My Ancestors Wildest Dreams

Neither George, nor Either of the Williams or even Willia Could Have Imagined A Ghetto Princess Like Me

George’s Wildest Dreams

Photo by Hannah Middleton on Unsplash

Black Americans like me say things like, I am my ancestor’s wildest dreams.

What we mean is, someone who was stolen from their homeland back in Africa, beaten, raped and subjected to all kinds of horrors here (until they died) probably couldn’t quite imagine someone like me. I am a Civil Rights Lawyer who can make the rich frat boy types hang their heads in shame.

I am sure for some, (if not all) of my ancestors their wildest dream. When we say these things, usually we are only thinking of our African ancestors.

But what about our other ancestors… the white ones? The ones who were snatching slaves of the auctioning black, taking them back to plantations and fucking them? What of these ancestors? What of William Chrisman, for example, lawyer, banker and one of the writers of the Missouri Constitution in 1875? What would he think of me? Could he even have imagined me?

See William Chrisman, About 8 names Down on Left - Great Rich White Uncle

Me who became a lawyer, about 120 years after he signed the Missouri Constitution? Back in his day, there where few, if any African-American lawyers…and even fewer women. Ada Kepley was the first woman to graduate from what would become Northwestern’s School of law in 1870, (shout out to my alma mater NU!)

Sister woman Charlotte Ray followed shortly after her, graduating from Howard Law school in 1972, however the doubled iron fist that is racism and sexism. shut her down after only two years of practice. She then went on to become a teacher, which was a respectable occupation for women at the time.

And so, I am guessing not in his wildest fucking dreams could William Chrisman have imagined me, in 2021, being the hip-hop litigator that I am, razzing the establishment like the Tasmanian devil.

Certainly, he would have never imagined that this country would have a black and Asian female attorney as its Vice President. What would he think, of any of this? Would he be like:

Well done Amber! You are taking these principles that I wrote all about, and you are doing the damn thang! Ghetto Princes that you are! And there’s even a Vice President like you!

Nope…probably not…I mean, I might break his fuckin brain. But then again, I don’t know. I do not know this guy. At ALL. All I know is what reveals about him…and that is that he was Willia’s older (and very white) brother. I don’t know him.

The Germans are Marching

When I get to thinking, like really thinking about something, and I’m just deep in my head space, working out a legal argument, or thinking about a story I wanna write up, I start pacing all around. When I do this my husband says:

The Germans are marching!

He compares me to a soldier in Hitler’s army. Oh, he’s a funny guy, that dude, always got jokes. Anyway!

These Chrismans, I speak of? My ancestors? They were German…or French. They come from Alsace Lorraine, which is a part of Germany that the French and Germans have been beefing over for quite some time. Finally, the Germans won it in the Franco-Prussian War.

That war ended sometime in the 1870s, and the land has officially belonged to Germany ever since.

So, then, did they start out French? I don’t know. George’s father, Jacob, came over here from what now traces back to that part of Germany/France, with his father-in law and his wife in the early 1700s. They had decrees from Kings and Queens. The monarchs were all like whatever you see over there that looks valuable, you can take it and grab it and claim it for me. In my name. I wanna tell those Kings and Queens:

This wasn’t your shit to take though! Like really! Who does that?!?!?!

Well, the Chrismans did. And much respect…it’s quite a bold thing to do. To leave your home over in Germany/France, with a boat full of stuff and travel to and unknown land. Then to scope out the Shenandoah Valley be like:

This is our new world. We gonna be straight up gangsta about it. We taking over!”

Great, Great, Great Uncle’s House — Still Standing

See that right there, (above) well that’s my ancestral home! (I am tripping yall! Straight trippin! Like I’m on the Game of Thrones! Ancestral home? Come on! I don’t have no ancestral home, yall! )

Or do I? This house was built by George Chrisman, a great, great, great, great, Uncle, like to the fourth power. And it is still standing to this day!


My Great Uncle George was a Bif, or a Chet, or a Chad

My great Uncle George should have had one of those obnoxious frat boy names. George Chrisman was an Indian-killing, revolutionary war starting (Bif frat boy, essentially) kind of dude. Slave owner? Fo sho. How do you think I got here? He was the epitome of colonization and the oceans of blood that were spilled to build this world we all currently live in.

He was all about it.

How do I feel about him? Conflicted.

I mean the truth about these white boys that came running over here, is rarely discussed. They were running from their own sort of oppression. A European class system that pit brother against brother, when you think about it. Only the oldest one was guaranteed a damn thing…the rest of them…I don’t know what they fuck they was supposed to do! They had rich white boy problems and clearly I don’t give a fuck about those, but they had them. That’s what sent them running over here, fighting like their lives depended on it (and they did.)

But these European second sons, who felt that they had been slighted, over in Europe, came over here feeling like this new world was their due…and they fought for it, viciously.

This dude right here, George Chrisman he was all up in George Washington’s ear like:

Look George, Fuck the British! They got their hands to deep in our pockets! We ain’t standing for this shit, real talk! We got to fight back, get them the fuck out of our colonial lives! Enough of this shit!

So…they went after their freedom…and they got it.

But at what costs? I mean do you want to know how I got all up in this family? If what is told in this story, The Honey Dipper’s Legacy, is in any way true (even partially and like I believe it is). It’s gross. It’s disgusting how I became a part of this family. Rape and incest is how I became a part of this family.

Congressman Steve King asked the question,

What if we went back through all the family trees and just pulled those people out that were products of rape and incest? Would there be any population of the world left if we did that?

Well, I wouldn’t be here. That’s pretty certain. Because I am a descendent of Willia…and in the book The Honey Dipper’s Legacy, Willia is the product of the a brother, getting with his half-black sister (the child of a slave concubine) and then his even lighter daughter…YUCK! That is nasty, yall! Congressman King need to recognize that this is nasty!)

What would I say to them, any of these Chrisman white men, about my very existence? I’d say this:

Don’t just stick your d*ck anywhere where white boy, cause when you do that, 200 years down the line you got a descendent who is a ghetto princess, telling you exactly what she thinks of your colonizing ass…and it ain’t all good. No, It’s not. Sorry. The history books might remember you fondly, but I don’t. Not entirely. Talkin bout, hooray, hooray, you killed them Indians! You’re the savage animal! Coming up into people’s homes and killing them!

And how did you treat my great Aunts mfer? Were they able to realize their dreams of freedom as well? And yeah I’m only talking about the white ones cause I know you sure as hell wasn’t doing a damn thing for the black ones with your killing Indians ass…no you wasn’t.

I got some real mixed feelings about these ancestors…but…they brought me Willia.

The Night I Left Kentucky

Willia (Chrisman) and Thomas Granger

My dad’s paternal grandmother, Willia Chrisman, came about 100 years after this George Chrisman Indian-killing dude. She was light and bright and damn near white (like the Grangers tend to be.) She was primarily Alsace French/German, with just a lil dash of West African…she had a lil touch of it. This made her look I-talian to me. (I mean just look at her…with my great grandpa…and honestly I don’t know WHAT he was on. He was a traveling reverend…with crazy eyes. I mean, I’m just saying…look at dude’s eyes! They lookin crazy!)

She could pass, and she often did, to get what she wanted in a moment (eating at a restaurant on the road.) The Grangers got some funny white be people so stupid stories about this.

Well, Willia decided pretty early on that she was not going to let white people, and especially not “peckerwoods” (her terminology, not mine) tell her that she was any less than. This caused her to try and get her daughters (Lucy and Bill) into the white high school in Kentucky. (She was a line-crosser! Definitely a line crosser!)

Willia was crossing them lines, and getting her kids to cross them lines well before Brown v. Education made it legal. I would say, if the Grangers had a legacy, it is crossing the lines. Especially the color lines, cause we could! We always been so close to it, anyway, light as we tend to be. And we was not gonna let the idiotic “peckerwood” rules, stop us from having what was rightfully ours.


Sending the kids off to high school was the custom for colored families (to use the terminology of the day) of means. But Willia was too smart to do that shit. She knew that boys and men are far too rapey, for that to be a good idea for her girls. She she wasn’t gonna send her girls off somewhere, like her oldest son Jimmy, who would go on to become a doctor.

So she decided that she would send Lucy and Bill to the white high school in town. She went to the white high school in town said:

Listen up here white people, you know me, you know my girls, (she was the colored teacher in the community). You know I am all about that education. And so, I plead my case to you, educator to educator, let my girls go to high school! I want them to go! But I don’t wanna send them off! I want them here with me! I’m about to register them. I dare you to tell me no.

The white educators were like:

Alright Willia…we know you, you like Beyonce…you go off, you go hard, take what’s yours…you’re a star. Cause you slay.

Now yall know these Kentucky school folk ain’t really say that. I don’t know what they said to her, exactly, bottom line was they said, okay, we will allow it, register your girls for the school.

But then… mfing ignorant ass, sleazy ass, cowardly, clowning, won’t even show their face klanners, held one of their secretive meetings, where they said something along the lines of:

We so sick of this uppity nigger bitch! Always acting like she better than somebody. Always making the rest of us feel less than and dumb.

And so…they decided to burn her house down..wait for it…wait for it..with her and her children in it.



Like the lawyer in me is what the fuck kind of negotiation is this???? How you go from…okay, we’ll allow it, go ahead and register to these girl children for school to…NOPE…we gonna KILL YOU AND YOUR KIDS!

How you go from this to that?

What is going on in your bad-addled BRAIN, that this is how you solve problems? Always gotta take it there. Always gotta to throw shit against the wall like a fucking ape. Always some murder death kill fuck shit…always. ANIMALS.

And so…the first people to learn of the PREMEDITATED TERRORISM AND MURDER of my family, was the white people who agreed to register Willia’s girls for school. They warned her.

They went running to Willia (I mean they had to run, cause back in the day, there were no cellphones, or telephones, maybe telegrams…but you get the point.) They had to do that GOT shit and send a raven…or use some other medieval form of communication. (And no they did not magically access I-phones like Khallesi and Jon Snow did in Season 7. Don’t get me started on the fuckshit that was GOT Season 7! Just don’t! Still salty about it. Dan and Dave can kiss my ass.)

When the white educators got there, they was all like:

Willia, we know you trying to get your Beyonce on and get in formation, BUT check it, if you wanna live, you gots to get the fuck up out of Kentucky…with the quickness, cause the Klan is coming to burn your house down tonight! Time for you to BOUNCE.

And Willia, was like:

Oh shit!! My mouth has written checks my behind can’t cash! And what do I do? What do I do? I’m all alone in Kentucky…without my man to help me!

Yall, know she ain’t say it like that. She wasn’t no ghetto Princess. I am, and that’s how I talk.


Anyway, grandpa was a rolling stone who stayed gone, (being a crazy-eyed traveling preacher and all). So Willia had to figure this one out be herself. She did it. She got her six kids together and bounced.

According to the book The Honey Dipper’s Legacy, landed in New York with a wealthy widow who was like:

Chile where you coming from with all them kids? Oh, you running from the Klan? It happens. You can chill with me until you can get word to your man about all the Klanning shenanigans. Of course, he gonna know when he sees that house burnt down.

Long story short - they survived. But that was scary for them. My great Aunt Bill wrote a short story about the event. (She became a writer and journalist while passing, these light Grangers was some passing mfers…real talk.) It was called, “The Night I Left Kentucky.”

*For white people who don’t know (and that’s most of yall) “passing” means pretending to be white, even though you’re technically, by America’s definition of race, black.

When the Grangers tell this story, passing it down from generation to generation, they feel like there is a moral to it and it’s this: white people are not the enemy. They are not. All this white supremacy fuckshit America has been on for centuries isn’t really about race, though it may seem to be. I get that…black folks who gonna lose their damn minds about me saying this. Yes it seems to be all about race.

Because on that fateful Klan day of reckoning day, it was white people who saved Willia and her children’s lives. Remember that,.

So it’s not white people who are the problem, but rather, the stupidity and ignorance and hate that jumps into some white people. (And yall know who yall are fuckin Trumpsters…yall know WHO yall are.) I mean what would possess someone to want to burn small children up in a house?


So, Trumpeters…yall need to check yourselves. Really, really check yourselves, before you get too deep into that kind of EVIL. All it is about is STUPIDITY. AND IGNORANCE. AND HATE. And…don’t ya wanna be better than that? Ijs.

Me and Willia, (and my mama) Endeavor to Persevere

Me and Willia have a personal relationship. I know it sounds nuts, but I feel like she’s always been around. Sort of like a guardian angel. I wonder if she’s just there for me, or if she nags all of her descendants…or maybe just the girl ones.

Endeavor to persevere

Take the time I was going to drop out of law school. I mean, I don’t know why she was tripping… it wasn’t going well. My law school was a super conservative, Nazis -Are- Us, kinda law school. The Antonin Scalia Law School (George Mason). The name says it all, don’t you think?

Why would a ghetto princess even choose to attend such a law school? Two lil words , or three, depending on how you count — in-state tuition. It was CHEAP. Like WAAAAAAAAAY cheaper than any of the other law schools in the area, 8 as opposed to 35 thousand dollars a year…what would you do?

I think, if you were a Ghetto Princess like me, who was hood rich, but not really rich, you would shut your damn mouth, and go to the Klan Rally, (cough!) I mean law school that was the cheapest. So that’s what I did.

But…it never went all that well. What can you expect of a law school where, on the very first day your Torts professor calls your class mate a “nigger.” THE VERY FIRST DAY!

I mean he tried to be slick about it. He was all like:

“Ms. Dormand (not her real name), if I call you a “nigger” is that an assault?

My ghetto ass was sitting there thinking:

Hell yeah, it’s an assault mfer! What If I jump up and pop you in your racist ass mouth for saying that shit! Not only will it only be an assault, but also a battery! Yes! I can read, mfer! I know the difference between the terms assault and battery. But you don’t see me assaulting and battering you to make my point, cause I got what you apparently don’t home-training! (it’s a black thang, white people don’t understand it.) Assault and battery! We get it! Okay, assaults are words that make you fear for your safety…and here you are assaulting us all! We are afraid now…all us black students! You mfer!

Oh…it became a whole big mess. The black second years got involved…they got the Washington Post involved. We first years begged them not to, beause we had to get through a year of Torts with this mfer! And we knew if we complained too loudly there was going to be retaliation and retribution against the black first years for that…and there was.

We all got Ds in torts…and that GPA thing in law school is very serious, very, very serious. So…because he couldn’t get away with calling us niggers, our Torts professor fucked us up. He did. A technological lynching indeed. This mfer…Professor Krauss! Micheal Krauss! Yep. Asshole.

It was a straight Klan rally all up and through there…and I was miserable. And on top of that, I had not one but two babies, back-to-back, all up in my brand-new marriage, (that wasn’t doing all that well, under all the circumstances, law school, not enough money, second unplanned pregnancy, before I had even recovered from the first.)

And so, my Aunt Loray, like my favorite Aunt in life, (Jordan by marriage) came to visit me. She saw I wasn’t doing too well. She said,

“Amber, you doing too much. It’s one thing to get married. It’s another to have babies. But then to go to law school? You just trying to do everything all at once. It’s too much!”

So, I thought about dropping out. Especially after that first semester, when they put almost half of the black students on Academic probation (cause they was some racist mfers that just didn’t want us there AT ALL. They was trying to flunk us all out). I couldn’t imagine continuing on, without my buddies.

Willia was not having it. She was all like,

Girl, you is not dropping out of law school! Not after everything I had to go through so you could be here! You do realize that the Klan BURNED DOWN MY HOUSE! I had to leave my house! With my CHILDREN! And you so upset about some damn peckerwood calling you a nigger! I don’t care what he called you! This what you gonna do, you gonna do what that…what is that boy yall like to listen to so much, crazy name…oh I know, Jay Z ,you gonna GET .THAT. DIRT. OFF YOUR SHOULDERS.

And you going to do even more than that. All your friends, on academic probation, do what you can do to help them. Start a study group! Remember what your mama taught you? Endeavor to persevere? DO THAT. All yall need to do is work harder! Work longer! Get it done!

(Endeavor to persevere is what my mom says all the time…it’s her fake bougie was of saying don’t ever give up.)

Okay…so Willia didn’t say it like that. Yall know I gotta translate this story my own ghetto princess dialect. But that was the gist of it. That was the energy of it. And when I speak to my ancestors, they come through via energy, some more clearly than others.

Willia’s energy is tenacity. Never say Die. Never Give up! Just keep going and going and going and going no matter what. No matter what!

This makes sense cause this was what her life was like. She took so many hits, but no matter what, she never gave up. She always kept going. She must have been an Aries like my mom. Them Aries are like energizer bunnies. They do not quit. They get knocked down…but they get up again. No one is ever gonna keep them down.

I GET KNCKED DOWN! Tubthumping!

I believe our ancestors jump into people with similar energy, and get their messages to us through them. One of my most endearing memories of law school is staying up all night, trying to cram for Income Tax…and not being able to make it through all of the material. I fell asleep at asset depreciation. Boring…that was some boring ass shit. I remember my girl Angie, shaking me relentlessly, “Wake up! Wake up Amber! You MUST LEARN THIS! It will be on the exam!”

I was so tired…I was like, leave me alone Angie…and Willia.

But nope…she don’t give up and she don’t give in, and she don’t let me either. And it’s cool for someone like that to have your back..even if they are nonphysical. I know this about Willia, she has my BACK. And I have hers.

A Willia Never Forgets

Willia hates the Klan Like, she can’t stand the fuckin Klan. I mean she cannot stand them. I mean she has her reasons…and they are this.

When she was living her life in Paducah Kentucky, she made a decision that she was not going to bow and scrape to allay the fears and concerns of white folks that she called “peckerwoods.” They were not gonna break her stride or steal her joy. In this book they was trying to do both.

When the Klan was down here in Charlottesville and the University of Virginia cutting the fuck up! And Trump was all like, “You had very fine people on both sides”

And I know there are those of yall WHO STAY all on Trump’s DIZNICK…all day, every day (and it’s not healthy I might add) who thought that shit was PROFOUND.

Let me just say this…It was not. He’s such a nickle and dime con-man street hustler, and I am just like really? Really white people?

This kind of silly, simple shit (on this frumpy, mediocre at best white man) impresses yall? Come to the hood, you can meet those kinda mfers all day every damn day!!!! They are everywhere! A dime a dozen!

But yall wouldn’t be impressed with non of them, cause they black. Put a white pasty face on that shit and yall think its genius…some of yall anyway.

But back to the Klan. Willia WAS HOT! OH! She was HOT! When the Klan was showing they ass down here in Virginia!

Them Charlottesville Klan protestors had Willia back from wherever she had been in her spirit world, bothering the fuck out of ME! She was PISSED! And she wanted me to do something…nag, nag, nag and I was like:

What the FUCK do you want me to do? I wasn’t there…and even if I was, I couldn’t have done nothing with them crazy ass white boy!. Remember the “Take Back the Night March” at Northwestern? Remember that? These fuckers are crazy! Throwing beer cans at people! Just cause we was like “don’t rape us!

And she was like:

You can do something! You’re a lawyer for Christ sakes! I made sure of that!

And so…because of Willia, (and my friend Nichii, long story there) I got reinstated with the Bar. (Which I had left about a decade before, when the crazy white boys at the Metropolitan Washington Airports Authority wore me the f*ck out. I was like. You know what? Yall just too much. and this is how I feel about yall:

I had a million, trillion things I would rather do, than to keep fucking with them. And I told them that.

I don’t give a fuck about you

Or anything that you do

Clearly it was over then. I could not keep working there after that. So, I left…what my people call “a real good gubmint job.” And got (pay wise) a shitty one. I started teaching English for Northern Virginia Community College. The pay was the shittiest I have ever earned in my life; BUT the work was deeply fulfilling.

But Willia was not having it tho…she was like:

Enough of you playing around girl. It’s time to get back to the real work of you taking on the Klan!

So, reluctantly, I decided it was time to do something. Willia wasn’t gonna let me get any peace until I did.

Dreams of Dead People — My Bougie Aunt Lucy

Willia with a lil Lucy and a lil Bill

Sometimes Willia calls me “Bill.” And I have to tell her, “My name is not Bill, it’s Amber.” Okay so here is where it gets weird…Willia had seven kids, four boys and three girls. The three girls were named Lucy, Bill and Alice. Bill and Lucy died before of very close to when I was born. So, I never met them, only my Aunt Alice. It was, in fact, my Aunt Alice who insisted I get a copy of The Honey Dipper’s Legacy. Luckily, I secured a copy on Amazon before it got too difficult. It’s hard now, the book is out of print and you have to buy it used.

Anyway, here’s the thing. I have talked with my aunt Alice, in this life, so I know her (or knew her, cause she’s deceased now.) I have talked to Willia and Lucy, in dreams. But, I’ve never talked to Bill…never.

Okay, so here’s where It gets even weirder…when I was younger, my dad used to say to me, you remind me so much of my Aunt Bill! You’re so much like her! She was my favorite aunt. That was like garbage in garbage out. I didn’t much think about it…until, I read that book! Then I was like, GODDAMN! I am a lot like Bill. I talk like her. I act like her. I even think like her! It is spooky, how much I have in common with this woman I never even met! And Lucy, her sister, is a lot like my sister! A real pretty and prissy girl, whereas I am all tomboy. It’s wild how in our families we just keep repeating the same cycles and patterns over and over again.

One-time Lucy came to me in a dream, and she straight went off on me! She was mad, mad, mad! She was like:

You being too ghetto! Disgracing my daddy’s name! Fighting in the streets! Grangers don’t act like this!

I wanted to tell her…they do if their other names are David Alan! You got an issue with my behavior? You need to take it up with that man who taught me alls I know about cutting up in the streets!

That was what I wanted to say. But Lucy had me so that I couldn’t talk. I don’t know what she did, but in this dreamscape I couldn’t do ANYTHING except sit and listen to her.

Lucy was powerful, because in this same dream, two other dead people were trying to chill me the fuck out about this situation involving my sister. Ms. Payne (an old neighbor from my old neighborhood, very close to my family,) was like, “Can I talk to you for a minute?” And I was like “NO!” and ran right past her. (I think I was trying to get at my sister…in the dream.) Next came came Key, my thug boyfriend, (also back from the dead.) He was like, “Amber, hold up…wait!” I still wasn’t having it. I was so mad at Astra!

Then comes Lucy. She was like ENOUGH.

At the time, I didn’t even know who she was. I just knew that she looked like my cousin Aaron…and so I was thinking…who is this? I knew she was related to me. I could just feel it. But I couldn’t place her. It was such a strange dream, that I told my mom all about it, and my mom told me,

“That sounds like your Aunt Lucy.”

Especially when she said the part about “I’m sorry about your inheritance.” She was lecturing me for what seemed like an hour. That was how she ended the lecture…with that apology. In the dream, I shrugged when Lucy said that, cause I didn’t know WTF she was talking about. But my mom thought she did. My mom was like:

Oooooh! Lucy wanted yall to get some of that money! She left all that money and yall didn’t get none of it!

I mean did she really? Lucy didn’t even know us third generation Grangers! As for her siblings, Lucy has left them a lil bit of money…but I don’t know if that was even what she was talking about, cause money do not be lasting for generations (unless it is put into a trust.) The only way money is gonna make it to a second and third generation is if you get some lawyers involved; and I should know. Cause I’m a lawyer.

And all that talk…about Grangers not ghetto. Please. She just don’t know…me and my siblings are some ghetto ass Grangers. Ijs…Still…I backed up off my sister. I mean, like when you have a dead Aunt, that you have never met before, who puts you in some kind of holding pattern in a dream…well, it’s time to chill…, ghetto or not.

I was mad for getting into metaphysical trouble for fighting with my sister. So I called my dad up and told him, Aunt Lucy said that his grandaddy Thomas Granger was mad at him. (Okay, it was a little white lie, but at the time I was mad at all them damn Grangers…every single one of them. Long story…but Grangers be trippin, at least my Grangers (siblings) do. And I didn’t see why I should be the only one in trouble with dead Grangers. If anyone deserved a back from the grave admonition for being the wildest Granger ever…I felt like it was David Alan…and not me. So, I made him share this blame with me.

The other time, Willia and Lucy (they both came together) to talk to me, was when I was battling breast cancer. They were like “Come on Bill (always with the Bill!) You have to get up. If you don’t get up, then you won’t get back up in this life. Come on Bill. Get up. We will help you.”

But…in all of this…I have never once heard a peep from Bill…which leads me to wonder…am I Bill? Maybe part 2? These are metaphysical mysteries…but it would explain why Willia has such an interest in me.

(I’m still Amber though, not Bill, Okay?)

And so…there’s my family’s black history. The Klan STAYED terrorizing us, and especially when we tried to do anything to get a head in life, but like my mama (a Jordan) always said, we endeavored to persevere, nonetheless.

And black history still happens every day. The Klan is still trying it. In 1996, it was the spirit of the Klan that caused me to witness one of my classmates be called a nigger on the first day of law school. And why does the Klan stay bouncing all up and through Virginia with their nonsense?

Richmond is the capital of the confederacy and the Klan keep trying it with these damn statues!

The Klan burned Willia’s house down and the Klan built that General Lee monument (and many others) of oppression, to serve as a dog whistle to every black person residing in the Richmond, Virginia and all up and through the South. But in 2020, the Robert E Lee, turned Marcus David Peters circle began going through a transition that should have happened at least three decades ago (at least!)

If you live on Monument Avenue and you want the Robert E. Lee memorial back the way it was (it is not happening…I’m just saying, you can’t undo what’s been done), you are the exact same as the Klan that burned down my Great Grand Willia’s house.

You are no different. You are entertaining the exact same kind of ugly, vileness and disgusting behavior as the Kentucky Klan that delights in murdering children. OWN THAT…mfers…OWN THAT.

Well.. I know I done crossed all kinds of lines with this post, but it’s what I do. Just being true to my ancestry…giving them ancestors wild, wild dreams right about now!

A Ghetto Princess Speaks.


I’ll be back…this is just one side of many family. I didn’t even touch on the other side! And other side is how I got my ghetto! Also, I only touched on my greats. I didn’t even tell you about my grands! Or my parents for that matter! Those Ivy League line crossers! They are a trip!

Working with the Light!

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