Seidel........................................................77

Chapter One

I recently read a series of books entitled, Little Black Girl Lost. Although fictional, this series of books told a tale of woe that is all too prevalent in a society where young women don't know who they are or where they came from. I do not mean their given names on their birth certificates or their legal addresses where they receive mail. I mean, what is their story? What has been passed down from generation to generation? What generational curses do they have hanging around their necks like nooses? Who are their role models? What have they seen in their tender years that predicate all of their actions as adults? What baggage are they carrying like bag women on the street? What universal language do they use when they communicate with one another? What tales of woe lie behind those eyes? What burdens are their young souls bearing? Who robbed them of their identities, and when did those events take place?

Our young women are crying. With dry eyes, they are crying. Through fake smiles, they are crying. Through makeup meant to cover up, they are crying. Somewhere along the way, the word "ugly" was tattooed on their spirits, and now when you compliment the true essence of who they are, they don't trust it, don't believe it, and in some sad cases, don't want it.

This isn't something that can be fixed by mere words. Telling a young woman how attractive she is will not solve the problem. It's like spraying perfume on a skunk. The stench is still there. To remove the smell, a deprogramming has to occur. All faculties currently operating under the old regime must cease, and a new way of thinking has to be employed.

To begin this process, stillness must occur. One has to be still in order to move forward. It is hard to gauge yourself if you are moving at lightning speed. Be still. Be still, and listen to your heart. Be still, and listen to God. Be still, and listen to your own breathing. Be still, and reflect on your life. Be still, and break down where things went left. Be still, and ask yourself, "Where do I come from?"

We believe what we want to believe, even when we know deep down that it is not the truth. Sometimes that is a way for us to keep from dealing with what is really bothering us. We actually don't want to get to the root of our problem. It may be too painful or too tedious of a journey. Either way, the end result is the same. We are putting off the inevitable. At some point, the big things in our life are going to meet, and they will do one of two things: They will either gel, or they will crash.

Let's examine this for a moment. What big things are we speaking of? Those things could be career vs. family. They could be love life vs. career. They could be finances vs. education, and on and on. Why is this relevant? Everything is connected to everything!

When I went to college, I crashed. I was an overachiever by nature, and I probably started crashing in high school. I played volleyball and basketball, I was a majorette, a cheerleader, valedictorian, president of the Honor Society, prom queen, and I held down a part time job ... all in my senior year of high school! I excelled at everything I did.

However, I could not manage to excel in my relationship with my father. Now that one, I just couldn't seem to figure out. How was it that this child could be so unloved by one of her parents? It began to wear on me, especially once I got to college. By then, the challenges had gotten bigger, and the achievements had gotten smaller. And since I was my own problem solver, I only had myself to turn to when things got sticky.

I decided to reach out to my dad because at the time, I felt I needed that lifeline. Mom all of a sudden could not fill that void. Maybe it was just to reassure myself that I was still that all-star child, needing him (my dad) to step in and be the problem solver for once, or maybe I just wanted to be a child for a minute. I was more responsible than a lot of adults I knew, so it could have been that I just wanted someone else to take the reigns and let me be that little girl for a moment.

I needed it badly. I was gasping for air, running out of steam, and burning the candle at both ends. I needed that parental support. Well, no surprise and no cigar; it didn't happen. Because my reaching out was a last ditch effort at survival, I crashed when it failed. That one moment of rejection summed up all of my almost 19 years of living. Even though I had just had two of the most marvelous years of my life (my junior and senior years in high school), it all seemed a moot point because at that moment, my daddy didn't want me. My daddy didn't love me. My daddy wouldn't help me pay my tuition. I was broke, and I was struggling through my classes because I could barely stay awake, due to working all night long just to make ends meet. Certainly my mom was there. She had always been there; but by this time, she was more preoccupied with my five younger siblings. Who could blame her?

In everyone's mind, I was the one no one really had to worry too much about, because I was a survivor. I had proven that I could self manage , so my mom took her hands off the wheel so she could tend more to the other five still at home. All of a sudden, life was so much harder when everything had been so simple just the year before. I was tired. To sum it up, I was just tired. I was tired of carrying the weight of a grown woman's responsibility around in a young girl's soul. My body was that of a teenager, but I had the worries of a much older woman aging my spirit. That is where things went left for me.

Everything became cloudy, and I wanted to mask my pain with whatever seemed appropriate at the time, no matter how short-lived. Those were dark days. Lord only knows how I survived that period still in one piece. But here I sit behind these keys, typing, thinking, asking the question to those who are where I was ... "Where do you come from?" ... or ... "Where did things go left?"

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