Read Online There Goes My Social Life by Stacey Dash - Free Book Online Page A

Congress and the White House as they erode the sovereignty of the fifty states and the American people.
    It’s up to citizens to take a stand and to seize back the power the bloated federal government has taken from us. It’s up to individuals to plant their feet firmly on the ground and reclaim their lives.
    Who decides?
    According to the Founders and the Constitution, the citizens should make the decisions that affect their lives.
    That’s why I didn’t let my family or my upbringing define my life. Thankfully, I was born in a nation that gave me another option: freedom.

SIX
    EDUCATION, THE GREAT INTEGRATOR
    Education is the key to unlock the golden door of freedom.
    â€”George Washington Carver
    I confess: I’m self-taught.
    I’ve been teaching myself through reading newspapers, National Review , and many books like The Fountainhead , The Alchemist , Hamlet , and The Story of O . Through my self-teaching, I feel like I’m putting myself through college without having to put up with liberal professors trying to indoctrinate me with the elite nonsense of higher education . . . lessons they teach that might sound sort of reasonable in the classroom but that would never make sense on the street.
    No, I didn’t go to a single college, but I made up for that by attending so many elementary schools and high schools. Because my parents moved me around a lot, I went to schools in New York, California, and New Jersey. I went to public schools and private schools. I’ve lost count of all of the schools I’ve attended, and the ones I remember I can’t always recall the names of. (It doesn’t help that New York City schools go by number.) I never went to one school for more than two consecutive years of my life. By the time I was six, my parents were sending me to my third school.
    I went to schools in wealthy areas and schools in poor areas. So I speak from experience when I say the American school experience is horrible.
    One of the main problems I experienced during my academic years was the strong culture of violence. I can’t remember the name of my third school in the Bronx, but I do remember the girl who ruled the playground like some sort of queen.
    â€œTaLonna wants to fight you today after school,” my friend told me. It was a sentence that stopped me in my tracks. TaLonna was an enormous black girl—probably twice my size and fat. “What’d I do to her?”
    â€œShe said you think you’re cute,” my friend told me, her eyes wide. According to my classmate, TaLonna had called me the ultimate insult: “high sidity.” That simply meant she believed I thought I was better than everyone. That I was special.
    â€œOh, God,” I said, dread filling my stomach.
    â€œWhat are you going to do?” she asked. “She wants to meet you at the corner after school.”
    I knew I couldn’t turn the challenge down. If I didn’t show up, my family would have been disgraced.
    â€œWhat can I do?” I asked.
    My heart raced as I planned my attack and walked to the corner after school. TaLonna could take me out with no problem. Since she had me on size, I had to have her on strategy. When I saw her standing there on the street, I immediately looked around to see what I could use as a tool, a weapon. I wasn’t a fighter. Already a crowd had gathered. A nervous energy emanated from the kids, and I could tell they were electrified by the anticipation of seeing a fight. I wasn’t going to give them what they wanted—a long-drawn-out scuffle with TaLonna scratching my face like a cat. No, I was going to finish it before she realized it had started. I was going to take her out fast.
    My eyes scanned the environment. A plastic bag. Half of a wet cardboard box. Leaves the wind had blown into a crevice so long ago that they’d stopped being individual leaves and were now just a damp, brown mush of old leaves and cigarette