PRETTY LITTLE BASTARD CHILD: (A Memoir Of The Darkness That Turned On GOD’S Light)

By DANI

The ’60s was a time of change in America, both good and not so good. The Vietnam war was culminating, and a peace movement was in full bloom, “Thanks to Dr Martin Luther King Jr.” His relentless quest for nonviolent change was starting to resonate, as well as the Civil rights uprisings.

Up in Harlem, New York, a child was born. A female child, whom would soon become an incest survivor, drug addict, and last but surely not least, a lesbian. Yes, lesbian. The dirty little word that good little Christian folk couldn’t stomach, and still can’t even today.

Here is my memoir of the Darkness that turned on GODS light.




Review:

Pretty Little Bastard Child, is a thoroughly, thought-provoking nail biter of a read.
The freshness of the author’s writing is something to behold. In reading line for line, it never felt formal. She painted a picture and made me feel like I was in each scene of her life. What I thought would take weeks to read seemed like a fresh few hours of riveting page turning. I couldn’t wait to get to “the next part”.

This (memoir) is a story of her internal struggle—to believe her own version of her life and to have the strength to break away from her past. It gives a glimpse into a way of life that most of us will never know, and it’s an inspiring story of one woman’s ability to change her future. Read this book now!

-Elisabeth Withers-Mendes Grammy / Tony Nominated Actress, Singer & Musician

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798369406687

Book preview

Copyright © 2023 by Dani.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Cover Artist: Jay Will

(973-954-8546)

[e-mail]

Rev. date: 08/30/2023

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

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CONTENTS

Forward

Introduction

Chapter 1 The Set-Up

Chapter 2 The Borders

Chapter 3 The Introduction

Chapter 4 My Confusion, I Think…

Chapter 5 This Freedom Wasn’t Free

Chapter 6 Mommy Dearest

Chapter 7 The Love I Lost

Chapter 8 Let The Games Begin

Chapter 9 Two For One

Chapter 10 City kid in the Country

Chapter 11 The Sh** Got Deeper

Chapter 12 It’s Happening

Chapter 13 Watch What You Ask For

Chapter 14 Over Before It Started

Chapter 15 Not At All What I Thought It Would Be

Chapter 16 Oh Father, My Father, Why Have You Forsaken Me?

Chapter 17 God Gave Me A Sign

Chapter 18 A Rose in A Fisted Glove

Chapter 19 Thanksgiving Died

Chapter 20 The Big Rotten Apple

Chapter 21 All Good Things Must Come To An End

Conclusion

About Ms. Greenleaf

FORWARD

Pretty Little Bastard Child by DANI

Pretty Little Bastard Child by DANI is a raw and courageous coming-of-age story that delves into the depths of a young girl’s journey towards self-discovery. With remarkable insights as a child, the author flawlessly captures the complexities of her own lived experience and offers thought-provoking commentaries on the adults surrounding her.

The book’s strength lies in its ability to resonate with readers on multiple levels. While many will undoubtedly identify with elements of the story, it is the protagonist’s relentless search for meaning, purpose, and resilience that ultimately becomes the catalyst for her transformative journey. Through the trials and tribulations she faces, readers are invited to reflect upon their own lives and contemplate the transformative power of personal growth.

DANI’S writing style is both captivating and evocative, immersing readers in a vividly painted world where emotions run deep. Her unflinching honesty and willingness to confront difficult subjects give the narrative an authentic and relatable quality, making it difficult to put the book down.

Pretty Little Bastard Child is a poignant reminder that the path to self-discovery is often fraught with challenges, yet it is through these trials that true transformation can occur. DANI’S fearless storytelling and insightful observations make this book a must-read for anyone seeking a compelling and thought-provoking exploration of the human spirit.

Overall, Pretty Little Bastard Child is a remarkable debut that showcases the author’s talent for weaving a gripping narrative while exploring profound themes of identity, resilience, and personal growth. DANI’S courage in sharing her story is commendable, and readers will undoubtedly be inspired by the transformative journey she has undertaken.

Dr. Pei Desrosiers LMSW; DMIN

INTRODUCTION

The ’60s was a time of change in America, both good and not so good. The Vietnam war was culminating, and a peace movement was in full bloom, Thanks to Dr Martin Luther King Jr. His relentless quest for nonviolent change was starting to resonate, as well as the Civil rights uprisings.

Up in Harlem, New York, a child was born. A female child, whom would soon become an incest survivor, drug addict, and last but surely not least, a lesbian. Yes, lesbian. The dirty little word that good little Christian folk couldn’t stomach, and still can’t even today.

Nevertheless, here I was. I was a very fair-skinned, brown eyed bastard child, with all the trimmings of a full fledged misfit.

My mother, an aspiring singer, with a beautiful voice I might add, was the side chick to my father who was already married with a son, so those dreams had to be delayed. She was forced to get a job and take care of two kids, both as the old folks used to say, out of wedlock. In other words she wasn’t married. Oh and did I say by two different baby daddies? My father, he’s got a whole chapter of his own so we’ll get back to him then.

Both were gifted musically, so music ran in my blood and was always on in the house. But, like most Black families of that day, my family had a great deal of dysfunction, along with many other secrets. Those secrets went to the grave with the ancestors. We were sure not short of any, and until now, no one spoke of them but you know what? I’m spilling the tea. (all the tea).

So here I was, this Pretty Little Bastard Child with long Shirley Temple curls, and eyes just like his. More articulate than most, for a black female child, in a world where this wasn’t supposed to be. I wasn’t supposed to be. My mom would enroll me in private school, because in my family appearances were a big deal. But that is a whole mess we’ll get to later.

Outwardly I was an adorable child, and once won the most beautiful child contest at a department store. But by four years old, the monster inside that was being created was out. Remember, I was destined to be these things, these horrible things, and the adults in my life were the creators of this story.

This is a tale of pain, betrayal, and dysfunction. Pretty Little Bastard Child had a will to survive that was later revealed, it kept her through the darkest of times.

The road to redemption is not always the straightest path, and the strength of a young, human spirit as you will see, is something amazing.

Here is my memoir of the Darkness that turned on GODS light.

CHAPTER ONE

The Set-Up

So, yeah, I was spoiled rotten for certain, but there was no sparing of the rod, make no mistake about that. When I was raised, I got my ass whooped, sometimes by more than one adult in the house for the same infraction and was punished as well. I was in a house with some very deep things going on that would cause lifelong scars. Let me say this: though we had issues, I had it much better than most. My mom was a young single mother with two children who up until later lived with my maternal grandparents. Looking back, it was a whole mess in itself. Granddaddy was a functioning alcoholic, and my grandmother was a Mulatto southern transplant who was seriously codependent.

Nevertheless, it was a fact. We were spoiled. Now the way we were spoiled was almost as if trying to overcompensate for other things.

My grandfather got drunk regularly, and quite often might I add would end up laying in a pile of his own excrement. Possibly they did not know how to show love or give encouragement, I guess that was their way of giving love.

Because I was spoiled with material things I couldn’t fathom not getting everything I wanted, and if I couldn’t get it, I would throw a tantrum. They were creating a monster that they didn’t realize but creating one nevertheless.

By the time I was five years old I had become accustomed to the dysfunction in my house. The way I would play my mother against my grandmother to my advantage was ingenious. In almost all situations, when it came to my older brother, who was a mommy’s boy, he could do no wrong in my mother’s eyes. That, for me, was a problem. Oh, yes, the sibling rivalry was real—the green-eyed monster was alive and well.

First off, he had his dad in his life, not to mention being a firstborn male. Back in those days, this was a huge deal. My mother made that fact very clear in word and deed as often as possible, as if I had a choice in the matter. I mean, really, was it my fault that you didn’t marry his dad when he asked you?

Most good dudes back in the day were loyal. If you got pregnant by them, they’d do the right thing. But, no, not my mom. She, for whatever reason, moved on. Then three years later here I came, with a married man. Go figure.

Though Brooks wasn’t married to my mom, he put effort into the relationship with his son, and sometimes he helped her with me also. Still, this caused me to be jealous and confused, but mostly I was angry, so I acted out a lot. By now I was learning how to be manipulative—lying to my mom about my brother to get him in trouble. Blaming him for stuff that I did or broke. I was a ball of dysfunction in training, and I lived in a house that had yet to figure out the monster I was slowly becoming.

I had Shirley Temple curls, was cute, and was too articulate for my own good as a little black girl.

I was in training camp up in Harlem. I was learning real fast that if I cried, lied, talked back, or acted out, I would get what you said I couldn’t have, especially if my brother’s father got anything for him. If my mom said no, I would say something real slick. Well, where is my father? Why can’t he get it for me? But the problem was I was right and I knew it.

Sassy and fresh at the mouth, as it may have been, where was the lie, Mom?

I knew that Brooks wasn’t my dad, and though he tried to some extent to help, he was trying to appease me. Not only was I not his child, by now he had another on the way by the woman who had said yes! Again, I was only four or five years old, not quite in school, but I was reading and writing, and boy, was I smart. Unlike these days kids were to be seen and not heard. You spoke if you were spoken to and stayed out of grown folks’ business. And this was surely grown folks’ business. But that was a problem for me and a scar that would fester like an open wound as time went on.

It was getting worse already. I was a striking resemblance of my father, who I had no relationship with. A sore spot for my mom and grandfather. It seemed I was told regularly he was no good, and I was his child. Now these were things that I had no control over, but because of these newfound behaviors and demands for questions to be answered, I was being told quite often and not