April 27, 2013

4



Random babble

Killer of Joyful

It seems that due to a recent shout out by New York Times parenting columnist, KJ Dell’Antonia, I have had a sudden onslaught of new readers. I must admit that considering that this writing space was something I started back when I was unemployed in 2008 and pondering my life, I never expected it to grow. Anyway as a result of the new readers and attention to this blog, I am going to give a little back story for today’s post so that it actually makes sense to anyone unfamiliar with my writing. While I am a mom, this space is less about the specifics of my kids and more about my evolving journey on this trip we call life.

This week hands down, has been the worst week ever in my professional life. A week, where the pain surging through my soul has threatened to overwhelm me pretty much and engulf me. For a good 24 hours, my usual tools to deal with pain simply were inaccessible and I realized that I needed to simply be. Sometimes intense pain must be felt, so that it can be released and we can go on. I think I have worked through a good chunk of it, but my heart is still hurting and breaking.

For the past four plus years, I have served as the executive director of a small but growing agency that serves low income youth in Southern Maine. I often jest that I am the non-profit extraordinaire because for years, I have had the Midas touch when it comes to working with small agencies and helping them to grow. It’s not really a boast but I am damn good at what I do and I care from the depth of my being. I don’t do it for the money, I do it because I believe with every fiber of my being, that change requires us to make it happen and not pass the buck.

Up until late last year, my agency grew and thrived. We went from being a really small organization hardly known outside of our immediate community to a place where larger agencies throughout the region were happy to partner with us. The problem is that all of our growth was based on my ability to get grants to fund our programs and as anyone with a non-profit background knows…the grant gravy train eventually ends. A community program eventually requires a community to share the financial cost and in the community I serve, getting that type of commitment is pretty damn hard. In fact, I failed at it.

For a time, I was able to bring on local businesses and financial institutions to support the work but the average Joe on the street? Nope. Sadly the people, who need our services and use them, don’t have the means to pay. The sad, sad truth is that while we are a non-profit entity, money is needed to pay for the actual staff that works with the youth, pay the rent and that sort of thing.

Earlier this week, I made the hard decision to recommend to my board of directors based off our dwindling reserves and clear lack of commitment from all but one funder that we would need to cease operations effective June 30th. My decision was based on logic and years of business experience and wanting to be as respectful to all involved including myself.

My board approved that decision Wednesday night and a little after midnight I shot out an email to 100 community partners, supporters and interested parties and the reactions? Well, they have gutted me. The first replies were coming in as early as 5:45am, not even 6 hours after letting the world know that after 16 years of serving the most vulnerable among us that we were done.

Long story short, the local media including the state’s largest paper tracked me down at home and to say it was a madhouse would be an understatement. The paper came out to meet with me as you can see in this article and they even made a video.

I have worked with low income folks across several states for the past 16 years, there have been times when for my own well-being that I have to close myself but after watching the video that the paper made and seeing the reactions as we told families that we would be shutting our doors, I was damn near catatonic for a few hours.

I am better now, struggling but better. Yet I am face to face with the reality that certain realities are so uncomfortable for so many of us that we simply avoid them, but the price of willful ignorance is to destroy the soul of others.

As a so-called mom blogger, I find most discussions on parenting and anything child related to be grating at times. We love our kids; we love kids that have direct connections to us but those other kids? Well, that is so sad. We will cross the seas to help “needy” kids in third world countries but we will ignore that kid at our kid’s school who appears dirty, unkempt and malnourished. That child’s poverty scares us because if we hold the mirror to our faces, the reality is we know in these unsteady economic times that kid could one day be our kid. So we do the next best thing, we ignore it, and we hope it will go away. Or as I have been told so many times in the past 72 hours, maybe someone will be able to help out.

Prior to moving to Maine, poverty to me always had a brown or black face with the occasional white face but overall poverty was not an affliction of white people. Maine changed that for me… I saw America’s dirty secret and it was not pretty. However it took working with kids, mostly poor white kids for me to say, this is not acceptable.

Looking at the loss of my position and income is rough but not nearly as rough as thinking of the 600 humans who received services from my agency last year alone. Knowing that this summer, kids won’t have access to free hot lunch in a town where over 50% of school aged kids receive free and reduced school lunch is rougher than anything I will endure once my job ends on June 30th.

 After being that person who also wanted to see the best in humans, after looking at child who loves her safe space and telling her we have to close because of something as silly as money? I have lost some of my faith in my fellow humans which as someone who has spent the past 15 years just trying to make a difference is rough. I feel as if I have lost my innocence at 40 years of age. Silly me…who was I to think that I could make a difference? For a season I did make a difference but for now I am simply the killer of Joyful.

April 23, 2013

0



Parenting, personal growth

Questing for a bestie…the search for a best friend

This past week was school vacation week here in New England. Between the Brother’s Evil in Boston mucking up our plans to visit the Museum of Science and that pesky job of mine turning me into an indentured servant, we really didn’t do much. However late in the week when it was clear that the seven year old was going to snap if I didn’t give her some much needed Mama-daughter time, I decided a trip to the mall was the perfect way to blow off some steam. My toes were in dire need of some TLC and the girl child had been asking if she could get her nails done too.

After we enjoyed a relaxing visit to the mall nail shop aka the McDonald’s of the nail world, we wandered around and stopped in Claire’s. Claire’s for those not in the know is an accessory shop that seems specially designed for girls 7-14 since I am pretty certain that no one over 15 years of age really shops there. Cute and completely disposable items that most of the time are a complete waste of money but I am sure if I were a little girl, I would love the place.

Of course since the idea of the mall visit was to hang out and browse, we did just that until seven found a necklace she had to have and negotiated a loan on her savings. It was a two pack necklace set designed for best friends. Tacky and cute all rolled into one…why the hell not?

2013-04-22 22.07.39

The only problem though was after buying the necklace, we had a mini crisis, and whoever would the kiddo give the other necklace to? After lamenting for some time I suggested she keep both necklaces since the truth is my daughter doesn’t have a best friend. Funny thing is neither do I. I have a small group of folks who have my back but a Sex and the City style group…nah.

So after the mini crisis over the necklace was averted I didn’t think anything of this issue of a best friend again until a few days later when the kiddo bought a new stuffie aka Miss La Fluff Fluff. A day after Miss La Fluff Fluff became a member of the BGIM household, according to the kiddo Fluff Fluff was causing her to pay less attention to Ruby the American Girl doll she has had for the past couple of years and damn it Mama…this is a crisis.

It seems that at almost 8 and in second grade, my luv, my daughter the child named after a most mighty Goddess is struggling because she wants a best friend. It’s a process and we are working through it but the past few days have brought up my own baggage around this best friend issue. Raising kids as I have learned in the past 21 years will bring up baggage even baggage we completely forgot about.

Back when BGIM was just a wee lass in Chicago, I was a pretty awkward kid. I was teased terribly by my family for “sounding white” and being bookish; needless to say I have exacted my revenge on the bulk of my extended family by growing up and forgetting that they exist. I am sure it didn’t help that I was a physically awkward kid to boot. To be honest, I never quite fit in, at least in my own head.  In elementary school, I was in a program for the performing arts. All the kids in the program were like a mini family (by the way one of the gals I knew when I was 10 is now married to the former Man Unit, so I guess we were like a family since this gal was one of the popular kids and now she is my son’s stepmother) and while we all got along, I always longed for that one best friend.

From second grade going forward every school year I would imagine myself to be best friends with this girl or that girl. Sometimes the feelings were shared and we would be like the Bobbsey twins for a spell but eventually our interests would change and the relationships would fade. I did luck out though in that many of the connections that I made in elementary school have endured over the years and many of us have reconnected thanks to Facebook. While our bonds are strong and we support each other, many of us are now spread out geographically and the day to day types of support that one thinks of with best friends is simply not possible. We are all too busy juggling all the balls in the air and trying not to drop em. So by day’s end there isn’t much to give aside from the occasional text or call unless one of us is in crisis.

Even in high school, I still wanted a best friend and instead ended up being the kid who literally got along with everyone but never quite made it to best friend status. Don’t get me wrong, I had friends but no one who was quite BFF material.

Of course running off at 18 to get married and becoming a mother at 19 pretty much killed the need/desire/whatever for a best friend but as the years have gone on, there are a handful of people who fill various roles in my life. There is one person who knows me as well as my husband and mother and knows where the bodies are buried. But we aren’t the talk on the phone, do everything together types. Our connection is forged by the fact that when shit hits the wall we are there for each other. When my mother died, this friend drove 8 hours with a newborn to come to the memorial service and literally hold me up. Afterwards, despite the fact she was nursing and needed to get back to her brand new baby she held my hand for hours at a diner as I alternately cried and chain smoked. After the dust settled from my mom’s death, we didn’t talk for two years. It’s our pattern, when life is well, we are in our own worlds but when the world blows up, we are there for one another. That said, she wasn’t in my wedding and I wasn’t in hers…nothing personal. Just didn’t work out that way. Yet when pressed, she might be the closest thing I have to a BFF but really I just have a small crew of people I love and adore and trust.  

I wasted a lot of years wanting a best friend. In my search to meet that one person who would truly get me, I have spent many years getting to know all kinds of people and looking back on it, I am thankful for that experience. By not having a special group early on in life it forced me to learn how to connect with all kinds of people, which it turns out is a useful skill. I have been blessed to have women in my life who were at times 40-50 years older than me and each and every one of them brought something special to my life and has left their imprint.

There are times when I wish I had that one BFF, who I talk to weekly if not daily. For reasons unknown to me it was not to be; but at times I think that this idea of women having one best friend or one group of best friends is a media construct. While I know women who do have those types of relationships, I know many more that do not; instead their family members, mates, siblings, and parents often play those roles.

So for my precious babe, I am just going to continue suggesting that she make as many friends as possible and don’t worry about settling on a BFF as this stage in life, it will come with time.

April 22, 2013

0



Uncategorized

I don’t mean to be a pest but….

I am interrupting my normal flow here to get personal about a cause near and dear to my heart. If you follow me on social media, I am sure you are tired of me talking about this but I will always use my loud voice to speak for those whose voices cannot be heard.

When I am not dreaming of writing a best seller, my day job is chief executive/executive director/wearer of many hats of a small non-profit in southern Maine. My agency serves at risk, low income youth by providing safe, year round, out of school time programming to youth 7-17. We have grown rapidly in recent years, last year we served almost 600 individuals. Unfortunately the people who use our services cannot afford to pay for them so we rely on the generosity of the haves to help the have-nots along with my awesome grant writing skills.

After several great years of grant funding, things have gotten shaky. Shaky enough that we are tightening our already tight belt, trimming program days and all other sorts of not so fun things that do have an impact. However as we are in the middle of a grant cycle and on month four of running on our reserve funds, it became clear that I needed to do something…fast. So I decided to launch a crowd-funding campaign on Indiegogo. As you will see our goal is modest but with 30 hours or so left, time is running out and we really need to make our goal otherwise…I am looking at making some really hard choices that while annoying to me personally will be devastating for the youth that we serve.

So against my better judgment, I am bringing the cause to the blog in hopes that if enough people can help, it will make a difference in the lives of the kids that my agency serves.

April 20, 2013

1



Current Events, Racial and Cultural

When the villain looks just like us…or isn’t the brown guy

What a wild ride this week has been and for once I am not just talking about my personal life. For Americans this week was nothing short of a long and crazy trip. One where many of us found ourselves wondering…what next?

This week’s bombing at the Boston Marathon seemed to bring back old feelings and fears from the September 11, 2001 attacks that effectively changed this nation. Yet just like with the 9/11 attacks where we saw the best of humankind in the days and hours after the attacks so we saw the same phenomena in the aftermath of the Boston Marathon attacks. People helping one another, thanks to social media there were even more ways to help one another as sites were quickly set up to assist those affected by this tragedy. Even on Twitter, the hashtag #helpers started to trend so that people could quickly identify assistance. It was a beautiful thing to witness.

Unfortunately just like in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks we also saw another side of humankind, one where judgment and assumptions were quickly made. One where the prevailing theory was that whoever was behind this attack had to be someone unlike us, whoever the villain or villains were they were clearly different. Of course such thinking is foolish and dangerous but sometimes people when caught up in the wave of emotions tend to lay down rational reasoning and common sense.

Of course as the week progressed and the suspects were identified, there was a collective gasp as the villains behind this heinous act were revealed to be two brothers, Tamerlan Tsarnaev and his younger brother Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. Two young men who hailed from Chechnya also known as The Chechen Republic, a republic of Russia located in the southeastern part of Europe in the North Caucasus Mountains. In other words our villains were not the brown faces we were expecting, on the surface they looked white. Collective jaw dropping commenced as some pundits on cable television attempted to explain that these two were not white, they were ethnic. Oh really. Methinks that on the census records they are listed as two white guys but hey…whatever floats your boat.

As I watched the events of Friday unfold since my plans for a day trip to Boston were canceled thanks to these two, I found myself wondering about the role whiteness played in their crime and even our reactions to their crimes.

Once the photos were made public revealing these two, I had the rather unpopular thought that in many ways their whiteness allowed them to get away with this. The still shots that have been released show two clearly suspicious looking characters in the midst of the Marathon happenings. They don’t blend in and they actually look nervous. I asked a friend of mine who is a law enforcement officer in New England who also happens to be a Black woman and she agreed with me that as a cop, she thought they looked suspicious and had she been present she would have  had her eyes on them.

Yet their white skin privilege gave them the cover they needed to pull off this depraved act because I am sure the Brothers Evil knew on some level that no one would expect two white guys to commit such an act. They were almost right though they were also stupid because we live in a world where most of our actions will come back to us and we will be discovered.

I am sure though this is not comforting news to the people of color in the minutes and hours after this tragedy who were harassed for no other reason than as brown skinned people, they fit the profile of what we believe a terrorist is.

Salah Barhoum is a teenager and running enthusiast who had his image splashed on the cover of the New York Post and was called out as a possible terrorist by both the paper and the internet sleuths of the Reddit community. This kid’s crime is being of Moroccan descent, having brown skin and being into running. Sure his name has been cleared but I stand with Salah’s parents, this shit isn’t cool at all.

Next up we have Abdulrahman Ali Alharbi, a 22 year old national from Saudi Arabia who was also watching the marathon and who made the tragic error of running like all the white folks present when the bombs started exploding…gee, self-preservation, can’t have that when you are brown. Alharbi was immediately deemed suspicious and while in the hospital being treated had his apartment searched for hours and reported to the world. Never mind the young mother and physician of Palestinian descent who was physically assaulted in Malden, MA after  the bombing while walking down the street pushing her baby in a stroller. Her crime? She dared to be faithful to her faith and wore hijab and for that she earned the wrath of some unhinged man. I could go on, but the bottom line is there have been too many news reports of people harmed for their status as being different.

So the authorities wasted valuable time chasing brown boogeymen because in our minds this had to be the work of brown guys from the Middle East. People have been harassed and made to feel less than but we have the villains, Or should I say the one villain since the eldest Brother Evil has gone on to his great punishment wherever that may be.

Last night as this story wound down and the celebrations started, I couldn’t help but feel saddened by not only these two brothers but everyone. Many of us would never intentionally harm anyone much less orchestrate the type of pain that the Tsarnaev brothers put upon the American people. Yet it is clear to me that in many ways when we refuse to see all people as people and not roles or stereotypes that we unwittingly create situations where evil can possibly thrive. I realize this view may be highly unpopular but as always I speak my mind in this space.

Blessings upon all affected by the tragedies of this past week not only in the United States but all over this ball we call Earth.

 

April 16, 2013

2



Uncategorized

Musings and even a sermon on joy

This past weekend I crossed a serious milestone towards finding my path; I gave the sermon at a local church. Mind you I am not a member of the clergy, but for the past 9 years I have been in a serious search for my spiritual self and in the past 5 years I have thought off and on about applying to seminary.  Maybe it was no coincidence that I found myself in a pulpit this Sunday.

I must admit it was a rather strange feeling. But I had reached out to several friends who are members of the clergy as well as my own father who is a retired pastor for guidance on what exactly one says to a church. Sure, no one was expecting me to get all Apostle like but I wanted to share something meaningful so in the end I spoke from the heart on my own personal approach to life.

I have had several people ask me if I would share that sermon in this space and while I will do that; in light of the horrific acts at the Boston Marathon, it feels even more like a moment for sharing. Whoever committed these acts of terror meant to steal the happiness of the moment but they will never steal the joy. Our joy goes further than any specific moment or event and lives in us even in minutes of the unexplainable and the horrific.

16 Rejoice always, 17 pray continually, 18 give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

I have been in the helping business for the past fifteen years. Prior to going into the helping business, I was in sales and marketing- a sector that while very lucrative was lacking in the joy factor.

It was through my own experience of finding God that I was led to make the career shift or maybe I should say I was directed. The funny or not so funny thing though is that in the last 15 years I have seen my fair share of less than joyous experiences and people.

One of my earliest jobs in my new field was working as the house manager at a facility for women trying to get out of prostitution. I was a fresh faced twenty something year old pumped up on the Lord and eager to help. That might sound great but really it was a recipe for disaster.

All of the women that I worked with and met had been dealt what many would consider to be the losing hand of cards in this game we call life. One woman in particular had one of the saddest hands and is one of those people who has stayed with me all of these years. She was a recovering addict, struggling to regain custody of her kids and she herself was the product of incest. Her father was her grandfather. The details of her life were horrible yet despite what she had faced and what she continued to face, she always had a smile on her face; her spirit and infectious will to live were hard to ignore. She had joy, real joy not based on changeable factors but her joy came from her faith and understanding that there was more to this journey we call life than what we can see with our limited eyes.

True joy is always beneath the surface and sustains us in the hard moments of life. It is that quiet place in our being that knows, it is okay no matter what.

Happiness most certainly feels good and in many ways it feels better than joy but happiness is fleeting and never lasts. Until we learn the difference between happiness and joy we are constantly subject to the winds of change. We lose our jobs, partners, maybe even our health and too many times these events will steal our happiness but they don’t have to steal our joy.

Joy is often imbedded in us when we surrender ourselves and trust in that which is higher than ourselves. For me that is my personal faith in God through his son Jesus Christ. Trusting in what many consider to be the great unknown is a leap of faith but the rewards for those who choose to take that leap can be numerous and can include an inner joy that is unshakeable in the midst of any storm.

Joy is what I see regularly in my work with societies most vulnerable. Joy is what allows the child whose parents must take him to the local soup kitchen regularly in order to eat a hot meal to still have a smile on his face despite having under what many would consider to be less than joyous circumstances. Joy is the teenage girl who can never partake in the so called joys that her peers are able to do yet she finds joy in being of service to others.

I encourage you to seek joy, to pray, to meditate and to trust in that great unknown.

End of sermon (this was an excerpt)

In light of yesterday’s events I am reminded that there are simply things we will never have answers for, why would anyone want to harm innocent people? We don’t know why, but we know that these things happen and that there are people who walk amongst us who seem to lack any connection to that which makes us all human. Yet we cannot allow such beings to steal our light and our joy. Many are trying to make sense of the senseless and while it is most certainly the role of law enforcement to figure this out. If we allow ourselves to settle and focus on these acts for too long we risk losing a part of ourselves. Instead look for the joy and as Fred Rogers said “Look for the helpers.”

 

 

April 13, 2013

0



Mental Health, Midlife Changes

Busy, the road to bad health

Busy, busy and more busy. That seems to be a constant theme in modern day life. Have you recently tried to plan a get together that involves more than two people? Forget about it. By the time everyone pulls out their calendars to look for a day when everyone is available, chances are you are at least a month out maybe two. Call someone up at the last minute to see if they want to grab a cup of coffee or a beer? Forget about it. Busy.

Lately I have found myself pondering the price we pay for being busy and based off a strange experiment I found myself in the middle of; I would say that this national anthem of busy is making for an unwell nation.

I no longer think it is just coincidence for many of us that the busier we get, the worse we feel. My own experience is that busy creates a slew of bad behaviors that because we are too busy to notice creates an absence of good health. Then we get caught up on the hamster wheel of poor health except again we don’t realize we are in poor health because we are too busy to actually know our bodies.

In the past year as I have moved my yogic lifestyle off the mat and into all areas of my life, I can no longer deny the correlations to how I feel and the choices that I make. Prior to choosing to be mindful of seemingly simple things like my diet and sleeping habits, I felt like shit most of the time. It turns out that when I go to bed by 11pm, and get a solid 7-8 hours of sleep, I don’t need the steady IV drip of coffee that was a staple for most of my adult life. Now, coffee past early afternoon is no longer tasty. You have to understand that I have been essentially freebasing coffee since I was a teenager. Up until a few years ago, putting away a pot or two of coffee plus a daily latte (or two or three) was my norm. The times when my coffee consumption was unintentionally cut were absolute disasters barring pregnancy when my body clearly was trying to send me a signal.

For more years than I care to share when it came to my diet, my only concerns were the numbers on the scale. I would alter my eating habits just enough to make the numbers on the scale went down along with the number on my clothing tags. If the number on the tags said 4 or 6, I was ecstatic and if it said 12 or 14, I was ready to stuff myself into a large Hefty bag and stay hidden until the numbers went down. Weight Watchers which isn’t a bad program helped me keep the numbers acceptable as long as I ate in a manner that was my incompatible to who I really am but as I have lamented before in this space, I often felt I needed something more.

Turns out when I stop being busy long enough that I can be mindful and present I recognize why I am eating and I am naturally mindful of the choices that I make. I don’t snack much if at all anymore and when I do, it generally stems from the fact that I am bored, anxious or suffering from PMS. If I choose to snack, I want to know why but when I am too busy, I can’t ask those questions and as result when I am busy, I often mindlessly overeat which creates a whole other set of issues. Sluggish and stuffed for starters.

Even being mindful of what media I consume seems to have an impact on my health. When I am too busy to settle down with a good book and instead choose to feast on the non-stop media buffet of bad news and social media, I now notice that it is harder to quiet my mind and that what I am consuming in those moments affects me deeply. News is good (a complete lack of awareness about the world around us isn’t the answer either) but a non-stop diet of upsetting and at times gut wrenching news and shallow surface connections in lieu of moments spent in the presence of loved ones is just bad for me.

I am a broken record these days and I know it; but allowing my mind to actually be quiet enough that I am alone with my true self feels like the miracle drug to me. Does it solve every problem, of course not? It does however allow me to see what is really an issue and what is just more of the mindless hum in the background creating unnecessary stress and strain.

I didn’t know how good mindful living was until the past couple of weeks when I consciously and intentionally chose to slide back in to my old safety blanket of bad habits. After the bombs started dropping in my professional and personal life, it felt like too much work to be mindful. It started out innocently enough, but it quickly snowballed and the end result is I feel bad. Real bad and yeah, I am busy.

My choice is clear; I cannot allow myself to get so busy that I stop being aware.  No matter how rough things are allowing myself to stop caring enough to take care of myself is simply not an option. In order to live fully and completely even in the midst of life’s storms, I need to be in good health and for me good health demands that I stop being too busy to make time for myself. Universe, I have received the message loud and clear, now let me go back a cup of ginger tea.

April 10, 2013

3



Current Events, Racial and Cultural

Musings on an accidental racist

Several years ago when I was pregnant with the now seven year old, I was in a deep funk as I was still reeling from the recent death of my mother and desperate to start making connections here in Maine. So I joined a local mothering group in an attempt to make those connections and to be honest, those efforts at connections were damn messy. I was the only woman of color and all too often, my Blackness seemed to serve as a block for meaningful connection with the vast majority of women. Oh they were nice enough but our conversations never went beyond the surface and all too often it was clear that we were all mildly uncomfortable.

Yet there was one mama in the group, who went out of her way to connect in a meaningful way with me, but as she told me on more than one occasion, I was one of the few Black people she knew. Let me just say, no one wants to be “the Black friend.” In the early days of our friendship, I would come home emotionally depleted and wonder…why the hell was I attempting to be friends with this woman?

Despite the stops and starts, a real friendship developed but not without some messiness. Over the years, we have had conversations about how our upbringings and positions on the class ladder sometimes do color the way we communicate. I am a middle class striver, a child of the working class whose only entry higher up on the class ladder is via education. I fully own the fact that in many ways  I am still working class and at times rough around the edges. I clean up just well enough to do my job and charm others when needed. My friend is a self-professed elite liberal, a child of the upper middle class who until recently never left her class station and as a result, we sometimes speak vastly different languages. Even now after seven years, we still have moments when our communication is a miss; thankfully, we have enough history with each other that we can bridge those gaps. It would have been very easy for me to dismiss my friend as a clueless white woman and end the relationship but even in the moments when I was left scratching my head, I always knew that her intentions were never to do harm. So I gave her the benefit of the doubt.

I share this story because when the hubbub broke about country western singer Brad Paisley and rapper LL Cool J’s latest song, I immediately thought of my friend and I. Paisley and Cool J’s new song is called ‘Accidental Racist’ and let me just say…damn, it’s a hot mess. With lyrics such as

I’m just a white man comin’ to you from the south land tryin’ to understand what it’s like not to be.
I’m proud of where I’m from but not everything we’ve done. It ain’t like you and me can rewrite history.
Our generation didn’t start this nation. We’re still pickin’ up the pieces, walkin’ on eggshells, fightin’ over yesterday.
Caught between southern pride and southern blame.

I think it’s safe to say that this song was begging to piss someone off and, well, we the people are happy to deliver.  Dude, what the hell were you thinking? Never mind the fact that you have the audacity to try to convince us, the listeners that wearing a t-shirt with a Confederate flag is just showing your pride. Look, I don’t know too many Black Americans that will ever see an image of a Confederate flag and not mentally see our ancestors hanging from a tree.  I hear you on the fact that you want to be prideful man but the approach was just all wrong. Never mind that LL of  ‘Mama Said Knock You Out’ fame clearly must have gotten knocked on his head considering his lines:

Dear Mr. White Man, I wish you understood
What the world is really like when you’re living in the hood
Just because my pants are saggin’ doesn’t mean I’m up to no good
You should try to get to know me, I really wish you would
Now my chains are gold, but I’m still misunderstood
I wasn’t there when Sherman’s March turned the south into firewood
I want you to get paid, but be a slave I never could
Feel like a new-fangled Django dogging invisible white hoods
So when I see that white cowboy hat, I’m thinking it’s not all good
I guess we’re both guilty of judging the cover, not the book
I’d love to buy you a beer, conversate and clear the air
But I see that red flag and I think you wish I wasn’t here

You can safely say that I think this song is shit, but this is where I am about to go off the script of righteous indignation.

I did a little peeking around into Paisley’s background (sorry to say that I am not a fan of Country music aside from a little Johnny Cash) and what I found from my perspective is a fellow Gen-X’er who seems like he wants to make a change. It sounds like Paisley has dipped his toe into going outside the country box in the past. Not that he gets any brownie points but the reality is we are a divided nation. Many of us on the liberal coasts and the few liberal pockets of flyover nation in the US pretty much do look upon the south as a bastion of backwoods bigotry. The south in many ways begs our derision but is it fair? Is it just? More importantly how can we move on?

In many ways it’s easier to get pissed off about this song and write these two off as too incredibly insensitive men, one unwilling to examine his own white privilege and the other unwilling to well…I don’t know, just not be stuck on stupid. But I think as clueless and offensive as this song is, it is actually a starting point to a dialogue that is long overdue. We can’t erase the history. It is what it is. But what can we do to move towards becoming a more cohesive nation, one that does not need to cling to misplaced notions of Southern Pride and instead works towards being a nation.

Anytime issues of race and difference are brought up, you have entered the danger zone but how do we move beyond that? How do we move beyond knee jerk defensiveness and clinging to our deeply held beliefs and create real change rather than sticking to anger and judgment that never changes anything?

None of us know Brad Paisley personally and while he makes for a convenient target and symbol of utter cluelessness, I can’t help but wondering if he is a bit like my friend…well-meaning, clumsy in his efforts but maybe it’s worth trying to find out what his intentions are and seeing if we can move beyond the initial outrage and seeing if his actions can launch a true dialogue.

April 8, 2013

6



personal growth

I am worthy…a mini life crisis

I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. That was the intention that I set for myself recently while lying still in a yoga nidra session. Such an intention may seem odd, but lately as I find myself constantly assaulted by life, I have found myself going back to that inner place where the chants are loud and clear. “You aren’t worthy.” “No one will pay to hear that.” “You aren’t a good writer, people are just stroking you.” “Your career success has all been a fluke.” You get the idea. A regular chorus of doubt triggered by some very real and serious situations, that aren’t in my head.

Professionally, I am at a crossroads, my agency is in deep doo-doo and for the first time in four years I don’t have the answers. However if the answers don’t come to me and come soon, not only will I be out of a job but so will three other folks. The biggest losers though will be the families and kids that are served by my agency, if our doors close, kids who were already near the cracks, may completely fall in. I have been tossing and turning ever since I realized how serious this situation is and if things weren’t already bad, if a miracle doesn’t happen by April 15, my ass is grass. I walked in faith that helping my Dad out financially when he was sick was the right thing to do and morally it was the right thing. The problem is that the money that I used to help him; was my tax money. Despite my most valiant attempts to pick up extra work to make up for the help aka the money I extended to him, all my efforts have turned up is a steaming hot plate of frustration and offers to work for free. (Duh…why would I do that?)

It seems when you are already on a payment plan with the tax man, he’s just not herefor excuses. Sometimes shit happens and happens and not even the good stuff will make the shit stop.

Then when I was at my already lowest point, trying to figure out if I should just become an electronic panhandler (just can’t bring myself to do that, but I will be say if you know of any publications looking for freelancers or want to throw some change in the tip jar, leads and tips are greatly appreciated it). My allergies decided to go out of control in a way that they haven’t in several years. Walking around feeling like a brick is attached to your head when you are already taking a slew of allergy meds just sucks. It seems the dust and dander factor is out of control in my corner of the world. Gee, I am sensing a theme here…out of control.

Yet the final straw, the final kick in the ass, the final assault was that this weekend was the second out of four of my yoga immersion weekends. To be honest, I just wasn’t feeling it this weekend and instead of trusting my gut and just not going despite the logistical inconvenience (remember my goal is to eventually get to 200 hours) I went and it was just blah. You would think by now that I know myself well enough to know when I need to pull the plug and regroup but I allowed my ego to take over. Instead, I went for the first two days and was only half present and ended up feeling rather resentful of something that I really enjoy.  Not a great feeling. But made worse when I found myself questioning why the hell I even am bothering with this yoga stuff. I am fat, I am Black, I am working class…blah, blah, blah. All reasons that I shouldn’t even be wasting my time. Just as the private pity party was in full swing, I had a quiet moment where I just sat and watched the gremlins of doubt attempt to take over all that I have worked hard to achieve.

Rather than chase the gremlins away, I have allowed them to have a say and now I am having a say. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. As someone who replied to the not so private portion of my pity party said, “Sometimes honoring the divinity within yourself is honoring the frailty of the vessel it sits within.” I do have a lot on my plate, no doubt life is a bit harrowing at the moment but I am worthy of all goodness and abundance, so shoo gremlins of doubt and pain, shoo.

 

 

April 4, 2013

3



Current Events

Four brave girls creating change

It surprises me when others are surprised that we live in world where bigotry and intolerance are still very much in style. While laws can and are being changed to make some attitudes no longer the law of the land, the sad fact is that changing hearts and minds is far harder. Yet the younger generations are coming of age in a world where technological savvy is making it easier to break down the walls of intolerance and they can find the support outside of their communities to make it happen.

That is the case in a small town in Georgia, where a group of lifelong friends and high school seniors are working to change their school’s tradition of a white’s only prom. Yes, you read that correctly. In 2013 at the Wilcox County High School, they hold a whites only prom and they aren’t even breaking any laws since the proms are held off site and are privately financed. Since the school itself is integrated, they apparently hold two proms, hell they even hold two homecoming dances. Though in a nod to modernity this past year they apparently had one homecoming court but the dances were separate because heaven help us if the whites and the blacks dance together!

The girls who are spearheading this change are simply kids who have known each other since the 4th grade but since they are a mixed race group, sorry…you cannot mark this big moment in your lives together.

Well, this story is gaining traction and the girls are trying to raise cash to put on a dance where they can all be together. Though from news reports, it seems even amongst their peers, not everyone is keen on change. One of the young ladies was quoted as saying
“We need to stick with the tradition,” Quanesha said mockingly. “This is a traditional thing we don’t need to change and stuff like that, but why? No one can answer my question.”

Quanesha, sometimes people are clueless and you do have to create your own change. So from a Black Girl in Maine who could be your Mama, I am going to help you and your girls out by making sure your story is heard near and far. I want y’all to have the best damn prom ever and it is my hope that one day you can tell your kiddos about how silly things used to be.

All it takes is a few brave and willing souls to affect change. To the grown-ups in charge, I say poo on you; change is the only constant in life other than taxes and death.  The time has come to let go of irrational fears and end this tradition of a white’s only prom, it is bigoted and hateful.

April 1, 2013

1



Parenting, personal growth

No maps, no guides, the final frontier of parenting…grown kids

When I was a much younger woman, nothing would piss me off faster than hearing some “older” person tell me ever so patiently that when I got older, I would get “it”. Whatever this mysterious “it” was.  It always felt patronizing to tell me that despite the fact that I was an adult, I wasn’t old enough. Funny thing is, now that I am older, many things that pissed me off as a younger adult, now make a lot of sense. Turns out those well-meaning adults, knew what they were talking about.

Lately I find myself chuckling privately when younger friends talks about their parents, because when I was a young woman, my own parents used to bug me. Why the hell was my dad always talking about me as if I were still 8 years old? I am a grown up, can’t he see that? The thing is your parents no matter how old you are and how many kids you have, will always see you through their parenting lens which means you are always 8 years old in their minds eye. It isn’t intentional, but the fact is kids grow up entirely too damn fast. One day we are wiping your asses, kissing your boo boos and providing the vocal backgrounds in floor games and then the next thing we know you are more than halfway through college and bringing your love interest home to meet us. Life is moving entirely too damn fast!

The past few days here in BGIM-land have marked the official end of an era, one that I have spent 21 years with and the ushering in of a new era and I am still just trying to catch my breath. My son, known here as college boy came home for Easter Break and brought his girlfriend home to meet me…dear ole Mom.

College boy and his girl

College boy and his girl

It was a great visit, but I admit in the quiet moments, I found myself in tears as I watched the two of them share their private jokes that couples have and watched the ease with which they operated together. This is the first time in 21 years, where I wasn’t financially responsible for my son. No trips to the store with dear ole Mom buying much needed items for the boy. Nope, thanks to the college boy’s recent tour, he financed the entire trip and even treated dear ole Mom.

My son is a man now, a man standing on his own two feet as he should and I am proud of him. Yet I find myself thinking more and more about the fact that as a society we expend a great deal of energy on our kids when they are younger but few speak about the days when our birds leave the nest. As a mother, what is my role with regards to my son? For the past 5 days, I was careful to mind my words and to be gracious, going so far to say that after 14 years, maybe it was time to finally kill our ritual sign off that started after he went to live with his dad. Maybe air kisses are no longer appropriate?

When you find yourself with an adult child, you know you still have a role but it’s murky. This is the part of the parenting road map filled with dead space and you just have to navigate it on faith that you are making the right choices. So if your parents say and do things that make you roll your eyes or make you want to scream…do me a favor. Cut them some slack.  Knowing how to relate to babies, toddlers and school-aged kids is almost easy because we have a ton of resources and guides to fall back on but once you cross that line into adulthood not just based on chronological age but by developmental markers, us parents are lost. Logically, we understand that you are adults but in our hearts and minds, you are still our precious babes.