Reverting

This is probably going to be one of those posts that Nat used to love back on my old blog. All I know is that Fluffycat has been hearing my rants all week and has been saying I should just write a post about it all. Especially since there are already so many out there on the topic.

It all started on Facebook. One of my "friends" (I call the folks that I have added merely for gaming purposes "friends.") posted a link and stated how she was horrified that a publisher had an edition of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn in which the n-word had been replaced. There were all these cries of censorship. I clicked through further and saw that this edition was a response to teachers who had complained that the book had been banned in their districts because of this word but they desperately wanted to teach it.

People have argued that the removal of the word waters down the message of the book. That it is all an effort to sanitize history. That the teaching of the book in its original form allows for the discussion of race in our society. Perhaps.

If you know me, then you know that I'm a former teacher. In my years of teaching, I chose to have my classes read The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman. This book too contains that nefarious word. I had to figure out how to deal with a word appearing in a book that I had made clear should never be spoken in my classroom. I likened it to teaching about the caste system in ancient India. But it really wasn't the same. It was much more personal.

This is what probably made it easy for me to teach that particular book. I had 90 students -- 89 of whom were people of color. I had it easier than the white teachers in the school. My students and I shared a common unspoken history. They assumed that I would understand their feelings about race in society. Let's get real. In all my years of teaching parents of color would be overjoyed to see me in the classroom. They figured that their child was being taught by someone who could understand their history in a way that a white teacher just couldn't. Our common ground put me heads above these other teachers. I could have honest conversations with them about academic English and perceptions of others. And even more importantly, I could code switch if the situation warranted it. (Because like it or not, Ebonics is an actual dialect with linguistic rules. And if I code switch around you, it means that I am very comfortable with you and so can let my guard down.)

But back to Huckleberry Finn and the whole brouhaha. My first complaint is that everyone seems to be upset with the publisher. They are in business to make money. They identified a need and they have tried to fill it. That's the American way. They are not the people with whom you should be angry.

If you want to be angry, get angry with the people who created the need for this new edition -- the school districts that have banned the book. Now things get tricky. Because how public education is structured in this country, you can only really protest if you live in an affected district. So that then brings up the question of a nationally standardized education system. Without that, you can talk until you're blue in the face and still not make change.

I have also taken issue with the doubt in teachers' abilities. Yes, it is clear that those who want to ban books have no faith in the ability of teachers to handle the material well with students. Of course the same could be argued of those who are crying censorship. Really? A good teacher cannot convey the ideas of racism present in the book without this word being included? Seems like these people do not believe in public school teachers as well.

Have I mentioned that my first year teaching, I had to teach ancient Israel -- from a textbook in which the chapter was almost completely made of Biblical quotes? And that I had a student whose parents are atheists. But they had no doubt in my ability to handle the material appropriately in the classroom and instead had issue with the district's approval of the use of the book in the classroom. Oh, and the reason why I thought of this? Race and religion? Both protected classes. As well as gender. But really it gets down to the fact that I was fortunate enough to be in a community in which the parents trusted me to handle difficult topics well - whether it be highly controversial or watered down. Also how does one draw the line between acceptable and offensive? Who gets to draw the line? There have been many cases that the objection to the n-word in the work in question was raised by blacks. So their continued pain is OK for the common good? And what is this common good?

My other issue has been the feeling that some have had that the inclusion of this word opens up conversation. Sorry but I'd like to see some empirical data on this. In a population that is mostly made up of people of color, it really doesn't. Well maybe it would have if I hadn't taken advantage of other teachable moments earlier in the school year. People of color are aware on a daily basis of the role that race plays in this society. Frankly the whole argument over this past week has felt like white people trying to show how progressive and accepting they are. "We are incensed. These are things that we should be discussing." Nice lip service but are you really discussing it all? Are you trying to get to the heart of it all? If you are not, then as the saying goes, "If you are not a part of the solution, you're a part of the problem." All I've seen is a bunch of posturing without sincere effort. Here's the thing. I dare you to ask a person of color if they are not aware of the impact of race in our society. Frankly there's only one group of people who need to be made aware of this. But they're too busy patting themselves on the back that we have a black man as President.

As the week has progressed, more thoughts have swarmed through my head. "A classic"? I challenge you to look at the list of books that are considered to be classics in this country. Now I want you to tell me the percentage of those books that were written by women or people of color. Yes, white men wrote the majority of the classics; they are the ones who had access to publishing. Knowing this last part, are we to treat all their books as some Holy Grail or the like? I mean would we feel the same way about their books if other authors had been given equal access at the time? I don't know about you but I'm tired of someone who is nothing like me defining who I am -- whether it's about how I should look, act or read.

I also dare you to look at a banned book list and see how many of the books deal with themes of race or gender. And instead of saying, "This is wrong," I want you to take it one step further. I want you to ask why this happens still today. And then I want you to think of ways to change this. This means doing more than complaining about how this is wrong; it may even mean you putting yourself on the line.

Frankly I'm getting tired of trying to reach out to people who don't really want change -- even if they proclaim that they are open to change. (Saying you want change but not doing something concrete about? Yep. You're in this category.) I am tired of giving my perspective to people who tell me that I'm wrong and can't really know. Since I'm that silly black woman girl. (Hmmm. Just got me thinking. The editors were wrong. They should have used "boy" instead of "slave." Because "boy" feels just like that other word, just a little more polite.) I dare you to have real conversations. To make real change. It's time to put your money where your mouth is.

They knew

This photo of Boris and Natasha was taken on Tuesday evening. All this week they have been trying to get as much quality time as possible. I figured they already knew and so was surprised by Boris' puzzled look as I left this morning, suitcase in hand. I assume that he will be throwing a rager in my absence and will not clean up after himself. This will be his payback for my not taking him with me on Monday night when I went to see Dave Chappelle (Fantastic show.) and for not sharing my snow crab legs later in the week.

It's back to Berkeley and the dogs for me. Although I was slightly freaked out to hear that cops had to shoot a mountain lion that was prowling the Gourmet Ghetto earlier this week -- a mere two blocks from my former home.

We're having a heatwave once more. Yesterday it was 90 while today is slightly cooler. Luckily it will continue to cool off over the weekend as it can be unbearably warm at Marin's home. I have also vowed that I will not lock myself out this time.

What will I be doing? Watching "Weeds" on Netflix instant viewing. I am currently in the middle of season three. I also have some reading to do. I am slowly but surely making my way through The Hour I First Believed. Just in case I want to switch things up, I also have with me the latest book from Meg Gardiner as well as that Anthony Bourdain book about which everyone has been talking.

I have also decided to get all kinds of crazy over the weekend. Normally when I watch Dumb and Dumber, I eat takeout and stuff that can be prepared in the microwave. This weekend I have brought along food that will require actual cooking. Actually I haven't been doing any actual cooking in quite some time unless you want to count boiling eggs. Which I'm not going to do this weekend because did you know that Trader Joe's now carries hard boiled eggs? And they're already peeled.

Finally I will also try my best to stay out of Beckett's as that always seems to lead to trouble. But I'll probably cross town to stop into see my BFF, The Commander.

Hope y'all have a great weekend. I know I am really looking forward to having four days off in a row.

We all suck

I spent a great portion of last Friday reading this book -- a birthday gift from my friend, Emerald. She knows how much I love all things Denis Leary. Just a warning though -- he is not for the feint of heart. His warning in the prologue boils down to that there is at least one thing in the book guaranteed to piss just about everyone off.

Now a great deal of the book discusses children and our treatment of them in the United States. There is a whole chapter in fact on children and self-esteem. And how parents today seem bent on protecting their child from damage to his/her self-esteem. I don't know if this is everywhere but it certainly seems to occur quite a bit in Berkeley. I give you this passage from the book, describing his experiences at Emerson.

"But instead of cursing the darkness we lit it up -- using the advice of one Dr. James Randall we formed The Emerson Comedy Workshop. Dr. Randall forced the Student Government Association to recognize The Workshop as a legitimate theater group and fund it, thereby allowing us to write all of our own one-act plays, variety shows, mini-musical parodies -- whatever came to mind. We even ended up getting credit for all the creative work as well as the set design, lighting design, tech work et al. We did three to four shows a year. We were almost always last on the list for available theater space, but we would take whatever we were given -- lecture halls, raw square spaces, even -- in my favorite turn of events -- a former church -- and have to outfit it with a stage, lights, backstage area and seating. Our limitations always became a plus. [My emphasis.] Our shows were funny, exciting and always on the cutting edge and what began as what some people thought of as an impossibility became the hardest ticket in town -- we sold out every single production for every show three theater seasons a year for three seasons running. The Workshop still exists a full thirty-two years later. I'm not telling you this a form of braggadocio -- I'm informing you how our generation of kids refused to accept the status quo. We rebelled and it paid off -- big-time.

That's an example of the power of not taking no for an answer. As a matter of fact -- taking no and turning it into a giant gleaming Yes."

This is what is possible when a child is taught that sometimes we all fail. See? That's how I grew up. Well sort of. Because I had one parent who was like this at least. One who let me believe that anything was possible -- within realistic boundaries. (To show how much this parent believes, when I used to do a great deal of handmade crafts, I was asked how much start-up I would need to make this my full-time occupation.) And yes, this parent usually wanted to try to pick up the pieces and make everything better for me. But also respected me enough that when I said, "You know it's OK to say no sometimes. How else will I learn to pick myself up?" Hmmm. Or maybe that was just me parenting myself. Because it seems like I did a lot of that back then.

So in my opinion, in this way he's right. I think that to never teach a child that while sometimes things don't work out the way we plan, we can persevere -- and maybe even achieve -- is to do the child a great disservice. Because isn't the idea to prepare them to one day enter the world and to be equipped to take care of themselves? Yeah, that's right. I, the non-parent, has the audacity to talk about parenting. Because I spent five years dealing with your children in the classroom. And I see them when I go shopping. But more importantly, I know that I am the person I am today because other people -- some who never had children of their own -- helped my parents to parent me.

And speaking of parenting, there's a great chapter in the book on Hollywood kids. Or actually that's the lack of parenting in that case.

Bottom line is that if you like satire and don't mind poking fun at yourself every now and then, you'll probably enjoy this book. Me? I personally plan to buy several more copies to hand out as gifts in the future.

Finding center

When I started this blog, I said that Tuesdays would be about media. And now I'm trying to get back to that place. I think the theme for today comes from these song lyrics...

"Don't matter you're wearin'
It's about the way you wear it"

Really it is. It's about the attitude that you have when you walk in the door. You have to own the place. And to not be afraid of it.

I could do this in college without thinking about it but if anyone complimented me on this, I would pooh-pooh them. This changed after the year I spent in therapy in my post-grad years. (And silly you, thought that this would be all about music.)


During that year, I worked through the exercises in the book pictured. All these years later, I am not completely there but now I am cognizant of my triggers -- and the root of these triggers.

I know that when the ground beneath my feet suddenly feels like it's slipping, I will try to grab control wherever I can -- usually in trying to control my weight. I know that I can find other ways to ask for help instead of destroying myself. I know that I am not alone; I just sometimes choose the wrong people upon whom to depend. But most of all, I know that I am more than the negative voices I heard in my life that I managed to internalize along the way. And contrary to those voices, I am a good person, I am attractive, I am deserving of all the good that comes my way. And when I forget this, I re-read passages in this book.


But before this book, there was another. There was a book that told me that we as individuals can survive almost anything. To me Taoism is about letting it all happen. You are yourself regardless of the events in your life. This has been my go-to book over the last 20-plus years when I feel like I am losing my way, losing myself. I cannot count the number of times I have read this book. It is always one of the first things I unpack when I move.

And why now? Well, there's been lots of crazy going on around here -- family, work, the holiday season. And so I've gone back to my favorite books while I try to figure out how I plan to navigate future holiday seasons.

Battling fear

You would have thought that a visit to Carmel River State Beach would have been enough for me on Saturday. It wasn't. I hopped back into the car and continued heading south to Point Lobos State Reserve. Unfortunately the park was closing early for a special event so I didn't get to spend as much time there as I would have wanted to.



I started off on a part of the North Shore trail. Along the way a little brown bunny hopped across the trail in front of me. He was too quick for me to photograph though.




And then I headed back to walk the Cypress Grove trail. By the time I took the above photo, my old childhood fear of heights had returned for the first time in many years. I thought I was over it since I had just walked a rooftop a few months ago -- commplete with climbing a 30-foot or so ladder up and down to said roof. But the trail narrowed and was very close to the edge. And I froze. So alone on the trail, I did everything in my power to calm the anxiety that was quickly rising. It took me a few minutes before I was able to move once more. I did complete the trail though. And upon reaching the car, I discovered that I was sweating perspiring glowing. See, I tend to walk at a pretty brisk pace. According to the trail map, the loop takes 30 minutes to complete. I finished it in less time.

Then it was back into the car to head over to the Bird Island trail. This trail leads to Gibson Beach. And according to legend, it is the view of this area that inspired Robert Louis Stevenson to write Treasure Island. Being an avid reader, I had to see this -- fear be damned. On the drive over, a deer suddenly appeared in front of me, jogging down the road a bit before heading off into the brush.








When I had been walking the Cypress Grove trail, I could hear the barking of sea lions but could never see them. Finally on returning to my car after the Bird Island trail, I was able spot a group sunning themselves.


Don't know if I'll ever do the Cypress Grove trail in it's entirety ever again but I'll definitely do the Bird Island trail. And I would kind of like to do the Sea Lion Point trail as well.

Unfolding

A friend whom I have known since seventh grade recently told me that she has often thought about blogging but hadn't started because she thought that it required discipline. Maybe it does for some but not for me. Anymore. When I first started, I thought, "I must do x number of posts a week." Then came the day that I reminded myself that I was doing this all for me and not for others. As such, I only needed to write when I really wanted to.

When I wrote my last post, I gave myself permission to take the month of September off. Although I may be an extrovert, there are times when I need to go inward. It's part of the reason why I live alone. Upon awaking this morning, I realized that we were almost halfway through the month and I had already made it past two of the three hard days for this month. And so I told myself that even though I had told myself that I wouldn't post anything until October, it was OK to write something sooner.

I spent Labor Day with my cousins. It was the day after my aunt's birthday. And then I spent yesterday with my dad. My stepmother's birthday was earlier in the week.

I have read in places, perhaps some science fiction novel, that time is not a straight line but instead folds back upon itself. Kind of like when you fold over a tortilla to make a burrito. I hope I have explained this well enough because this is what it feels like.

Over the Labor Day weekend, I was once more with Dumb and Dumber. This time instead of watching endless DVDs though, I read. (OK. I did watch Big Brother. But that was about the only time the TV was on.) I managed to finish something like three books over the weekend. And so over the past week, I was ready to dive into Sag Harbor which I'll finish later this evening.

So I hung out with my dad and we talked. A lot. Mostly about the summers I spent in Georgia and Alabama during my childhood. My dad thought it was a couple of summers. I reached back into my memory and said that it was more like four to five summers. After I got home, I thought how little that seems at my current age. But that little bit? So much of the person I am today.

And so we talked and one minute I was fourteen. Then I was eight, thirty-five, twenty, twelve. And it all felt like yesterday. Probably because I carry with me little bits of my past selves with me today. While the memories of others in my family falter, mine never has -- well, except for that one day that I will probably never be able to recapture although it's for the best. It's like they are packed away in tissue in a box, waiting for the day to be revealed once more.

I returned to reading Sag Harbor when I returned home and suddenly I couldn't put it down. There are so many references to music of the 80s in the book. With each song or artist, there was the pause to remember the me of that time period.

It's been kind of fun revisiting the past. Much better than the present when I have to listen to my father explain to someone he hasn't seen in some time that his wife has died. Oh, and his two sisters as well. And hearing his voice catch as he says it. And seeing him fight back the tears that are forming in his eyes. And then looking at him and realizing how much he has aged.

I have no clue what the future holds but I know that it will be OK. Because my stepmother? My aunts? They had infinite faith in my ability to make things work out for myself. And so I carry that with me -- that one day it will be OK, it won't hurt as much. And that as long as I remember the stories, they will still be with me.

On a lighter note, food will be returning. Quite possibly tomorrow. Or whenever it is that I feel like putting words to the photos. Because there are no deadlines here.

My first love

Normally on Sundays, I'd show you photos of my weekend adventures. No photos this weekend. Instead I decided to spend my weekend immersed in my first love -- books.

When I was growing up, my mother would send me to my room as a punishment. Eventually she learned that it wasn't punishment for me. Because my room was filled with books. And so I decided that this "punishment" thing meant time alone with my books.

As an adult it has become harder to find this precious time. I have found that the older I become, the less time I have to read. Except for those years in which I taught full-time. And so this weekend, the only time I ventured out was for food and cigarettes. I must admit that I took a very scenic route but things were overcast and so there are no photos.

My taste in books can be as eclectic as my tastes in food and music. This weekend was a kind of lowbrow one as my book of choice was One Fifth Avenue.

But then I was almost halfway through and read this.

"You're rich. You can do anything you want. There's no bogeyman around the corner who's going to punish you,"
"I thought God punished us," Annalisa said under her breath.
"God?" Nolene said. "I've never heard of such a thing. Spirituality is only for show. Astrology, yes. Tarot cards, yes. Ouija boards. Kundala. Scientology, and even born-agains, yes. But a real God? No. That would be inconvenient."

And so I read this and thought that I would delve into a subject which I rarely like to touch -- spirituality. But something told me to read on instead. And so, on the next page I found this.

Writing a blog was a bit like going to a shrink, she thought -- it forced you to examine your real feelings. But it was also better than a shrink, because you got to do your naval-gazing in front of an audience of several thousand as opposed to one. And in her experience, that one -- the shrink -- was usually half asleep and expected money. "This week, I realized that I spend at least thirty minutes a day nagging my husband," she wrote. "And to what end? There are no consequences."

That last line? That's what I thought when I read the first passage. Or at least that's where my mind ended up.

I started with the idea of what happened to a world in which we thought that it meant more than ourselves as individuals. Because the world I see, has an inordinate number of folks who feel that they are entitled simply because they breathe. And no one seems to be really calling them out on this shit. And as a result, there are no consequences for their actions. So they just keep doing the same old crap. We need to stop this cycle.

And maybe that's why some folks have a hard time understanding what things are basic human rights. Because there are these folks who flit around, not doing much but smiling for cameras, who have made some of us believe that this is important. That it might just even be a right. So who's to say what the important rights are at this point?

And then I thought of the readings of my childhood -- mythology. When Pandora opened that box, all kinds of bad things were unleashed upon the world. But in the end, the box contained one item -- hope. And so I like to believe that this hope still survives. A hope that we can get past our present stupidity and become the people we were meant to be. Because without this hope, we are truly nothing.

What I meant to say

I was later showing up at my dad's party than I had planned. It was all because I got sucked in by the movie The Power of One. I read the book almost twenty years ago and frequently refuse to get sucked in by the movie. Because I know it will make me angry. And so yeah, I was angry by the end of the the movie -- for the the things that others may have taken for granted. You know? Like being able to fill out a ballot form and have it count for something?

Because while I was driving up to Napa, all I could think was that some of us have achieved a great deal (and somehow no one knows of our achievements except our small group) but the rest of us hang in limbo. And this limbo seems to be defined by who will get credit.

And so this is how I started my Saturday. This is what I wanted to share with someone, anyone. But I let it all go on my way to the party. I imagined what it would be but that didn't mean that that would be what it was.

But it was. On some level at least. In the course of the party, I met at least one
African American who would awe you. I know that I was completely awed and I'm one jaded bitch. It was like what Emerald and I discussed -- why is it when a person of color does something incredible, it rarely makes it into the history books? Because that's what watching The Power of One brings out in me -- the feeling that anything that I do because of "who I am," will be diminished as such.

The estate in my photos? It's a near mirror of the dream home I imagined at age 11. I wonder how different the world would be if I had seen all of this at age 13 as opposed to age 43.

And then there's that other point -- being exposed to such a great measure of wealth. Here's the thing. Every time I hear the word "wealth" in my mind, I hear the words "noblesse oblige" as the resounding chorus.

Whenever I use the term "privilege," others are quick to look at my upbringing. Yes, I have been charmed but privileged? Privilege to me is a political term. Privilege is what stops a police officer from pulling you over because you are the correct complexion. What I really love is that most of the time the folks who will tell you this is not true, have never had to experience this special kind of degradation, humiliation, this feeling that while you are the descendant of people who have been here for several generations, you are a pox on society. You don't think this is true? Well look at the scorn that recent immigrants have upon the descendants of slaves in this country. Thank you to the dominant culture for once more reminding us of our place. Must really piss the hell out of you that an African American man is now President of this country. And here's the honest thing. Most of us voted for him and every day we fear for his life.

Because we have spent too many years seeing what happens to an African
American man who speaks his mind. In my every day life, I do the same. I don't want to be the "dumb" or "too volatile" African American woman so sometimes I hold my tongue. Of course that volatility thing is often attributed to any woman who speaks out against the status quo. I am proud to be a part of these women.

And this is all that I wanted to discuss on Saturday. But no one was available. And so I was left with the only person upon whom I've ever been able to depend -- myself. And this made me frustrated and sad. Because I knew that I wanted to speak truth and to make change. But can you really do that with an audience of one? And so my tears were a mixture of sadness and frustration.

You can take the girl out of Berkeley...

This past weekend was my usual holiday dogsitting stint with Dumb and Dumber. I felt kind of guilty because there was all the unpacking to do at home but this also means extra cash for NYC. And I did more than just hang with the dogs.

Saturday I got to spend time with the Zombie family. You would think that I had had enough chicken but then the various Wing Stop locations kept taunting me. I did not give in.

Saturday night I let someone twist my arm into going to meet up with some folks I know from high school. What I learned is that chatting with them on Facebook is enough for me. Because other than going to the same high school together 25 years ago? Yeah, not much else in common. Now if my best friends from high school had been there it probably would have been different. I've kept in touch with them all these years. Back then we joked that we were sisters. Perhaps it wasn't so much of a joke. But those other folks? Just don't have time to be around folks who raise eyebrows when I act like me. I get enough of that from my family. Thank you very much.

Oh, and there was reading. I finally finished Garnethill. And while out with Zombie Mom on Saturday, I discovered that there was a new book in the Sisters Grimm series. Finished that as well.


This morning I awoke in a strange house. (Marin and family moved at the beginning of April. This was my first weekend in the new house. But I can walk to Astronomico's from there amongst other places!) And I wanted bacon. And hash browns. So I drove to El Cerrito to get breakfast from Nation's -- cheese omelet, bacon and hash browns. I washed it down with a vanilla shake.

And so now I'm getting ready for the trip to New York. And finishing that craft project so that I can put it in the mail before I leave. And thinking about how sometimes it's good to be taken out of one's element. Makes one so much more focused about what's important in life.