so, i've never shared any of my fiction with y'all, but i do write. i'm certainly no james baldwin, but i do a little something. this piece happens to be old & was born out of a writing workshop exercise. the first line had to be used either at the beginning or ending of the piece. i have progressed somewhat as a fiction writer, but i do like this little vignette. let me know what you think.

~~~~

There is always murder at the heart of love. He wanted to choke her. He wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze until his fingers etched plum-colored marks into her amber skin; the same color as the hickeys he once planted from her nipples to her navel. He wanted to squeeze until every bit of life God ever breathed into her body had been rebuked. He wanted her dead. Wanted to stuff her in a box, or a closet, or something, anything so she couldn’t taunt him any longer with her happiness. How dare she? How dare she smile as if nothing has happened? As if she didn’t spit on his deepest emotions and stomp on his heart. Bitch. Yes, she is a bitch. A vile whore who tricked men into loving her, trusting her, only to leave when they are most vulnerable and need her most. Such cruelty deserves death, he thought. Yes, he said to himself, yes, she deserves to die.

The phone rang, snapping Derrick out his murderous thoughts. Who the hell? he asked himself. It was nearly 4am; no sane person would call at this hour. This could be one of two things, bad news or bullshit. Not wanting to hear either, Derrick decided his machine would answer the call. After three rings, his black cordless went silent, and his cell phone began ringing. Damn, he thought. This has got to be some shit.

“Hello”

“Hey…it’s me”

“I can’t believe this. Wha—“

“Please don’t hang up. I know it’s late but—“

“Damn right! What the fuck do you want?”

She swallowed. He sounded different, angry. He never cursed at her, never raised his voice even in the middle of their biggest arguments. Hang up. Hang up the phone Mina. She wanted to hang up, but couldn’t. She was in shock. She knew she hurt him, but she never imagined how devastated he was. His face was still burned into her memory. His eyes still searched her for answers. Why? Why didn’t you tell me, Mina?, his words sliced into her. She never meant to love him. Never wanted anything more than a great fuck, but he made her laugh. He was too silly, too nice, too smart, too much of everything her husband wasn’t. No, she never meant to love him, but she couldn’t help it.

“I…” she stuttered, “called to tell you that—"

“The fuck you call to tell me at 4 in the morning? What? You wanted to tell me you’re sorry that you’re married? Save it. I don’t want to hear any bullshit apologies, Mina. I want to know how could you…how could you? You never answered that. You never told me how you could make love to me, pretend you love me, then—"

“Pretend? I’ve never pretended with you, Derrick”

“What the fuck you call it then? We were fucking playing house for a year. A year!” He screamed into the phone.

“I know, but it’s…complicated”

“Complicated?” He began laughing—harsh and throaty. His tone lingered somewhere between agony and amusement.

“Is that the best you can do? Complicated? That’s some bullshit. Was fucking me supposed to uncomplicate things, Mina? What was that supposed to solve?”
She winced, rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. She did not want to have this conversation, but she couldn’t sleep. She struggled with this for the last week. Should I tell him? No. Will he understand? Will he be happy? Will he believe me? Will he even care? She began crying, softly—barely audible. It was dark. Mina sat—lights out—trapped by the words that wouldn’t leave her tongue. How could she be so stupid, she thought? She loved a man she did not deserve. He was not her husband; he was her lover, her friend—her soul mate?

“Well?,” Derrick exhaled, angry yet weary. “What was so important that you had to call at 4 in the morning?”

“I…I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

baked macaroni
ambled through the living room
making us hungry

you rang, bringing sun
and sadness with a taut smile
wishing you could share

everything with us
is somehow lacking in ways
hard to explain over

again I want you
to meet me places you can’t
imagine exists

somewhere beyond this
time parceled out in tidbits
love sustains us all

~~



so, we are home and back into the routine of our everyday life. yesterday was Easter and like a mad woman, I decided to take over the cooking duties. you see, usually my mother and/or grandmother slaves over the hot stove, but I decided to give them a break. thanks to my sista*friend/super-chef-on-call, i pulled it off (and it was good). i whipped up fried chicken (which was a bad idea because it was about 90 degres yesterday!), potato salad, baked macaroni, and mixed veggies. needless to say, everybody enjoyed my cooking which made me feel all grown up! (even my grandma wanted the recipe! LOL). so my ego got a bit of a boost, even as my press was sweated OUT.

although i wasn't ready to go back to work today, i told myself that i would think positive. instead of dreading the morning, i said that today would be a GREAT day, and it was, had it not been for the headache. but it's over now (thank the LAWD!) and tomorrow is a short day for the kids (handclap). i think i'm still experiencing a bit of time-zone confusion because i'm pretty tired and it's only 6.

i find myself wanting to write poems again, which is a good sign. i haven't been writing as much as i should. so many times i feel like i'm squandering the opportunities i've been presented with. i watch others put their dreams together and turn them into reality, and then i secretly wish to do the same, but just...don't...quite...do...it.

what's the holdup? what am i really afraid of?

i guess, i'm the only one that can answer that. and it needs to happen. soon.

(going to meet my man)

on visiting

smalltown u.s.a.
a blur of cows and branches
and prisons emerge

out of nowhere we
rush to hold memories in
tangled fingers and

polaroids. you ask
for a soda, burger, and
what's new in the world

everything has changed
and stayed the same all at once
your face tightening

remembering each
curve of my lips. we smile but
watch the clock tensely
~~


(in the sticks...literally)

tomorrow is our last day of visiting. i can't believe how quickly these four days have seemed to zoom by. i am tired. i will not return to work on monday rested, but rather still feeling like i need a vacation. my son has been acting out a bit. beloved and i have been having a wondering spin on the dance floor. i am dreading tomorrow. i wish i could stay longer, but work and bank accounts do not permit it. tomorrow will be a bit sad, but i will be brave. when 3:05 hits, and the COs call out that visiting is done, my heart will drop. his heart will drop. we will hug and kiss for minutes on end, but it still won't be enough. he will go back, be strip searched and lock in to a lonely cell with nothing but his memories of our conversation and kisses. i will go back to an empty hotel room to pack, and get ready for a long and lonely flight. in a few months we will do it all over again. the joy. the heartache. coming together and leaving again. this is the cycle of our life. for now.

I'm leaving, on the next plane
I don't know when I'll be back again
Kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me, like you know I'll never go
Even though you know I will
I'm a travelling man
moving through places
space and time
got a lot of things I got to do
but God willing I'm coming back to you
~ Mos Def "Traveling Man" Remix

i'm leaving on a jet plane tonight to see beloved.

while i LOVE that i get to spend a few days with him, the hassle of traveling with a 2 year old tries my nerves. i have to pack so many things to keep him busy, clean, and fed. i have to make sure he keeps his feet off of the seat in front of him, and hope that he doesn't throw a tantrum and scream at the top of his lungs. basically, i have to make sure he's not THAT kid that everybody rolls their eyes at. not to mention my family constantly looks at me sideways when i say, "i'm going to my 2nd home." although they are supportive of our relationship, they still don't understand why i need to visit so much ("didn't you just go last month?" they ask). i look at my little one, and i ask them, how can i not?

beloved & the munchkin barely know each other. no matter how many trips we make, it doesn't make up for the months or weeks that they don't get to see each other. you know how kids are: they don't know what they don't see, and the last thing i want our son to do is look at beloved like a stranger. i know it probably won't really CLICK until he's a little older that 1)he has a REAL daddy that doesn't just live in pictures and 2) daddy is just away & will be home...soon(?). but i'm trying to do all that i can to reinforce their relationship now.

our visit is coming at the perfect time. not only am i off for spring break, but beloved is having some issues. since his sentencing in Nov. 2006, he's been in two mental health hospitals, and for the last few days (or a week, i'm not sure), he's been on "observation." i don't really know what that means considering they won't tell me anything over the phone (ugh!), but i know that something isn't right. he's been increasingly depressed and a little distant as of late. when we talk all he really says is that he misses me & really misses our son, but not much else. seeing him face-to-face and being able to hold his hand and show him that we are HERE, will (hopefully) go a long way to ease his nerves. i can't even begin to imagine what he goes through. the physical situation is enough to break most people, not to mention the psychological turmoil he puts himself through (feeling increasingly upset with himself for putting us through this). i can't imagine having so much alone time just to sit and think about what i should have done & how my life could have been different. that is a mind killer.

whenever you see articles or studies on the prison population, they deal mostly with the numbers, not the families behind those numbers. i wish someone would come along and put a face, a voice, a story with the facts. perhaps then we would not just say, "wow, that sucks" when we hear of the alarming numbers of people being locked up. maybe then we'll try to come up with solutions.

The political world has been upended by news of Eliot Spitzer’s connection to a prostitution ring. Apparently, the scandal was flushed out when bank officials noticed several suspicious cash transfers and filed reports with the IRS. Many thought that it was a possible corruption scandal, but were shocked when Spitzer, the “Sherif of Wall Street,” was linked to a high-end call-girl service.

Sex and politics are not strange bedfellows. Several prominent politicians have found themselves on the wrong side of a sex-scandal, but news of Spitzer’s improprieties have many calling this once moral crusader, a hypocrite. Honestly, I could care less who Gov. Spitzer was sleeping with. That is between him and his wife, but this scandal brings up a myriad of other questions, namely, when does one move from being a human being, wrought with contradictions and complexities, to a hypocrite, devoid of any moral leg to stand on?

Thinking about the contradictions involved in Spitzer’s debacle brought to mind the complexities and contradictions that have shaped my father’s life. My father, a 30+ year veteran teacher and coach, has worked hard to teach, mentor and mold some of our most troubled youth, but he is also a functioning drug addict.

I have never said those words aloud. Never admitted to anyone that my father is addicted to drugs, nor allowed myself to think about it in any meaningful way. Likewise, he has never admitted it to me, but the signs are clear. My father, once vibrant, has deteriorated into a paranoid, heartbroken, functioning junkie. That stings, but cleaning it up doesn’t make it better.



I often wonder how broken you have to be to get hooked on drugs. How much pain do you have to live with until you say, “enough,” and fall into the comforting nod of cocaine? My dad has seen a lot. He lost his father at 7, saw his dreams of a NBA career wither away, and lost the love of his life, my mother. Apparently, my father’s drug use was constant throughout my parent’s 14-year marriage, but then, it was only weed. I distinctly remember a box my father kept which contained his “homemade cigarettes.” He never smoked in front of us, but he’d purchase Zig Zags and close himself off in his room for a while, then a strange smell wafting through the house. Like a teenager looking for an escape hatch, my father fell right in.

Soon his drug use turned to abuse and his paranoia led him to question every move my mother made and become violent. Mentally exhausted and tired of the drama, my mom moved us out to my grandparent’s house and my father’s downward spiral began.

I believe he sold all of our stuff. Everything we didn’t move out of the house is now gone: my mother’s piano, my flute, our TVs, bikes, our dog. I don’t have anything from my childhood that was left in that house. During those first few months and years of their separation, my father was vehemently angry. Everything was my mother’s fault. She kept us away. She was evil. She was a bitch. He threatened and threatened, and I realized I didn’t even know him anymore.

It has been 13 years since my parent’s divorce was final, and I’m still looking for the father I once knew. I catch glimpses of him from time to time, but the moments spent talking about and enjoying life have faded away to mere memories. My father still uses drugs. At 56 he has nothing. No car, no house, no place to call his own. He lives with my uncle and aunt, and hitches rides to work with friends. It doesn’t help that he makes quite a bit of money, but is broke a few days after pay day, always making excuses and blaming his lack of money on others. When he starts acting weird and asking questions that make little sense, I try hard to remember that he IS my father and not some strange man on the street. But it’s hard. We have little to talk about, and he still feels very foreign to me.

Watching HOB’s “The Wire” has made me a bit hopeful for my dad. Watching Bubbles, a drug addicted homeless man, fight his way back from addiction to some semblance of a normal life gives me hope. My dad isn’t that far-gone (right?). He still goes to work, he still mentors kids, still plays grandpa on holidays, but he also still uses drugs. Although the show a work of fiction, it is still grounded in truth. If Bubbles can fight his way back from the brink, I feel my father can piece himself back together again.

My father is not a bad man, he is in pain. And pain causes you to do things you may have never imagined. The dad I once knew is still there, waiting to come out again. I just hope it happens before it’s too late, and I don’t even have the memories of him to hold onto anymore.

just something quick to lift my spirits. a lot has been going on lately & i've been feeling tired, spent, and a bit hopeful. i just want to take some time to give a little thanks. i need a boost & remembering the good things always helps to put a little swag back in your step. here goes...

i'm thankful for:

1. air, fresh and smoggy pumping through these lungs. life is a beautiful struggle.

2. phone calls from beloved, just in the nick of time.

3. spring break being only a few days away.

4. my big-headed bwoi. my munchkin finds so many ways to make mommy laugh, even when i'm tryna be tough.

5. my fresh new ipod (i will probably be deaf soon. i'm blasting this shit EVERYWHERE!)

6. Nicolay & Kay. TIGHT EYES. they make me wanna write again (soon come).

7. acting upon old ideas...y'all aint ready.

8. Mos Def meeting Talib Kweli. Brown Skin Lady is still my theme song (can we get another album, fellas?).

9. Summer!

10. the All Mighty from wince cometh all things, wonderful.

i am also thankful for being able to share my life, my struggle, and my words with y'all. the writer in me feels so much gratitude to y'all for taking the time to read whatever i have to say. this site has given me an outlet & voice when i felt most alone. so thank you, and you, and you for coming & sharing with me.

what are you thankful for today?

bless up.

so, being high off my new ipod i set on a quest to find something new. i've been stuck on the same loop of the roots, mos def, common, illy jilly, and badu for like EVER, so i needed something fresh to add to the collection. don't get me wrong, i still love the classics, but i need some new blood.

saturday night i stumbled across Estelle, an Afro-Carribean Brit, with voice and swagger for days. so far i've downloaded a few of her songs, but i'm diggin what i've heard thus far. her style is a cross between 90s basement-funk/soulful house, brand new heavies, and moni love (huh?). i know, i know, my description is a bit convoluted (and perhaps all wrong), so i'll just let her introduce herself.

"Wait A Minute" ft. John Legend


American Boy Ft. Kanye West


what NEW music/artists have you discovered recently that you're LOVING?

i finally did it.

i finally shelled out the $150 for a new ipod. i've been putting it off for over a year now, since my last one mysteriously came up broken. you see, although i freely spend (way too much) money on my son, my husband, and on random trips to Target, when it comes time to buy something for myself, i freeze. i quickly begin thinking of all the upcoming bills, and how we will be traveling soon, and how high gas is...and i end up not buying anything. i rarely buy myself new pairs of shoes, i don't buy a lot of clothes, and this ipod...i've been eying it for some time now. but last night, on a trip to *ehem* Target, i bit the bullet and bought one.

and guess what?
i'm SO glad i did!

i'm still a little shaky on the fact that i spent $150 on it, especially considering we'll be making another trip to see beloved soon, but i'm glad i got it. music motivates me so much, and now i have no excuse to skip a workout or neglect writing or whatever...because my muse is back.

what's on your ipod or in your stereo these days? (i need suggestions. i have a lot of space to fill!)

My classroom is a battleground.

Everyday I fight with my students, trying to get them to remember bits of grammar, vocabulary words, and find importance in the works of literature that have changed my life. Everyday I threaten, and sometimes, I bribe them into learning (I hope) what it is they need to know to be just a little bit successful in this world. And everyday, after a day of threatening, and bribing, and yelling, and calling people’s parents, and shaking my head, I come home tired and spent, barely able to stay up longer than my 2-year old, only to return in the morning to do it all over again.

Teaching is a venerable profession.

Many have tried to tame a classroom, but have failed miserably, only to quit, disgruntled and complaining about the kids after a year or two. I won’t front, the idea of quitting and abandoning the headache (and heartache) of the classroom has crossed my mind plenty of times. But where will that leave my kids?

My students are a special group. Many of them are functioning three and four grade-levels below where they should be. They are facing a myriad of issues that no one their age should face. Several have no parents, are in foster care or live with distant relatives who do little but collect their check. And most of them come from single-parent households, where mom or grandma is working so hard she can barely pay attention. My students are both too grown for their 13 years, and too immature to handle all that has been placed on their shoulders.

Dangerous minds are wasting away.

I admit, I wanted to be the next Joe Clark or Erin Gruwell, the next inspirational teacher leading my group of disenfranchised students to the Promised Land (and maybe a movie), but that is proving to be harder than I imagined. You see, I thought that if I was real with the kids, showed I cared about them, and demonstrated that anything was possible, that education was the ticket out of any messed up situation, that they’d hunker down and study until As and Bs blossomed like wildflowers. But that isn’t happening.

Several of my students are apathetic, at best, toward their education. They don’t see the value in math or science or learning how to write an essay. They can’t see how it will help them further down the line. They know college is out there, but to my dismay, many have expressed interest in NOT going. My kids are bored, and only seem to be turned on by Soulja Boy and Sidekicks, by MySpace and name-brand clothing. Getting them interested in school is harder than cracking the Matrix, and I’m still searching for the code.

I am afraid for my students.

I am afraid for our future. Without an education, my students—Black and Latino—are almost certainly doomed to struggle for the rest of their lives. A 2006 article in the NY Times writes,

...in the country's inner cities, the studies show, finishing high school is the exception, legal work is scarcer than ever and prison is almost routine, with incarceration rates climbing for blacks even as urban crime rates have declined.
Although the problems afflicting poor black men have been known for decades, the new data paint a more extensive and sobering picture of the challenges they face.

"There's something very different happening with young black men, and it's something we can no longer ignore," said Ronald B. Mincy, professor of social work at Columbia University and editor of "Black Males Left Behind" (Urban Institute Press, 2006) (more).

My Black male students seem especially disinterested in excelling in school, choosing instead, to hide behind an air of coolness and hyper masculinity. Instead of emulating positive examples of blackness, they choose to model their stance and pose and language after many of the (worst) rappers in the business. And it’s very frustrating.

As someone who was where they are, growing up in the same neighborhood and experiencing many of the same things, it’s frustrating to see so many falling into habits that can trap them into a life that they are not ready for. To see them falling into this life that is so totally avoidable and unnecessary is painful. But even more painful is not having the answers. There is no magic pill or bullet to turn this thing around. There have been studies upon studies conducted, but still, our kids are underachieving.

How do we fix this?

How can we save our kids?

i have been just staring at this site for some time now. i've been meaning to post. i've been wanting to post. some have asked where the hell i've been (some may not care? lol).

i've been here. staring. looking. watching. wanting to post, but not making myself come to this computer to write.

i need to write. i long to write, but i just can't. don't ask me why. i am on some extended writer's block that i can't seem to shake. the desire is there, some rough ideas are there, but not much else.

i need some inspiration.
i need some new scenery.
i need some new music.

how have y'all been?

i.
we love hard enough
but sometimes it hurts like this
when you are away

ii.
two years hitched at hip
trying to make sense of this
thing called loyalty

iii.
a peculiar thing
to go at it alone but
still we rise above

~~~~
saturday made two years and we had the opportunity to share our day live and in color (!). despite the cold (freezing, freezing cold) our hearts, and spirits, and resolve were warmed tremendously. black love is still alive and kickin, even when stretched between two coasts.

peace

beloved and i are currently reading Mable Iam's book, Sex and the Perfect Lover. i know what you're thinking. why are we reading a book about sex, seeing as we are separated by 3212 miles? well, it's simple really. this book not only discusses ways to improve your sex life, but it also deals with connecting with your partner, so that you can share a deep, fulfilling love.

beloved and i have been on a rocky road for a few months now. we osculate between GREAT days and GREAT arguments. we have been in sort of an uneven place, not really connecting fully, but not willing to call it all off. so here we are, reading this book, and it has been good for us.

since beginning the book, we've had so much to talk about. we have so much more to say than just what our day consisted of, or what the baby did. we actually have grown folks stuff to discuss. after we finish this book, we will probably be reading her follow-up, I Love You, Now What? and hopefully, that will give us even further insight into this mystical, magical thing we call love.

have you read this book? what are your favorite love/relationship books?

teaching does not come easy to me. i'm not a natural teacher. sometimes i struggle to explain difficult and abstract concepts to my students. sometimes i struggle with my (lack of) patience & sarcasm. and sometimes, i just struggle.

today wasn't one of those days. today, my kids "got it," and for the first time, i felt like i was really doing my job.

this year, i am teaching two double-block periods of intervention English. it is a "designed" program (*ehem* scripted) and can be EXTREMELY boring. i am not quite convinced that this program helps my students, but i'm forced to teach it with "fidelity" (the district's most favorite buzz word). today, as we were progressing through the lesson, we were asked to pull the main idea and supporting details from a short, informative paragraph. typically, my students struggle with this and have looked to me to hold their hands. however, with state writing assessments approaching, i have begun to let go and let them solider through these tasks on their own.

during the lesson, i helped them to outline the first bit of information they'd use to write their paragraph, but asked (told! lol) them to do the rest on their own. i was PLEASANTLY surprised when many of my students not only outlined the article correctly, BUT also (and this is the kicker) wrote VERY solid paragraphs!

it sounds extremely unimpressive, but to see my students complete this task CORRECTLY was so exciting. for once i felt like all of our hard work wasn't in vain, and we were really getting somewhere.

days like today renew my spirit. i am hopeful about the coming semester and all of the ah-ha moments that are sure to follow.

0.76 inches
3 pounds
wireless, everything.
out of the box sexy.

i.want.one.now.

so, i've finanally been tagged. it's sort of the blog equivalent of a chain letter that gets passed on and on in attempt to learn about others. this little gem, courtesy of Faboo (thanks? lol), asks that i share 7 things about myself that you do not know. seeing as i blog anonymously, finding 7 things you don't know about me shouldn't be so hard, but i'm struggling anyway....

here are the rules...


1. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 random and/or weird things about yourself.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.



1. i always wanted to be a DJ. i LOVE music. i am an avid (classic) hip hop head and a b-girl at heart. i've always wanted my own set of 1s and 2s (techniques, of course!), and have even composed (several) mixed tapes in my head.

2. all of my laundry supplies MUST have coordinating scents, and i only use Tide and Downey. if i buy april fresh Tide, i MUST use april fresh Downey fabric softener. mismatching scents is a no-no.

3. i have a thing for A&E biographies and documentaries on mobsters and serial killers. i can watch them for days on end. don't ask me why.

4. i'm addicted to HGTV, specifically the real estate and home improvement shows (house hunters, property virgins, my first home, freestyle, you get the picture). while i watch, i take mental note of the things i want in my house (when i buy one).

5. i heart Celia Cruz. my AIM name comes from a popular Celia Cruz song. her energy, her fire, and her voice inspire me. i have written poems with her music as my muse. la reina will always live on.

6. i hate shoes. i'd much rather walk around barefoot, allowing my feet to be free. as soon as i can, i kick off my shoes and even drive with them off. but don't get it twisted, i'm no britney spears. you won't see me entering into any public bathrooms (or public spaces for that matter) without my shoes.

7. sometimes, i'm still amazed i have a child. sometimes, i wonder when his parents are going to come and pick him up. it's been two years, and i'm not quite fully adjusted to this new role of mama, but i'm getting there. i'm learning that not being perfect, and not having all the answers is ok.

so, let's see...who shall i pass this onto?

Xtina, Bless, Mdot, Torrance, Cap, Ced, and Xay, you're up!

writing is fighting
a barrage of words    banging
paper    ears     your heart

    struggling
to conect beyond the noise
beyond what makes us

     wondering
if anyone can hear
our inside voice, really

or if
it even matters
at all.


~~~~~~~

i'm in a rush, posting between periods. but i'm struggling to teach my students how to write...clearly. they are so stuck in a world of txt messages and IMs, that it seems as though basic, standard English is like Chinese to them.

as someone who writes well, i'm having a hard time conveying the nuances of the language to my kids. so much of what i write and how i write is caught up in my ears, i'm wondering how i can help them tune into that melody.

any advice? bell rang. peace.

i'm here, i'm here...i sware.

i have been sort of MIA since before school started again, sort of living in a state of uneventfulness. not much is happening on this end. i'm not writing, not reading (like i said i would). but i've been doing a lot of hanging with the little one, which has been good.

i am just sort of getting back in stride.

once i get my head right, i'll be back with some posts, some poems, some random words of....whatever.

peace.

Kujichagulia: To define ourselves, name ourselves, create for ourselves and speak for ourselves.


(no images, just audio ~ black star "K.O.S." ~enjoy)

day 2 of Kwanzaa is dedicated to self-determination, or defining one's self in spite of what others may say or think of you. self-determination and defining one's self is, arguably, the purpose of life. once we are able to create our own authentic identities for ourselves and by ourselves, i argue that we, as individuals and a people, will have achieved true freedom. it's like being able to be your own boss, and basking in how freeing that can be. but with that freedom comes immense responsibility. let's not take it, or ourselves, for granted.

"The fire's in my eyes and the flames need fanning
With that what? Knowledge Of Self, Determination"

peace.

Umoja: To strive for and maintain unity in the family, community, nation and race.


today marks the first day of Kwanzaa, the seven days after Christmas that aims reinforce the seven collective principles of African culture. today's focus is Umoja, or Unity.



i have always LOVED this song. for a time, it operated as my theme song, my anthem. i played it daily, sometimes several time a day basking in the strength and beauty of the horns and Latifah's words. even today, i am still moved whenever i hear it, and my swagger becomes that much more fierce.

at first listen, the song may seem not to speak much to "Unity" as it does to female empowerment, but when you think about it, a community cannot rise and achieve FULL unity until all of its members are valued and respected. as audre lorde so aptly stated, "It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences."

in this Kwanzaa season and beyond, let us focus on trying to celebrate and accept that which makes us beautifully unique.

peace

from my family to yours...

be blessed.

i have struggled to define myself for so long.

for years i allowed others' definitions of me become who i was, as least temporarily. as a mother & wife, i'm having a hard time really figuring out who i am. like...who would i really be without all of these titles (mommy/wife/teacher/sister/daughter/visitor of inmate #06XXXXX)?

when i'm still, when there is no one around who needs anything, then who am i really?

& who are you?

On a recent trip to the park, I was reminded of the staggering gaps in race and class when it comes to mothering. The park was full of moms—mostly white—with coolers chock full of snacks, toys, screaming, barefoot kids, and Benz SUVs. This world felt foreign to me and about as inviting as a new, awkward kid’s first day of school.

Of the many moms out that day, I was the only Black mother, or parent, for that matter. As I listened to a group of moms discuss plans for their next playgroup and Mom’s Night Out activity, I wondered, where are all the black moms and playgroups for people that look like me?

I hit the net searching for information. First I did searches for African-American moms, mothering, and working moms and playgroups. After punching in a myriad of search terms dealing with mothering, I came up empty handed. Most resources for African-American moms either dealt with stay at home moms, or poverty and African-American moms, none of which answered the questions I had in my head.

Despite the lack of internet resources, I know I’m not alone. My situation is hardly unique. I’m an educated, working mother, who is solo parenting a rambunctious two-year-old son. There are millions of women like me, yet no one seems give a damn. An article on the National Organization of Women website discussed the media’s virtual ousting of mothers of color. It states,

If you read major newspapers and news magazines or watch network news broadcasts, you may have the impression that all mothers are white, married, college-educated and have (or have abandoned) careers in high-profile professions such as law, medicine, broadcast news or finance.

And although they are poorly represented in media reporting on working mothers, African-American mothers have a higher rate of working outside the home than any other demographic. Married African-American mothers with children under 18 have higher rates of workforce participation than other married mothers (82 percent compared to 71 percent of white moms, 66 percent of Asian moms and 62 percent of Latina moms, according to the U.S. Census Bureau.

So where are the real representations of moms that live outside of what society deems as the norm? Are we left to fend for ourselves, and continue to feel like outsiders on playgrounds across America? Something has got to change.

We need a place, a resource where both working and stay at home moms (married or single) can come together and share, commune, and find answers together. I have to yet to find that place, so maybe I should stop looking, and create one.

1. not having to wake up at 5:45am: i am SO not a morning person, but have been forced to become one in order to earn a living. when i was in NYC i had to be at work at 7am, and would have to be up, out, and on the train before the sun even got up. it sucked getting up so early, but watching the sun break over the river almost made it worth it.

2. being able to watch the today show in its entirety: normally when i hear the Today Show theme music, i know i'm running late. everyday i need to be out of the house before 7am in order to drop the little man off at the sitter & get to work in time to make copies, write the agenda on the whiteboard, and listen to a little music before my students start pounding on my door. being on break allows me time to catch up on all the fashion mistakes, complicated recipes, and the weather reports in my neck of the woods.

3. spending time with my son: you are probably wondering why this is number 3 on the list. i could have easily made it #1, however, at some point, i want my son to take a nap because i can only watch so many episodes of Thomas & Friends, or read Hop on Pop, or play with the trains. i absolutely LOVE my son, but now i realize that i don't have to have him tied to my hip to be considered a good mom.

4. not having to change out of my PJs: i confess, i'm lazy...sometimes. i don't like to get dressed up to go into the world everyday. i like the softness and ease of my cotton basketball shorts, or ultra-soft capris. i'd rather be barefoot, in shorts, and a tank-top & lounging around my house than stuffed into a pair of slacks and uncomfortable shoes.

5. unlimited options: this is probably THE BEST thing about being a part-time stay at home mom. if i want to stay home all day & let the munchkin run around the house like a madman, cool. if i want to get us dressed and go to a museum, cool. if i want to walk to Borders and browse for books & let him run around in the kid's section, cool. every decision, every idea, every day trip is possible because i don't have to answer to anyone but myself (and bank of america). whatever we want to do, we can do because i'm the boss. the freedom of being able to plan, or not plan, your day according to YOUR needs is priceless.

when i'm working and my students are driving me crazy and it's march or april or november, i always try to keep my eye on the prize: break! although i can't afford to stay home full time, being able to have a few weeks or months off allows me to experience life on the other side of the mommy coin.

each time i'm off i cherish these days, love the freedom they offer, and long to have them again. hopefully one day my passion will allow me to sustain us financially, and i can officially make the switch from part-time to full-time stay at home mom. until then, i will enjoy my time off while it lasts.

(some of the books i have yet to read, but have owned for quite some time. i will try to get through these over break.)

it's finally here: a break, an extended siesta from the day to day work and struggles of teaching. i've been looking forward to this time since september (lol), and it's FINALLY here!

for the first time since i've ever had a break from anything, i don't have a ticket in hand to go visit beloved. i'm broke & the weather sucks. hopefully we will conjure up a visit before i have to return back to work (crossing fingers). but the lack of travel plans feels very weird and foreign to me. i halfway don't know what to do with myself right now.


(veggie lasagna with spiniach, mushrooms, red, yellow, and orange bell peppers, onions, and lots of cheese!)

yesterday, as i do lots of Sundays, i cooked. the stay at home mom in me likes to go on allrecipies.com to see what tasty things people are cooking up. yesterday i made a veggie lasagna & tricked my uber-picky two year old into eating more veggies than he's had in a long while. in an attempt to return to the healthy eating that i exhibited this past summer, i wanted to make something meatless, and although it had lots of cheese (yum!) it was all made of skim milk, and i used whole wheat pasta. it came out quite tasty. the little one ate ALL his and kept trying to dip his fork in my plate. mission accomplished.

one thing i will do with myself over the break is read & write. all the hype surrounding my one page a day goal evaporated. my child got sick, i got sick, and my ideas stopped flowing. i will pick up my story again and hopefully make up for the week i lost. i also picked up the new issue of Poets & Writers, and FINALLY was able to get my hands on Bodega Dreams. i'm excited to read it. will give you my review, not that it matters, when i'm done.

so, what are your plans for your winter break--no matter how long or short?
& what are you reading right now?
give a sista some recommendations.

bless.

right now beloved & i need your prayers, well-wishes, positive thoughts, whispers to the ears of God, lit candles, and any anything else you can muster.

we are not in a good place right now.

i'm not going to hash out all of our intimate details, because some things are private, but we have been arguing more than talking, and we haven't done either in almost a week. this life is extremely difficult. having to have arguments, as all couples do, via the phone, is completely exhausting and frustrating. having to trust and love across thousands of miles is a test that many fail. the separation, and financial burden, and just the lack of our freedom is taking its toll, BUT i know we are SO much stronger than this & one day will look back on these days and know that because we made it through this, we can make it through anything.

ashe.

crafting the great american novel is almost impossible, and i'm good at setting myself up for failure.

i've always been fairly good at writing. for years i was the woman who came off the bench to save my family's and friend's letters, and essays, and poems. putting words together never took much of a thought, but i was never really sure if they were any good.

although i consider myself the master of procrastination, i've decided to try to master something else entirely: actually writing. in the last post i mentioned that i carried a line in my head for a month, and just decided (or willed myself) to write it down.

on monday i began writing with little more than a rough sketch of my character, and a rickety plot idea. i'm a sucker for love stories, and happy endings, but i know that life isn't always so forgiving and kind. the story i'm writing is...both full of me, and not about me at all. it's complicated, and painful, and exceedingly optimistic.

i am only 3 pages deep, and i'm finding it hard to harness my thoughts into anything i can stand. i'm overly critical of my writing. i always hate it and think it's the worst thing since Eddie Murphy tried to sing. but i'm hopeful and trying REALLY hard not to psych myself out and lose focus. i've decided that in order to stay on track, i will write at least one page per day. at worst, i will have a lot of horribly written prose, and at best, i will have 365 pages of genius (ha!). either way, i'm going to keep plugging and putting fingers to keys.



[sidenote: to my fellow blogger authors (Geoffery? Torrance? Bless?)...know of any good sites and books that help when writing fiction? i'm in desperate need. holla.]

I am a master procrastinator.

I have been saying I am going to write for the longest time. I’ve walked around with the same line, and the same idea for a story in my head for at least a month. Even though I’ve had the itch the write, the need (or perhaps just the want) to write, I haven’t been writing.

Over the long weekend I planned on cracking open my laptop, starting a new, bright, blinding word document, and…writing. This weekend I read. I devoured the book Random Family by Adrian Nicole LeBlanc and marveled at just how much my life was both so similar and yet completely opposite of the lives of those in her book.

Her book is amazing. Although it is a work of non-fiction her words possess the beauty and realness of a novel. I found myself rooting, and hoping against hope that the people in the story came out ok. And then I got jealous.

Whenever I read a good book, I am envious of the author’s ability to connect word to meaning, and meaning to emotion. To weave stories and words and ideas into something so complete and so real, people are compelled to tell others.

I dream of being that dope one day.

I dream of writing words that touch people in a real and profound way. I dream of being more than the 13th man in the literary crowd, cheering others on, but really wanting to get in the game.

Tonight. I cracked open my laptop and wrote down that line I’ve been carrying in my head for the past month. I also began writing the story. It’s not astounding. I am not a fiction writer, but I am a person with stories--many, many stories just waiting to march from my head and onto the page.

At the end of it all (or maybe the beginning?), I hope to be able to share them with you, and welcome you into another section of my mind, my life. When it is all said and done, I hope you will enjoy what it is I have to offer. And if not…hey, at least I tried.

sometimes I sit and wonder how my life ended up like THIS. this meaning a solo wife & mommy, trying desperately to hold it all together…on my own (sorta). I wonder what God is trying to teach me by going through all of this. sometimes I wonder why I wasn’t more dedicated to my writing when I was in the city of dreams. Why I let so many opportunities slip through my fingers. I wonder why I’m still not doing what my heart wants to do. I wonder will I ever be brave enough to just go for it.

I wonder and I wonder and I wonder some more.

When I’m alone with my thoughts I question how we get into the situations that are our lives. I try not to sit and feel sorry for myself, or wonder what could have been if I would have just turned left, and not right, because that’s useless. it’s all spilled milk and there’s no use in crying over it now, right?

When I get into a funk and start feeling all down for myself, usually, something or someone comes along and makes me smile. Lately, it has been my little one. He cracks me up with all of his 2-year-old bravado.

My baby is hilarious. He is starting to “read.” Every morning he runs to the car and starts calling out letters, while pointing to those on the back of the car (“E!” “A!”). Although he hasn’t quite matched up the right letter to the correct sound, it cracks me up. He is so happy to point & shout out letters, it makes me happy just to see him having so much fun. And that makes our commute just a bit more pleasant. I am no longer grumpy, or tired, or feeling down….

I am thankful

I am thankful to see the day break across the sky. Thankful I can pay for extra collect calls on holidays. Thankful for beloved’s sanity (and my own!). thankful for long weekends, and 44 hour rendezvous with my Mr., and cheesecake(!), and holding hands, and cooking dinner for my princes, and reading with my son, and everything I often overlook. I am thankful for the struggle and the lessons God is constantly teaching me, in spite of how much they sometimes hurt.

As the holiday season approaches…what are you guys MOST thankful for this year?

Bless.

i have been in a constant state of motion for the past few weeks: rushing to complete a huge project for school, feverishly grading papers & getting them into the system, and traveling 2,578 miles and back to see beloved for 44 hours.

i am spent.

there are so many emotions and words and sounds caught up in my head right now, but i just can't get them out. perhaps if i rest, they will flow.

soon come.

for now...i'm just saying hello, it's me.

it's amazing how the universe works.

lately i've been feeling as if something has been missing. feeling like i'm spending my life working, and not enjoying my time on earth. in the last post i mentioned that i was searching for my passion, when all along, i already knew.

i love to write. i love to fling my words and thoughts into the atmosphere for people to digest, to enjoy, to discuss, to devour (nightly lol). it's something i've always been (fairly) good at. but yet i continued to hesitate. i continued to make excuses as to why i wasn't writing (no inspiration!), why i wasn't submitting work (lazy!), or why i wasn't working within the writing world (too hard to break into!). all along my issue wasn't about being unaware of my strengths & passion, but rather it has ALWAYS been about doubting myself and being afraid i'm not good enough.

slowly, i have been taking steps to sort of break free of my self-doubt. recently i've submitted to two mags, and just when the idea of (re)starting my own lit journal/press weighed heavily on my mind, last night a friend asked me if he should ressurrect a lit project we founded some time ago. kizmet.

immediately my mind began racing and i started talking a mile a minute about how we could/should/WILL do it. how, this time, we need to be super serious and business-minded and not just take our talent and skills for granted. after all, we have kids and families we need to feed. i think i overwhelmed him. matter of fact, i know i did. he told me my energy was like a bully LOL and we needed to slow down. but i'm so excited. the seed has defintely been planted.

it's crazy.

the moment you make a conscious decision to find ways to be in pursuit of, to try to reach for what you want, to grab it with both hands and believe...the universe opens up and makes room for you.

i am feeling restless.

this past weekend was a pretty lazy. thankfully, there wasn't much going on & i had a chance to rest and relax. but as usual, the weekend felt way too short. too rushed. and as Monday approached, i began to feel hurried and not quite ready to go back to work.

this feeling isn't unusual.

i've felt this work-day uneasiness my entire (working) life. although the jobs have changed, that feeling--the one that tells me i COULD be doing something else--overtakes me. and, as usual i began to wonder.

am i doing what i'm SUPPOSED to be doing?

or is there even something i'm SUPPOSED to do?

hmmm...

i've always been curious about those who are uber passionate about their work. i've wondered how they managed to figure out what makes them SO happy. i've tried to sit, and think, and figure out what would make me jump out of bed and run to work, but i can't quite put my finger on it. there are a slew of things i dig, but not many i truely LOVE.

i've been scouring the web (and my brain) for ways to help me solve this mystery. i know i dig writing. at one point in this blog's history, i posted daily, always wanting to get out a burning thought & discusses things with y'all. i love music. i'm a decent poet (i think). i dig being in the company of interesting people, but finding the passion that taps into all of the things i really can't live without...alludes me.

perhaps i'm just playing it safe.

afterall, i have a son to look after now. i can't be some irresponsible starving artist, hoping my art will pay off. that's selfish. i HAVE to be able to make money (and, i want to be comfortable), so being broke isn't an option. perhaps i'm just afraid to take risks? or maybe, i'm just afraid to fail?

because she has all the answers (lol) i turned to Oprah, her site as least. they have a few articles on "finding your passion." Cheryl Richardson, some life-coach guru, poses questions that will (supposedly) help you discover your passion. it's a fairly long list, but i'm going to try to anwer 5 of them here, and i invite you to do the same (i'm nosey!). so here goes...

the questions (see the full list, here)...

What interest, passion or desire are you most afraid of admitting to yourself and others?
i'm not really sure. i'm not really afraid of admitting any passions or desires. most of my friends know that i write, perhaps they don't know i've always wanted to perform (singing, acting) in some way.

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?
hmmmm....be writer, open my own publishing company, and start a magazine. i've always loved writing, it seems SO damn difficult to break into to. i'd write books as well as write for magazines. i've always been a sucker for the glossies & would love to sit across the table interviewing folks.

What do you love about yourself?
my sense of humor. i'm sarcastic as hell, but i'm also pretty damn funny. i love how easy-going and flexible i am. i rarely loose my temper or get stressed out.

What would you do if money was not a concern in your life?
travel & write.

What one thing do you dream about doing that you've never told anyone?
hmmm....i'm not really sure. perhaps that i wanted to have my own magazine, but i think i told a few folks about that. i'll have to think about this one.

When you were young, what did you know you would do when you grew up?
when i was young, i had my heart (or my head, at least) set on being a pediatrician. how typical. i also wrote stories & tried to get my mom to enter them in contests.

How would you like the world to be?
fair.

i'd like the world to be fair & loving & accepting of people's differences and ideas. non-judgemental & safe.

What would you regret not having done if your life was ending?
traveling & publishing a book.

~~
hmmm...i think i see a trend forming. how about you?

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i really tried to write
a poem in honor
of my little one's second birthday,
but nothing sounded right

at about 4am yesterday morning, i was awakened by words. this used to happen to me all the time back in the day, but not so much lately. i was unprepared. no pen, no paper...nothing. and so i tried to remember the words until i got to a pen & paper. but when i sat down to write...i had forgotten.

but poems can only do so much.

there are few words to describe my little one's two years of life and my 2-year stint as somebody's momma (i'm STILL amazed at THAT). you would think i'd have volumes of poems about being a mother, but rarely can i capture these types of moments to my liking.

there is a poem...sorta. perhaps i will edit, fix it up a bit, and post it at a later time, but perhaps not. what's important is that my baby is not really a baby anymore. he is 2! a little man who loves to dance, and color (on the kitchen floor!), and loves cars/trains/trucks, and who's swagger is just like his father's: bold, always smiling, stubborn, and intense.

i have learned so much about him (and myself) in SUCH a short amount time. i have learned to be patient(!!!). i realze now how similar i am to my own mother. how i spit out old sayings at the drop of a hat (child...don't you know fat meat is greasy!) how forgiving & flexible you MUST be in order to stay sane. and just how much you talk to God & ask Him to watch over your child when you can't be there.

despite it all...the difficulties of raising my son without his father's daily presence, the financial sacrifices, the late nights, the early mornings...i wouldn't tade it or him for ANYTHING in this world. my son is SO beautiful y'all, i can't even begin to describe it. all i pray for is that we have many more years together to share, grow, and laugh.

Happy Birthday, baby...mommy loves you! *kisses*

(pic taken by my camera phone. i took this after her encore. she came out to test out a song she wrote in the hotel. check out the hotel pad in her hand. an artist never stops. lovely!)


untitled (inspired by she)

last night     a testimony of words
echoed through wombs
waves of blues met
earlobes    hips and fingers
   pursed as if
waiting for a savior

a philly jawn
honeyed and aged
urgent like
rain in the dessert
weaving stories through time
bringing us
closer
to ourselves

~~~~***~~~
i had the pleasure to see jill perform last night. WHEW LAWD! is all i can say about THAT. you. must. go. see. her. now.

buried beneath a mound
of papyrus i breathe abstract
minds meld time & words
into a revolution of syntax
i break back        pack minds
raw and heavy
even if heads ain't ready
i'm on time
full of grammar and rhymes steady
student of this game
my students name's may change
but i break levies   and brains
be growing like weed smoke
permeating rough throats and sentences
wondering what use this writing shit is

it is
life blood to silenced laughs
the cadence of a smile
before it breaks
face screwed like minds
birthing dope lines that reach
beyond this

it is
more than anything
we could imagine

before we saw it
heard it
felt it in our bones
the difference between what's known
and that foreign shit you only dream about

it is
grabbin paper and
whatever writes
to write your story
late nights when
the lights won't burn
when darkeness inhabits everything
but your imagination

it is
this
it is that
and
it is
everything in between

~*~
didn't set out to write a poem...just wanted to say i've been busy teaching, but it be like that sometime. ~peace

oh how i love black people, young people, and ALL people. how did you spend your Black Thursday?

the little one and i donned all black in solidarity with the cause. i made sure i bought him a black t-shirt last night, just so he could support the movement, even if he didn't understand what was going on. these boys could easily be my son, our son.


(the fliers posted in my classroom)

wednesday, i briefly mentioned the Jena 6 to my students. i was pleasantly surprised when many of them knew SOME, albeit wrong, information about the situation. when i realized HOW confused their information was, i set out to help them to understand the gravity of the situation and how it affects them. i put together a short powerpoint explaining the Jena 6, the significance of nooses & how lynching was used to terrorize blacks, and in particular black males.

they sat in awe.

i saw their questioning faces look up at me for answers. why would anybody HATE in such a way? kids are funny, full of the ideologies of their parents. last year i was frustrated when my attempt at a discussion about the juvenile justice system spiraled into a bunch of missed points. but today...the points were not missed.

during the course of our discussion some of my kids went from completely ignorant, to hating whitey, to hearing & knowing that ALL people (black or white) are not just one way. see, we have to be careful not to get our youth SO riled up they begin to carry around their own brand of hate. i made them remember those (non-minorities) that love and care for them, and then we were cool. we moved from helplessness to empowerment as we wrote letters to the Governor of Louisiana (i will be mailing them tomorrow).

i am so proud of everyone who sacrificed their time & energy to this cause. i am proud of my students and their young, precious, BRILLIANT minds.

today was a GREAT day
but we can't stop
here.

Warning: if you are offended by the n-word & expletives, this post ain't for you. proceed.

BLACK radio is doing it! there is an air of protest and youth-activism that we haven't seen in YEARS. If it weren't for black radio's on air personalities (Michael Baisden, Steve Harvey, and Tom Joyner to name a few) & black bloggers around the globe, many of us would be completely in the dark about the plight of the Jena 6.

I am an avid news/news magazine junkie and I have YET to see a story of substance regarding the Jena 6 on ANY mainstream news outlet. Over the weekend there was a BRIEF story (about 2 minutes) about the Jena 6 on MSNBC because one of the anchors was interviewing Al Sharpton, but other than that...silence.

I am at a loss at why the media chooses to BLACKout the racial issues that continue to plague America. The MSNBC anchor had the audacity to ask Rev. Sharpton if "deep seeded racism" still exists in "pockets" around the country. ummm, HELLO!? sometimes i wonder what planet most white people live on (anybody? explain?). racial inequities continue to exist in the media, in our education system, in our cities, and let's not get me started on the VAST inequalities in the justice system. over 40 years after we marched on Washington, Selma, and Watts...Marvin Gaye (RIP) is still wondering WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?


(phil spector's crazy ass & oj's dumb ass...a media match made in heaven)

The media's lack of coverage is troubling, especially in light of the stories they choose to cover. Michael Vick was all the rage for a while, now it's OJ's turn. *shakes head* I wish OJ would go into a hole and sit down somewhere. this fool, makes Chris Rock's "black people vs. niggas" routine all the more relevant. i'm with Chris...i love black people....but...



I HATE NIGGAS!

and OJ is the coon-ing-ist (yeah, i made that up) ass NIGGA on the block! Damn! even crazy ass Phill Spector, who blew this white chick's brains out, can't even take his shine. OJ has to be fuckin delusional. how a nigga gon' run his own "sting" operation without that shit going awry? how can he NOT realize white people (and now black people) HATE his guts and want to see him wearing prison blues? get ready Orenthal....you're about to be inmate #1234567, a ward of the State of Nevada. bend over, nigga.

*sigh*

i hope i don't sound crazy, i'm just angry. and black. i'm not paranoid either. hundreds of years of oppression have colored my stance on things. being a teacher, a facilitator of young black minds comes with a whole host of responsibilities. i feel as though it is my DUTY to shed light on the plight of our kids. these random news stories are merely distractions. we need to focus our attentions on the Jena 6. many of you probably won't make it to the rally on Thursday (i will be at work telling my students about this), BUT we have been asked (and i am asking you) to wear BLACK on Thursday to show your support for the Jena 6.


(i *heart* mos def & cornell west...preach brovas!)


read up on the plight of the Jena 6, write a check, tell somebody....DO SOMETHING...

please.

Black men are America's most likely crime victims. Even Latino men, who suffer high homicide rates, are much less likely than black men to be murdered. A black man is safer in prison today than living free in Los Angeles County.

*jaw drops*

THIS scares me.

According to the Los Angeles Time Homicide Report, a weekly tally of all the homicides in LA Country, young, black men are safer in prison than walking the streets of LA. I am shocked, appalled, and afraid, especially for my bothers & son.

where have i been?

i am an 80s baby. i grew up in the heart of South-Central LA in the 80s, lived through gang wars & colors, and I suppose, i figured everything had died down. nowadays, when my students come to me refusing to write in anything EXCEPT blue ink, spelling my name wrong ON PURPOSE because they refuse to put the "C and K" together, and claiming they are from "such and such set," I shake my head and can't understand. for some strange reason I thought gang bangin was dead, burried deep in our memories right next to Cube's jeri curl & Raiders jacket. But apparently it's still alive and well in the hearts and mind of our youths.

This year Six Hundred & Seven people have been murdered in Los Angeles County. 607. of those, 180 (or 17%) have been Black Males. An overwhelming majority of them (156) met their demise by the way of a gun.

I don't even know where we can begin to change this (suggestion?).

I'm sure these statistics aren't foreign to other major cities. where do we begin to pick of the pieces of our broken youth? In 2005-06 many news sources did several news reports on the state of Black men in America, but I have yet to read or hear anything about the brothas this year. Perhaps our men are out of style; overshadowed by celebrity gossip and political scandals. But the question remains...what can we do about it?

How do we begin saving ourselves, because it is OBVIOUS, no one else will do it for us. Where do we even begin?

Personally, I am starting with my son. My son has a living, breathing example of how bad decisions & choices can really cause setbacks in your life (his father). beloved and I talk, at length, about our hopes and dreams for our son and how no matter what, he will NOT make the same mistakes we've made.

my son will not be statistic
God Willing
we can keep him safe
long enough to succeed

UPDATE:
Since posting yesterday, the number has gone up to 620! this is damn ridiculous.

(my classroom. pic taken by camera phone)

tomorrow is the first day of school. i have been preparing for/dreading this day all summer. don't get me wrong, i dig my job and my students, however, i am not as excited as last year. but on the other hand (and more positively so), i am not as nervous either. i know what to expect. i know the kids will come, full of energy. full of life and gatorade. hot cheetos and attitude. my students are comming, and i am not ready.

i am still new to this.

fresh in the teaching game, and i kind of feel like this is my first day of school all over again. i wonder, what will i wear? what will they think of me? how will they like the class (and me)? i know i am not supposed to care how the students view me. i am the teacher, after all. however, i don't want to merely be an authority figure who they look for every opportunity to buck. i'd rather be a mentor. a facilitator of words and sounds and thoughts that get sparked somewhere in the back of their mind. i want to be THAT teacher that movies and books are written about. THAT teacher that kids think about every time they are asked, "who inspired you to be....great?"

lofty goals, i know. ambitious. perhaps even foolish. but if we, teachers, enter our classrooms thinking that we can't save them all, or thinking some will ultimately fail...WE will fail.

my kids...yes, MY kids, not by birth but by birth right, are a blank canvas waiting to be filled. they need love and manners and slaps on the wrist. they need us, teacher-folk/parent-folk to stand in the gaps and help them dream.

a daunting task, but i'm ready.

i think.