Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Super Mom and Super Dad

Right now, there are several tornado warnings in and around our county. Anytime we have severe weather, I'm always taken back to the Liggins family reunion in Alexandria, Louisiana in 1996.

I don't remember much about that reunion, but I do remember a night where we had rented out a conference room of the hotel we stayed at for talent night. Once it was over, everyone was heading towards the exit when the lights went out for a few seconds. I figured someone accidently brushed up against the light switch. Soon someone said that there was a big storm, possibly a tornado warning. Once we got outside, I saw little debris flying, yet cars still on the road. My mother and I went back to our room where my dad was already in bed. Mom and I changed our clothes and went to my aunt's room where other family members gathered to sit around and talk. In the room, I didn't understand why my family was joking with each other, and re-telling what occured at talent night. Didn't they know there was a really bad storm outside? We could get swept away. I ignored everyone and hid under the covers.

I'm not for sure if it was just a bad storm, a tornado threat, or even part of a hurricane in Alexandria, Louisiana. All I know is that I left the deep south with fear. Once we returned to Louisville, I was scared to death anytime it rained. My mom worked the night shift then, and if she left for work and it was raining, there was no way I wanted to stay alone. So I crawled in the bed with my dad, hoping he would put on his spandex and cape and rescue me if I had blown away by wind, or swept away by water.

Years later, I have gotten over my fear of rain and thunderstorms. In fact, I welcome them now. I love to sleep through them. But when I think back to the nights I found myself seeking protection from the weather, I chuckle and think, "What was I thinking?" My parents couldn't have stopped the rain with their super heroic powers. My dad couldn't blow the tornado away, and my mom couldn't send the lightening back from where it came from. Had a tornado siren sent us to our basement, and the wind took away the roof, I'm sure my parents would have shielded me with their bodies, but without super powers.

There are no superheroes in real life as those in the comic books. There are real life heros such as police officers, firefighters, or even ordinary people doing extraordinary things. Yet to our children, we are larger than life figures, saving them from the Boogeyman, scary shadows, and monsters under the bed. We adults know these things are unreal, and shadows are just shadows, but we put on a brave face anyways to protect our kids. My son Elliot always fights the sleep. He cries and cries when he knows he's sleepy. He'll yawn then fight, then rub his eyes, then fight again. The other day, Jeff was trying to calm him down, and then he said, "It's okay, you can go to sleep. I won't let the Boogeyman get you. I'll fight him for you." It sounds silly, but these are what (some) kids believe in. Elliot's only 3 months old, but soon he'll hear about this scary man. And then both of his parents will fight to the death for their son.

Even parents will have to make believe every now and again.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Been A While

It's been a few days since I've posted something. It's mainly because of Bejeweled on Facebook. I'm always #1, but last week someone took my spot and I tried to get it back, but fate didn't want it.

Things aren't great, yet they're not bad. It's almost like my issues are on a balance beam that is carefully wavering back and forth. Though last night a ton fell on the bad side. I won't disclose too much info, but all I'll say is that money is very much an issue. I told my mother that come September I'll move out so things can be a little easier for the bills. I still don't have a job or money, so it's super crunch time.

One thing I've never been accustomed to has been looking at the glass half full. I know that everything will be alright. I told my mom to look at other people who are in worse situations than us. Yet she wasn't having it. She didn't want to hear any words of encouragement, she just wanted my father and I to hear her complain.

Some situations are so bad that it seems as though you are in a speeding car and outside the windows are just a blur of colors. Your shoulders are strained and aching from the world resting upon them. Clouds have no silver lining. Hope is gone. When I'm in a bind, I usually think ahead to the future. I just imagine myself in a calm enviroment. Then I become calm. It doesn't seem like much, and it certainly doesn't work for everyone, but some times you just have to calm down. Things will eventually end, for better or for worse.

Just breathe.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Do You Solemnly Swear To Keep It In Your Pants?

Article first published as Do You Solemnly Swear To Keep It In Your Pants? on Technorati.

Rep. Anthony Weiner of New York announced to the country that it was he who leaked a lewd photo of himself to his Twitter account. For a week, Weiner had denied any involvement of this embarrassment, and claimed a hacker was the culprit. He also admitted to carrying online relationships with women other than his wife. Occasionally, a politician in this situation would resign, or even separate from his wife. Weiner is doing neither, and I say good for him.

John Edwards, Eliot Spitzer, Mark Sanford, and Arnold Schwarzenegger all had extramarital affairs, and of these men, there were marriage separations, resignations, and divorce. Yet a few presidents can’t escape from this list. Though these affairs were done privately, why is it that we place politicians under a very public microscope when they are uncovered? It is their private business, and if it is discovered, then let him and his family deal with it. They had affairs behind closed doors, now let them handle it behind closed doors.

It is fair to bring the affair into light when campaign or other government funds have been used to cover up the affair, such as former Sen. John Edwards. People opened up their wallets and check books to donate millions of dollars for Edward’s campaign in 2008 because they believed in him. They envisioned him as America’s future leader. However, they did not envisioned their money used as a cover for his sexual misconducts. Edward’s betrayed not only his wife’s trust, but his supporters.
It is a private matter between these politicians and their families, and whether the husband and wife decide to stay together and work things out or separate is their decision alone. Private citizens wouldn’t want their lives placed on public display, and neither do politicians.
These affairs and leaked photo shouldn’t become a liability to the work these men are expected to perform. I could care less if they carried extramarital affairs every night as long as they don’t use taxpayer’s money to cover it up and they still have the people’s interest and issues at heart. I don’t condone cheating on spouses or loved ones, but it is not my business especially when it involves a politician outside of my home state. It seems as though Americans have become so bored with their own lives that they have to see what is going on in someone else’s and showcase it to the country.

Again, I say good for Rep. Anthony Weiner for not resigning, nor separating from his wife. His photo has nothing to do with serving the people of New York, and if he and his wife decide to separate, then let them separate privately. The oaths these politicians take states nothing about who they see outside of their marriage. Strip away their title, and you will see that they are and have been men. Men who broke the sacred vows of marriage. Let them feel guilty all on their own, America. And if they don’t feel guilty,then mind your own business.


Read more: http://technorati.com/politics/article/do-you-solemnly-swear-to-keep/page-2/#ixzz1P1sDJocH

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

We've Only Just Begun

A few days ago, I wrote to the site Technorati that I wanted to write for them. In their standard form, they requested writing samples and asked why I wish to write for them . I stated about my newly found passion and that I didn't care if I had an audience, I had to write. A day later they accepted me. Looking back, I don't know if they accepted me because they actually read my blogs, or they let anyone in with a blog and complete sentences and great grammar. Whatever the case, I was extremely happy.

After my excitement started to simmer, yet still present, I began to write my first piece after reading their policy of writing an article on their site. Once I finished, I felt proud of myself, but didn't know if they were going to send it back for revisions, or reject it all together. I was wrong on both accounts. The next day I recieved an email stating that it was published. I had to do my happy dance, and when I got tired, I went to YouTube and played MC Hammer's U Can't Touch This. I didn't care if my article was the lowest of the lows, or recieved hurtful feedback. My article was published. If I didn't do anything else with my writing, I could still say that I had an article published on a website.

Publishing my article perked me right up. Not only did I have the opportunity to write for them, I had to oil the gears of my thinking machine. What to write? What to write? I decided to follow in the footsteps of my first article's content, which was my opinon about issues in the news, whether it was local or national. My first piece was about Anthony Weiner (haha, Weiner), and my second-which I am still waiting to hear back from-is about Kentucky's proposal for the homeless, elderly, and disabled to use their food stamp card in fast food restaurants.

So it seems as though my journey has officially begun, and only I can push myself foward. I can't stop, or take a detour. I will, however, allow myself a few pit stops so I can gather my thoughts and continue down the path of writing. This is a road that I don't see ending, and that is the way I like it.

Monday, June 6, 2011

First tv, and now the movies?

Remember when you first walked in, and you instantly began to breathe in the smell of popcorn? You stood impaitiently waiting for the next available ticket seller because you didn't want to miss the previews. And although you knew you were running out of time, you still purchased the jumbo tub of popcorn, a large drink, and Sno Caps. Hands full, and the ticket between your index and middle fingers which are wrapped around the Diet Coke, the ticket taker retrieves it, and tells you it's to the left, number 5. The room is dimly lit, and you can barely see the steps in front of you because of your food. You manage to find the middle seat of the middle row. You set down your popcorn, Coke, and Sno Caps, and recline in the new chairs the theatre had installed last month. Leather, well fitted for those of the bigger size, and enough room to lean back and put your feet up on the seat in front you. You don't put your feet up, because this is the most anticipated movie of the summer, and the media expects it to smash box office and attendance records. People are filling up the seats all around you, chatting excitedly about the premiere. Then it seemed as though there were no more seats left in the entire theatre. Just as you empty your box of Sno Caps, the theatre goes dark. For the next 20 minutes, you watch five movie trailers, three of them which look interesting. Finally the movie you've been waiting for months to arrive is at last here. You are about to watch the summer's biggest blockbuster with more than 200 other eager patrons. Remember?

I had a love affair with movie theatres. I hated popcorn (and still do), yet I loved the aroma that swept the front entrance of the theatre. I skipped the concession stands because I was hiding food I brought from home in my pockets or purse. When I was a freshman in college, I had my driver's license, yet not a car, so the city bus would drop me off at the stop site where my mom parked her car in front of the grocery store in order to catch the bus for work. Every Friday I would go to the movies, matinee of course, and just sit back with no worries, and wait for the movie to play. It didn't matter to me that I went alone. I found it better that way. But times have changed within the last several years that places a distance between the theatre and I. The average price of a movie ticket was $7.89 last year. In 1948, it was $.36. And with the rise of the comeback of 3D, tickets are even more expensive. I found going to the theatre was a time to sit back and enjoy myself. A place to cool off during those extremely hot summers. A place to with family members after all of the Christmas presents have been opened and the turkey is all gone. The same expression I have on my face when I fill up my gas tank is now the same expression I have when purchasing a movie ticket.

Ticket prices aren't the only cause to the downfall of attending the theatre. The internet and television have ruined the suprise of what movies were to come out later that year, or even next year. Even now, there are countless of websites you can watch the full length movies that are currently in the theatres. Certain movies are played in a select number of theatres across the country, and if it's playing in one theatre in your city, many of you would have to fill up your gas tanks just to travel to get there. And people pretty much saw the movie before it ever came out due to various clips on late night talk shows, fan based websites, even Comic-Con. Why bother spend my money when tv and the internet have practically already played the movie?

For me, there was a special magic to movie theatres. People from every walk of life came together in the same movie theatre with the same film in mind to watch. Strangers laughed, cried, jumped, and gasped at the same time. We were at the edge of our seats, dying to know who the murderer was, or wondered if the woman was going to return her feelings to the man who confessed his loved for her after decades had passed.

Now, that magic is slowly vanishing. Every now and then I like to go to the movie theatre but only when there is a movie that I feel would be better enjoyed on a 30 foot screen, rather than a 17 inch screen in the comfort of my home. If I think back for a moment, I believe the last movie I saw in the theatre was True Grit. That was this past December. It's now June. Though there have been movies I wanted to see that was not bootleg, I still have the problem of mustering up the $7.89 to spend on a ticket. I already have to search between couch cushions for gas money. I don't believe going to the movie theatre will die, but it is severely damaged. Movie going has lost it's shine it once had. Commercials are brought from the television and put on the big screen. Three dimensional glasses places a dent in our wallets, though it makes certain films worth it. The recovery of our economy seems to go up and down every other week, and the hopes of Americans dreams of a better tomorrow is bleek. What used to ease our pain and relieves our stress is now a cause of our pain. Going to the movies were an escape to us, and with tv and websites already premiring movie trailers, where will we run to now?

Sunday, June 5, 2011

If your girl only knew

When I had this blog in mind, I was thinking this particular person who I will mention shortly was the same age I am now when she died. However, there is only a two year difference, so I'll continue.

The song "If Your Girl Only Knew" was stuck in my head last night, and I'm not sure why. I heard none of her songs on the radio lately, her movies have not been on my tv, and I've not heard anyone mentioning her name. I suppose some things pop in your head with no valid explanation. As the song repeated the first line of the first verse then skipped to the chorus, I began to think back to 2001, the year Aaliyah was killed in a plane crash along with eight other passengers.

I thought back to One In A Million, one of the first CDs I've ever owned. The song "4 Page Letter" was one of my favorites from 1996, and the video just confused the dickens out of me.
My mind also went back to Romeo Must Die, a movie I actually didn't care for that much then. In any case, Aaliyah had accomplished so much in her short career, with three albums, one platinum, the other two double platinum, scores of musical nominations and wins. When she died, she was just 22.

When I was 22, I was still in college not knowing a thing of what I wanted when (or if) I graduated. I had a job that I hated, yet had no real reason too, my boyfriend and I did nothing and went nowhere, and of course, I was still living at home. I certainly didn't travel the world gracing audiences with my melodic voice, or entertaining them with my natural acting talent. Though there is a two year diffrence, I questioned myself, "If I died today, what would I have had accomplished?"

I don't view motherhood as an accomplishment. It sounds as though there was no pure emotion when speaking of motherhood is something to accomplish. Like it was a job. I view it as a blessing, a gift like no other. It's indescribable, but I would not call it an accomplishment. Looking outside of myself answering this question, I would say that I had achieved my degree in Paralegal....and that's it. I honestly can not come up with any other achievements. I suppose I could stretch it by adding earning my driver's license as an achievement. Jealously is not a factor when mentioning Aaliyah. I know I can't sing or act, so there's no use of becoming envious. It just makes me feel a little low when I see perfomers, much younger than Aaliyah gain so much star power and achieving so much in such a short amount of time. Miley, Nick, Joe, Kevin, Selena, Demi, Victoria, Miranda (iCarly), and dear lord, Justin. There's not a day that goes by I don't hear their name or see their show on when channel surfing. These annoying mega stars, amongst tweens and creepy guys living in their mother's basement, can and should retire right now and live comfortably for the rest of their lives. Nevertheless, what these, and other current tween/teen idols, have already done are accomplishments.

As I stated before, jealous is not a factor. However some of these teen sensations should not be making the amount of money they are making, if it were solely based on their talent. I see this as an eye opener, however. If, at whatever age I should die, I want to accomplish something, anything, I should do something about it. Why wait for the opportunity to knock? I should be the one knocking. It doesn't have to be singing, or acting, it can be something simple such as visiting the elderly in a retirement home. I don't even need a family member to be one of the residents. Or I could raise money for a charity that I never heard of. In fact, now that I think of it, my blogs are an accomplishment. Audience or no audience, I'm doing something that I love. It's not giving back to the community, or making millions of dollars from knowing how to operate a auto-tuner, but it's for me. For my self esteem.

I have accomplished something.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Off my game for the night

The other day I went to the dollar tree looking for batteries, and I told myself those were the only things I had my eyes set on. In and out. When I discovered they didn't have D batteries at the moment, I staggered for a second then walked over to the aisle with school supplies. I've been wanting another notebook to do my writing in, but I knew that I would be wasting money because there is a mass collection of them in my closet from my days as a student. However, my eyes were soon cast upon the composition notebooks. But these were different than those I am familar with. As a three pack, they were itty bitty composition notebooks. About the size of my hand and only 50 sheets, I found the purpose for at least of the the tiny notebooks. Since discovering my passion for writing which had been buried within me for years, I decided that I should have something to jot down the notes that I hatch in my head. So far there are a few lines written with various thoughts. Unfortunetly, I've already used them up in previous blogs. Now, though my mind is not empty, I don't have anything to write.

Ironic, right? I have nothing to write about, yet here I am writing about it. I had several topics rolling like marbles in my mind, but I just could not formulate them into a practical blog. In fact, I just had a couple of paragraphs just briefly touching on those topics. But somehow, I am unfocused. Not sure how, perhaps it is due to the lack of sleep, I don't know. However I do know that if I didn't write today, I wouldn't write tomorrow due to procrastination. I suppose the plus side is that I don't have any followers. So there is no pressure to come up with an intriguing blog. That being said, I still write because I want to. I must. I don't care if I don't have an audience. Clarity is what I feel once I empty mind.

Until tomorrow.

Friday, June 3, 2011

Thank you Mildred and Richard Loving

Everywhere Jeff and I go, we almost always recieve praise and compliments on how beautiful Elliot is. Comments come in left and right from all walks of life-whites, blacks, old, young, men and women. So it makes me wonder what, or if, people think when they see that Elliot is biracial.

If it was just Elliot and I, people at first glance would assume that he has a black mother and father, until they take a closer look. If Jeff and Elliot were alone, people would assume, and be correct that he has a white father and a black mother. But when kind strangers see all three of us together, they still give us sweet and thoughtful compliments. A few weeks ago all three of us were in Kroger, and while I was in the meat department, an elderly white woman came up to Jeff and ooh'd and ahh'd at the precious face of our child. When I walked over, her smile did not fade, she did not look at me sideways and she did not change her tone. She simply said we have a beautiful child. I thanked her, and as we continued shopping, I chuckled because it never fails for compliments to come our way. But looking back, this woman has clearly seen the horrors of the days when our country was engulfed in Jim Crow laws and protests from blacks and whites. I thought to myself, "What was the nature of her thinking during those times?" Did she think anyone who did not share her skin color were inferior? Did she believe that everyone was born with equal rights? Or did she stay out of the situation by not voicing an opinion at all? Or better yet, did she once think we were inferior to her but now embrace us and others as the human beings we are?

Long ago, but not so long that there are no more witnesses, whites and non whites were prohibited from engaging in intercourse and marriage. Thanks to the ruling of Loving v. Virginia, it doesn't matter what your skin color may look like, you are free to marry whomever you please. Yet there are still people, whites and blacks alike, who feel whites should stay with whites and blacks should stay with blacks. So I ponder, what was it like to walk in the shoes of this woman we came across in Kroger.

Another instance occured in Meijer, where I saw a man in a motorized wheelchair dressed in overalls and a hunting camouflage hat. Quickly I labeled him as someone who might be a redneck, and turned away just in case he would cast a digusted look upon his face when he saw all three of us. "Awww, look at the baby," a voice said. I turned around, and it was the very man I thought of as a redneck, and then he asked, "How old is he?" "Eight weeks," I replied. "Well he's just joining the party!" he said. Then he smiled and chuckled as he rolled on. I felt ashamed for branding this man as someone who might not have looked to kindly upon bi/muliracial children. But it warmed my heart that it seems as though people don't care what a child, or an adult's skin color is.

You might ask, "Why does it matter which race is giving your family compliments?" Well it doesn't matter. I love recieving compliments about how beautiful my child is, no matter from who it comes from. But it makes me happy to see the ongoing process of people treating each other as equals. It doesn't hurt to think what others might be thinking, though. I might never hear the stories of where these people came from and their ways of thinking. All I can and will do is smile and thank them for saying how beautiful Elliot is.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Fetch me the DeLorean

We all know that everything happens for a reason, and if we didn't/did or say/didn't say the things that we did, who we are would be entirely different today. But many of us can't help but wonder "What if I had done things differently?"

Given the chance, I would go back to high school, starting in the ninth grade. It was a whole new world for me. Most of my friends from middle school traveled to the same school as I did, others went to another. It's safe to say that my middle school did not prepare me for high school. Being a Traditional school, all they were worried about was if the student was in dress code. My very first class my freshman year was Geometry with Mr. Johnson. Students who had taken Pre-Alegebra in the eighth grade would find Geometry to be fairly simple. Guess who didn't take Pre-Alegbra? It wasn't a choice either, to take it or not to. There was a placement test we all had to take in the seventh grade, and those who did well was to take Pre-Algebra the next year. So in Mr. Johnson's class, I didn't really know anyone, and being the shy person that I am, I wanted to stay well into the classrooms' shadow, but we had assigned seats which placed me right up front. I hated geometry. I just never understood it, even reading the examples in the book. The tests were a way to humiliate me because I just couldn't get it. Now I'm not putting the blame on the subject itself, I took the after school studies, and even then math and I did not click. My inability to understand angles, arcs, or the use of a compass would have been well hidden if Mr. Johnson had just skipped over me when asking questions in front of the class. Avoiding eye contact with the teacher did not make you invisible. I learned that the hard way. Anytime he would call my name, I would freeze. Barely were the times I was confident in my answers, so I just said "I don't know." That should have been enough for him, but he just pressed on. "Take an educated guess," he would say. And whatever answer I mustered up meekly made its way out of my mouth. "No, that's not it," he would reply. Quickly looking around the room I would see other hands waving in the air, anxiously waiting to give their correct answer. "Finally, he'll call on someone else," I thought. Nope. Mr. Johnson didn't give up so easily. "Try again," he calmly said. I paused and repeated, "I don't know." Class was only 40 minutes, and I suppose he felt like he wasted enough time on me, and went on to the student with the correct answer. I'd hope humiliating me was not Mr. Johnson's top priority, but it sure felt like it. Whenever I blurted out the wrong answer, students would laugh at me, and talk about me behind my back. One girl in particular made it her ninth grade life's mission to make my first class of every single day a living hell. I remember one time I had weave (yes weave) in my hair as two long braids, parted in the middle. The night my mother did my hair, we both noticed that one side was a little longer than the other. But we concluded that it wasn't that noticeable. Silly us, because the next day in Geometry, we were working in groups of two, and the girl was a few rows down from me neverminding the work. "No, because that side is longer," she said to a safe yet still noticeable volume. I knew she was talkig about me. My entire ninth grade is a blur because of her.

If I could go back time, I would firmly tell Mr. Johnson that I was unsure of the answer to the question he had given me, and that many hands were in the air waiting to be called on. I would have taken action. I would take control and become less humilated, if possible. And I would stand up to my bully, letting her know that she could not break me (funny side note, she requested to be my friend on Facebook not too long ago. I haven't accepted it, nor declined it). But I would have taken action on so many other things. First, I would have studied more and not have procrastination consume me. Perhaps I would have gotten into a better college. I would not "let slip" my crushes names to friends...or to the crushes theirselves. I would have picked better crushes, or none at all, because looking back, I don't know what I was thinking. More importantly, I would have been me.

During my remaining years of high school after ninth grade, I tried so hard to impress the people that I liked and I felt that if I dressed like them (which was hard to do when we wore uniforms), listened to the same music they listened to, or talked like them, then I would be embraced into their circle. Personally, I felt there was no popular group that only hung out with those mirrored to them. Our class president was one of the "cool" kids, and yet I was still friends with him, and I was nowhere near cool. Though he was the kind of guy you'd want to talk to when he's not with his friends, because when they were around, he was pretty much a dick. Yet the group I clung onto were the "punk rock but not really punk rock" kids. They listened to bands (that were okay to listen to back then) such as Blink 182, Good Charlotte, and Simple Plan. Alone I wouldn't listen to any of them except Blink 182, and even then it would be a few select songs. But I wanted to fit in. The middle school friends who I was once close to had now found new friends, and there was no use holding on to the past. I really love(d) these new friends of mine. Four of us in particular, including one who was a grade ahead of us, were in chorus and had what I like to call the best times of our high school career. Looking back, if I had not try to become them in looks and what I listened to, I would still be welcomed by them.

After high school, I tried so desperately to keep the "gang" together, but as another friend wrote in my senior year yearbook, we probably would not see each other because that's "life." I denied it, and try to bring us together in some shape or form. But four turned to three (I was out first), then three turned to two and a half (two of the girls had been best friends since elementary school, then they occasionally hung out with the guy who was a grade ahead of us). Then two and a half became two, as one of the girls relocated to Florida with her fiance. And lastly, two became everyone for theirselves. I'm not sure what happend between the last two, and quite frankly I don't care, for it's not my business. I still love and care for my three "punk rock but not really punk rock" friends. I'm sure they wouldn't have used these labels or even thought of theirselves as punk rock, but that is the closest comparison I could come up with.

I don't think I would try so hard to keep us together if I had know we would all eventually go our separate yet Facebook connected ways. And I would just be me. It sounds like I was being "fake" but that's not how I looked at it. I saw it as a way to connect with someone so I wouldn't be left out. In old cartoons you'd see a football huddle of huge burley men, and the little guy on the outside jumping up and down trying to hear and see what was going on. I was the little guy. Going into college, I tried to find who I was. I didn't really attempt to make any new friends, because I didn't see the point. And though now I hardly see any of my high school friends, I've discovered who I am. Or better yet, how I've changed. I am a lot calmer, certainly a lot wiser, and I watch what I say before blurting it out without a second thought.

As the saying goes, "Everything happens for a reason." And I do believe that because if I had made the changes I would want, I would probably not have my Elliot. But it's hard not to think "What if?" Then again it is very easy to think, "What if?" because there's no possible way to change what has already happened. You can not step into the same river twice. However if there is something you didn't do or say then, time is of the essence. But it won't change how you arrived to the place you are now. It could change the future, it might not. I want to return to school to study communications, but that still does not change the fact that I recieved my paralegal degree first. If you had the chance to go back to wherever or whenever you see changes should have been made, and it meant some of your current situations changed, would you?

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Fifth Grade

Things are not what they used to be. When I was a kid, we had television shows such as Rugrats, AAHH Real Monsters, Doug, Bananas in Pajamas, Sailor Moon, The Power Rangers (Zach, Billy, Trini, Tommy, Kimberly, and Jason), Allegra's Window, Gullah Gullah Island, Fraggle Rock, Muppet Babies, and the list goes on and on. And now there's iCarly, Victorious, True Jackson, Jonas Brothers, The Wiggles, Little Einsteins (I do love them), Phineas and Ferb, and of course, Hannah Montana. Times were simpler back then, too. Children wouldn't know what to think if they watched iCarly in 1994. YouTube wasn't even an idea hatched in someone's head yet. "Face" and "book" were two different words that dared not to be compounded, and "twitter" was just another onomatopoeia.

In school, we had M.A.S.H., Spice Girls, N'Sync, the fortune teller paper, cooties, slap bracelets and WWJD bracelets. At recess the all of the girls would play their radios, crying each time "My Heart Will Go On" played. When we had field day, the only heavy set kid in the class would be at the end of the rope, and whenever we sat down on the floor, we sat Indian Style, not Criss Cross Applesauce. Computers in the classroom was the hot new thing, the internet at home took forever and a day to go from one page to the next, thanks to dial up, and what in the world was an all-in-one printers?

Remember this?

Yesterday was the first time I watched an entire episode of Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader? Channel surfing would sometimes lead me to the end of the show, where the contestant would look into the camera announcing to the world that they are not smarter than a fifth grader. I always thought, "Do people not remember what they learned in school? How hard could it be?" I found out just how hard it is, or better yet, how easy it is to not be smarter than a fifth grader. One of the categories was First Grade Astronomy. Astronomy? In the first grade? The time I've heard of astronomy being taught in any school was college. Then I saw a question about rankings in the United States Navy. When I was in the fifth grade, I couldn't tell you the branches of the military, let alone rankings. I was stunned. But then I began to think of several things:
Somehow I actually do better on Jeopardy! than Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?
Are they teaching these what I call advanced learning in schools today to be better than other countries?
Did my parents send me to the wrong school? (Though every school I've attended were Traditional)
Fifth graders now and fifth graders then grew up in different times and studied differently, so it can't really be fair for a contestant to say that they are not smarter than a fifth grader

Every parent or at least I hope every parent wishes for their children to have what we didn't have, or to do better in school than we did. If these hard to answer questions subjects being taught in school now, then you will hear no objection from me, if it will better my child's learning. But watching that show did bring in a little humiliation that I didn't know some of those answers. Yet do those kids on the show really know the answers, or are they being fed the correct responses? In any case, a silver lining could be that someone who watches the show, and who can stomach Jeff Foxworthy, brings it upon theirselves to desire more education. That may not be the goal of the show (probably wants to show how uneducated Americans can be), but we all take something different than others out of situations, even silly game shows.

I'm amazed at what is being taught (and not taught on some occasions) in schools today. Not jealous, but hopeful that these kids will lead our country to brighter days. We don't need anymore Snookis or Charlie Sheens. Leave those whack jobs to our generations. I'm not saying that we don't or didn't have great figures from our days, but children are learning from our history, whether there were good times or bad times and applying it into what they want for theirselves and for the world. I was watching America's Got Talent earlier, and a second grader said if he had $1 million dollars, he would buy a big house for children who have no homes to live in, and fill it with a lot of toys. Children like this little boy are a lot more wiser than the kids I grew up with. If it didn't happen to us, we wouldn't give it a second thought. As corny as it may sound, children are our future, and if every child is learning these subjects as the ones on Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?, then that is a future I can look forward to.

It's a sick world after all

In the past couple of weeks, disturbing reports have come in about children being killed in Louisville. First the body of 14 year old Trey Zwicker was found behind a high school, and as of now, his murderer has not been found. Davion Powell, a three year old boy was hit in the head by a stray bullet and died three days later. Thankfully his killer surrendered to the authorites. And a 28 year woman left her 2 year old son in a hot car, and died. Apparently she was too high to notice. These 3 happened in Louisville all in a month. Though the worst thing I saw for myself was this....
I was so angry that I'm sure my blood pressure was at an unhappy level. How can a mother do that to her child? I understand the stress. Stress with a baby has no age limits. But it's how you handle that stress makes all the difference. What did that sweet little boy do to deserve a hand and a pillow over his face causing him not to breathe? All that baby was doing was living, bringing smiles and love to people. He did no harm. And of course his mother had the same sorry excuse as any other mother who had and tried to kill their child(ren), that it was stressful, their father isn't/wasn't around. I agree that a baby, boy or girl should have their father in their lives, but if their father isn't around or is too much of a coward to step up, there are family members to turn to, friends, and neighbors. If you don't have either of those, find a mommy and me class and make new friends. Just don't "throw" your child away because you can't do it by yourself. I applaud the single mothers who are working, and going to school. I don't think that's something I could be strong enough to do. Children and babies are not a fashion accessory, and they won't ever be "out of style." Babies are a blessing, and I can account for that. I thank God every single day that He had brought my Elliot into my life. If you didn't think you could handle a baby and the stress that came with it, then you should have thought about it before having one, or there's adoption. Millions of people have broken hearts because they are unable to have children of their own, or if they have their own, they open their homes and hearts to those who may have parents who feel they can not take care of their children. Babies are not the end of the world. They are the begining. So take care of your children. Tell them you love them, even if they're too young to understand you. Hug them like there's no tomorrow. And most of all, keep them safe.

You're still here?

Yes we are all still alive, Harold Camping. You were wrong in 1994, and you are wrong again in 2011.

I should've studied Sociology, because people truly amaze me. The way we live, love, hate, grow, be. So many believers left their lives, and gave up their earthly possesions to be with their familes, and warn the world of the Rapture for May 21, 2011. Were they crazy, right, or on to something? I don't and won't ever believe someone who has the exact date and time of the end of the world. We don't know when that will happen, or if it will happen during our lifetime. Only our Creator knows when our time is up. Even if you don't believe in God, or some other form of creator, you can't believe someone who knows exactly when the end is here. Especially some 89 year old. But as for the believers, we shouldn't call them crazy. Never call someone crazy for believing in something that you don't agree with, or can't find reason to believe in. And I don't think it's so bad for those people to give away their possesions to join their family and prepare for the end. Maybe preparing for the end, was a bit of a stretch, though. But people get too caught up in what they own, or what they want to own. We see people throw money away on things they don't need (a Walmart watch will tick and tock the same way as a Rolex), or commit a crime for something they certainly don't need (is it worth it to rob a bank or car jack someone?). When all the money is spent, and you're surrounded with items that can't talk back to you (or at least carry on a real conversation), you'll be alone. I'm not saying everyone should just live and go about life with just the clothes on their backs, but it's the excessiveness of the possesions that has my mind racing. Those believers were on to something when they wanted to spend the last months on earth with their loved ones. You can still love your friends and family without a 50'' HD flat screen.

Also, they were convinced that the end was near. Camping had something in his voice that captured these people's attention, and led them to believe their time in the living was over. Sometimes people have nothing at all, no hope, nothing to believe in. And when Camping predicted the end of the world was on May 21, 2011, they had something to believe in. Though it was a handful of people, Harold Camping had followers hanging on to his every word. So did Charles Manson, David Koresh, Jim Jones, Adolph Hitler, Idi Amin, and the list goes on. Now to us outsiders, we, for the life of us, can not understand why these people had so many followers when they had outstanding (not the good kind) of ideals. Same with Camping. No he did not tell his followers to murder people or commit adultry or any other type of sin. He simply had the idea that the world would come to an end, and people listened. It was the voice of persusian for these men, whether good or bad. I wouldn't go so far as to say they were brainwashed. I think brainwashing is even more of a stretch, at least with Camping. Camping's believers did no wrong in warning us. They didn't kidnap us, strapped us to a chair and made us repent and prepare for the end. They simple opened their mouths, and told us that the end was near. They handed out pamphlets, held signs, even had billboards. Were they annoying? Sure. Right? Apparently not. First Amendment? Yes, but that's another issue. There's a man who parks in a empty lot a few days a week with a sign that says "Heaven or Hell?", and he shouts his rantings through a bullhorn. Though he's yelling through a bullhorn, I can never make out what he's saying. Maybe my ears and heart won't let it. But he has a right to sit there and tell people what he thinks will get us into Heaven or hell. Sometimes I want to pull up to him and have a civil conversation and hear him out. Everyone should be heard, no matter how outlandish we believe they are.

Well 6 o'clock May 21, 2011 came and went without a glitch. Who knows, maybe the end will be on May 21. It can be anytime. But when I hear people giving their reasons that the end is near, I do agree with some of the things that is convincing. Earthquakes, tsunamis, tornados, hurricanes, war, diseases. Yes, it seems like they have all gotten worse within the past 10 years, but I can't help but to think of the Black Plague. It wiped out 30-60% of Europe's population in over 2 years. If that was now, I would believe that the end is near. Though with the help of science and medicine (and of course God), people can live a lot longer with their life threatening diseases and ailments. Whatever the case may be, we should live life like there is no tomorrow, responsibly of course. For believers and non believers of Harold Camping, maybe it was a sign that we should all get right and start acting like human beings. Respectful, compassionate, caring, loving. Not filled with hate, greed, and envy. Life's too short carry a chip on the shoulder and arms folded across our chest with a scowl upon our faces. Hug someone, and actually take the time to feel their embrace. Just be good :)

Believe it or not, we're all human

A few weeks ago in Sunday School, the assistant teacher asked this question: "How do we celebrate the death of Osama bin Laden, yet still act as Christians?" After hearing several responses, I decided to speak about how I've been feeling ever since the news came in that the world's most wanted and dangerous man was shot and killed.

I was glued to the tv at the very begining. I was watching the local news while feeding Elliot, when the anchor said that President Obama would speak to the nation shortly. I didn't think much of it until the anchor said that it was unusal for the president (or any) to speak to the nation late on a Sunday night. I couldn't think of any reason why he would do this, but I decided to stick around to see what he would say. Then I fed my Facebook addiction by reading people's statuses just as I do 250 million times a day. A former classmate of mine, whom I have no doubt will have a great political future one day, posted "I wonder what my president has to say". After several comments about what people thought it could be, gas, Khadafi, or the war, someone mentioned Geraldo Rivera calling someone a "bastard" on tv. I didn't give it much thought except I hoped he wasn't calling the president a bastard, though that is no reason to speak to the nation about being called a mean name. I then turned my attention back to the news, where the anchor said it was still unclear what Obama would be adressing, except it had something to do with bin Laden. Back to Facebook I went with my status reading "oh crap, did we finally capture bin Laden?" Little to my knowledge that it was about to be so much more than a capture. I trust CNN out of all the national news stations, so I left the local news and turned to ch. 34. Below the yellow box that read in big bold BREAKING NEWS, simply said "Osama bin Laden is dead". My chin began to have carpet burns, because of my literal jaw dropping reaction. "April Fools Day was a month ago," I thought to myself. The man who is responsible for the deaths of over 3,000 innocent Americans, not to mention hundreds of people in other countries is dead? Hardly anyone knew of this man in the states prior to September 11, 2001, and soon after he was an (unwanted) household name. We could not find this over 6 foot tall bearded man for nearly 10 years. Reports came in that he was living in the desert in a cave in Afganistan, or that he was already dead and we were chasing after a ghost. None of that was true. He was living in a so called mansion, in broad daylight in Pakistan, not far from their capital city. Navy SEALS rushed the compound and after 40 minutes of firefighting, America's Boogeyman was shot in the head, just above the left eye. I became drunk with Facebook statuses, posting several of my own, and reading others. Some made jokes about what to do with his body, others were simply happy that this man was dead. Back on CNN, they showed the outside of the White House where a handful of tourists were waving flags, cheering, and chanting "USA!" over and over. As the night went on, the handful of cheerers ballooned up to hundreds of people rejoicing. As my shock began to wear off, happiness started to take its place. This man who took away our mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, children, grandparents, friends, lovers, is gone. Gone forever. I didn't know personally anyone who perished in either New York, Shanksville, or D.C., but I was happy that their death had been avenged. Happy for their familes who can breathe just a little bit easier. Then President Obama came on the television and made his short noticed speech that will no doubt be in the history books, confronted his American people, and said "Osama bin Laden is dead." "Justice has been served." After his carefully worded speech, the celebration made its way from D.C. to the streets of New York City. Reporters were interviewing people who were in the buildings when the planes hit, or rushed to help save people by pulling them out of the debris, and the families of the victims. As I was hearing these people speak about what they encountered, and what this moment meant for them and their families, something was happening to me. My smile started to fade, my singing of the national anthem with the folks on tv ceased. I started to feel weird. Queasy. Like my midsection was removed from my body yet I was still alive and breathing. I couldn't explain what I was feeling, but whatever it was, it didn't feel right. Then it hit me. "A man is dead. A man is dead and we're celebrating. A man is dead, and we're celebrating?" What were these thoughts that were suddenly going through my mind? "But this is Osama bin Laden, of course we have to celebrate his death....don't we?" I started to feel more uneasy. "I don't think this is right. I shouldn't say anything because I might be the only one with this thought, and I don't want anyone thinking I'm un-American." Hours passed since the breaking news, and everyone around the world knew the details surrounding his demise. I had to sleep. Elliot would soon wake me for a late night feeding, and I had like to get some type of rest before I heard him shifting in his crib, waking himself up.

Later that day, I went on Facebook, and I saw a staus saying that they didn't think it was right to celebrate a man's death, even if it was the most dangerous man in the world. "Well thank God I am not the only one who thinks this!" I thought to myself. I scrolled down to other statuses, some who quoted scriptures from the Bible renouncing the rejoicing of one's death. Still I decided not to say anything. Though later, I posted a status about being happy that he himself could not hurt our nation again. Days passed, and the name Osama bin Laden was spoken as much as we drew breath. Just as I started to get tired of it, and a little aggrevated that hardly anyone was mentioning the tornados and its victims in the south, I came upon this article on CNN.com. Leaders from all sorts of religions and demoninations had all felt that we should not rejoice the death of bin Laden. The sun began to part the clouds of my mind and heart that was within me when I felt ashamed of celebrating. It was comforting to know I was among thousands, millions, who thought this kind of celebration was wrong. I was not alone.

So back at Sunday School, I raised my hand. "After all the news reports and pictures/videos of people in celebration, we still need to remember that a man is dead." That's how you have to look at it in the very beginning. A man is dead, and Americans are celebrating. How unsettling is that? I then said that after you realized that a man had met his death, you look at who the man was, and what he did. Yes he was the definition of evil, but again, a man. A man who had a family. Wives, children, brothers and sisters. People loved him. Terrorists and other radical Muslims like himself, yes, but still loved. Believe it or not, he was one of God's creations. We should not even begin to say it was a bad creation, because God makes no mistakes. He has a plan for everyone, whether they turn out to be good or bad people. If we celebrate bin Laden's death, then we are no different than he was in the sense of the disregarding of life. We have stooped to his level by rejoicing in the death of others. So what can we do? We're certainly not going to mourn the man. No, I couldn't do that. We should celebrate that justice was served, not that a man is dead. A man who had given his thoughts before mine, spoke of forgiveness. I hadn't even thought of forgiving bin Laden. But I said that some of the survivors and family members of the victims of 9/11 could not find closure in this man's death. Yet forgiveness is the key to closure. I can't bring myself to forgive someone who had hurt me and brought never ending pain to me. But the Bible teaches us to forgive those who had trespassed against us. Just like a child who is told to eat the very vegetables he loathes, we must forgive Osama bin Laden, because it is good for ourselves. Forgiving him won't make everything all sunshine and rainbows, but it would please the Father that His children forgave the very man who instilled fear into our lives, and changed forever the way we travel by airplane. If we want to be more like the Son, we must forgive. And not only does forgiving bin Laden rest well within our soul, it does the same for bin Laden. It releases that grip of hatred we have on him. It won't mean he'll go to Heaven and have a seat next to God Himself, it actually weakens him because he can not scare us anymore. We took that power away from him.

As I said, we should celebrate that justice was done, but not a man's death. However we can't be blind to the fact that Osama bin Laden was not the only radical Muslim. There will be retaliation. There might even be a successor, either one far more radical and dangerous, or one who could not live up to the evilness of bin Laden himself. Christians who fought the feelings of celebration should rest easy knowing they were not the only ones thinking it is wrong to celebrate death. That's what the devil wants us to do. But we serve a mighty God who gives us the power forgiveness and understanding. Though we act like we know everything sometimes, it pleases God to see that He has children who follows the teaching of Jesus the Christ and forgives. Celebrate justice, not death.

New Beginings

If you told me I was to be a mother in this time last year, I would have laughed in your face and called you a liar. But here I am, a mother to a beautiful 8 week old. His name is Elliot Miles, though he has been called cute, precious, an angel, handsome (or pretty), goregous, etc. His daddy got to name him simply because I picked the girl's name (before we found out the sex of the baby). Elliot comes from a band Jeff (daddy) listens to, and Miles comes from Miles Davis. I had no disagreement with the name, by the way. I wanted him to have the biblical name of Elijah, but as luck would have it, Elliot is the modern version of Elijah. And I like Miles Davis, so it's a win-win (also the name of Rose's bf on Golden Girls :) ).

The story of my going into labor is far too long, since I like to tell a good long story. But here's a very condensed version...
My water broke at 5:41 am March 18, with contractions waking me up first. I called Jeff and he called his mom who was on her way to work, and she had to turn around and get Jeff. In the mean time, I told dad since he was already awake, then I woke up mom. Then I showered, not knowing my water would continually break for the next several hours. About an hour and a half later, we all went to the hospital in what looked like a caravan of cars, me and mom first, dad second, Jeff and Jackie last. After the registration, they took me to triage where I got hooked up and poked with needles. Then I was moved to one of two of the largest delivery rooms they had. Large room, small tv with very limited channels. Dad left for work, and it was a waiting game from thereafter. When I requested to get an epidural, mom Jackie and Jeff went to eat at Denny's. What did I have (and for the entire day)? Popsicles. So they came back an hour later, and all day nurses came in and checked on me, and I couldn't sleep so we just watched tv, namely the March Madness games. Seeing that my water broke so early in the morning, we (and the nurses) thought Elliot was gonna be born that day. But around 10p, they started preping me, and the pushing started. And I pushed. And pushed. And pushed. I wasn't sure I was doing anything at all since I was so numb down there. Then the nurse said Elliot was turned on his side (not a big problem, or even a problem at all), so they turned down my epidural so he could get in the right position, or something, I was so tired at that point. The break lasted for at least an hour and I managed to nap a bit. It was 11:30p that we started again. So I pushed. And pushed. And pushed. Here comes Dr. Paul, to the rescue (or at least her job). At that time, I was feeling my contractions, and I was wondering if this would ever end. The pain was like cramps but a billion times worse. At each push I closed my eyes, and then I heard Dr. Paul say, "Open your eyes" and there I saw this tiny little boy crying and naked (born at 12:35a March 19). My first reaction wasn't to cry, or whatever. The first thought that ran through my head was "Oh my god, hair". It looked like my child was wearing a toupee. I've never seen that much hair on a baby, especially one that was literally born a minute ago. Then they put Elliot on my chest so I can hold him for the first time in both of our lives. I was taken back at first because I thought they were gonna clean him up before giving him to me. But he was all icky sticky. Yet goregous. After the clean up and pictures, the doctor and nurses left except for the one teaching me how to breastfeed (which never worked out), my parents (dad came after work) and Jackie left. Jeff left to go get our bags. Later I was moved to my recovery room where I still never got anything to eat. The nurses did all the routine stuff with Elliot, foot prints, bath and stuff, and my family was finally alone (for at least an hour cause it was soon a revolving door of nurses every 45 min). Later that morning I got breakfast, and visitors. Speaking of revolving doors, I constantly had visitors. Not that I wasn't grateful, it's just that I haven't had much sleep. Same for Sunday with visitors. Then Monday I went home with my baby boy. I don't think I've ever been so scared. I wanted to stay at the hospital forever. So I went home and life began with Elliot Miles.

And yes, that was a very condensed version of the labor/delivery story