381 Days...Now O'Clock With a Poet

318 days. That's how long the Montgomery boycott lasted. I just happen to have the opportunity to walk many of same hallowed halls the Rev. Martin Luther (the) King, Jr. walked during his tenure at Boston University. Yesterday, I had an interesting experience in Lowes. A white man and a black man told me that they were brothers, but they didn't know who their father was. The white man was old, and named Harry. The black man was young, named Brendan. True, they were flirting with me, but I needed some help finding a door sweep because it is cold. As I talk to them, Brendan gets called away. I find out Harry is German, and when he got to Boston, he found out it was unexpectedly racist...until a Jewish man in a Mattapan deli asked him what he expected. It was exactly what Hitler had done to the Jews. Harry was dumbstruck and enlightened.

After Harry finds out I am in seminary at BU, he asks if I have to study Martin Luther. And he tells me to go to the King library and read all of the papers. "You have to because, excuse my American English, he was a f----ing genious. And he had the cahones of an elephant. You know what cahones are?" Then Brendan comes back, and Harry (maybe trying to hook us up) tells me that Brendan is a foreigner going to college, flight school, and working two jobs to pay for it. You got Americans who won't even do that, but it's good that a foreigner can. That's why he respects him, and his wife is impressed with him so that she adopted him as family.

I usually take offense to the word "impress" depending on the context and the mouth that it comes from, but I sense this is different. He's got some judgment, but it doesn't sound like racism or classism...Who would really expect a German retired Army veteran to befriend a Trinidadian cat and joke about being his brother with his arm around him? One is blue-eyed and the other is as dredded, off-the-boat-accent as you can get. Maybe the same German guy whose son married a Jamaican girl and hangs out with his granddaughter at German school on Saturdays...Hitler must be growling, cussing, and turning over in his grave.

No disrespect to the hundreds who walked until there were holes in their shoes, no disrespect to the Jews, but that could be worth 381 days. Not absolution or forgiveness...just 381 days.

Obama spoke at King's church today and CNN followed him. (But I can't find the transcript or the whole video on CNN like I do on some politics blog.) Jeremiah Wright spoke at Howard's Rankin Chapel today and CNN followed him. (The campaign is getting nitpicky, and it's time to measure men and women.) CNN, FBI, DEA, CIA. All these letters spell something. (I'll figure that out and post it.) Hopefully, they measured their words when 40 years after King's death, there but so many new words to say, and questionable whether they are additive. I may not have said anything of value to anybody today. I'm scared to talk or respond to anything bouncing around that might be a quote or a play off of King for fear of tarnishing the poetical nuance of his words. He was not perfect, but a poet. In addition to walking, I might have volunteered to answer phones in an office where I could hear things like....

"You know there comes a time when time itself is ready for change."

What does your watch say when that happens?

Keeping up with the Joneses

This will sound judgmental, but all of the Jones' are not related. So you can choose which ones you chase.

1. At one point, I would have said, try to keep up with Marion Jones. Now, with new information, I say, "Do not chase her." Apparently, she was on "the clear" and involved in a check fraud scam. Now she is broke, and going to serve time in jail. SIDEBAR: She cried, and nothing happened except the news noted that she cried. END SIDEBAR: What is this lesson? Don't lie when you are recorded and documents are around. Have integrity. Now she isn't even going to be remembered as the one who had the medals. She is erased from the books! I hope they have pictures. I pray for her young children and that in the 6 months and 400 hours of community service that she finds peace and opportunity to change history again.
   
2. Michael Vick is not a Jones, but you know how when people make it big, they get adopted into your family until they do something stupid. Then you don't claim them anymore. What is the lesson learned from this? If you are making millions of dollars, do not bankroll illegal things that white people care about...especially if you are on camera on a regular basis. Also, do longevity assessments of your friends. Did you meet them before or after you went to VT? I am praying for him and his family because I don't think his mistake should have cost him his career. Others have murdered wives and run away to be caught in a trunk. (If you can't figure out which one this is, this should tell you something.)

Was all of this decision-making because it looked like the Joneses had things that they didn't, and they were trying to get them? When is enough money, fame, fanfare, etc. enough? We are all watching them learn that freedom is priceless, and even if they had bank, they couldn't buy it.

I know some Joneses. I am a Jones. It's fun. About half of the time. The other half of the time, there are people chasing you and you don't know why. I am not even close to the finish line.

So maybe the classroom nostalgia was temporary because the classroom came to me.

Sunday after church with my youth congregational mass choir, I saw an old student online. I said hello, and entered into what started out being a confusing and disturbing conversation. Clearly this young man had forgotten who I was because he called me sexy, used slang, profanity, and misspelled words in conversation. (maybe it's not him) Then he proceeded to get frustrated because I was not a dude...because he is now into dudes. (I consider myself an open receptacle for student convo, but would he really come out to me? Let's see.) So I engaged in a conversation to feel this out. How long you been into dudes? -- I just realized this morning. -- What made you realize that? -- When I saw my (older) brother's "anatomy" -- Well, if you just realized this morning, you might realize something else later. Same rules apply for boys and girls. Be careful and go slow. (there are four of them so it could be any of them. let's clarify.) Which one is this? -- The one I taught (but not his nickname) -- You do know this is ms jones from YA, right? -- My teacher, right? -- (Bingo). Yes. -- Oooh snap. This is his friend (his name). I'm just getting him back for a joke he played on me. -- What did he do to you? -- He went on MySpace and said I was gay. LOL. It just kids jokes. -- (time to teach without teaching) -- Well, be careful. Some kids have gotten beaten up because others didn't like the idea of being gay. You guys should pick something less volatile, but still funny. --- True. Thanks for the advice. --- (Rehabilitate by offering safer alternatives.) Like having six toes or something, and then when they deny it, say they already had surgery. (My apologies to anybody who has six toes on one foot. I mean no disrespect. It was off the cuff ) --- You have good ideas! -- Thank you. -- Will you keep this secret? --

Before it was over, he told me how he got my student's password, what school he went to, and conferred on how people set themselves up. My student had saved his password on this kid's computer when he visited. He wanted to know why I talk to my students over IM, and I told him we did HW together that way. "oo that wat i call a gud teacher" I told him I would not tell if he agreed to change the joke, and we came up with other ideas. (His secondary ideas were rather simple and benign.) What if I say, "I'm an idiot." -- That works. (are you kidding me?) -- Thanks for being such a good help. -- No problem. In the future, just think about whether someone could get hurt in the prank. Then you would have to confess, and you'd get in trouble. Do whatever you have to do not to get in trouble, even if it is sacrificing a really good joke. -- Okay. Thanks. -- Have a good year "name." -- Alright Ms. Jones. U 2

You can imagine the myriad of emotions and thoughts that went through my head over the course of this conversation. Is this 14 year old really coming out to me? How will his Nigerian parents feel about this? Who else has he told? Why do these boys think gayness (they don't think in terms of homosexuality b/c media portrays gayness) is a joke? See the level and opportunities of torture and bullying and harrassment that is new since the WWW. When I was young, it was notes passed, word of mouth, or telephone. The underworld exists for kids and adults, even though they might not want to have anything to do with it, need to visit occasionally. Parent adults should be online as much as pedophile adults. Then you would have less pedophile adults. Imagine what could happen if the wrong person responds to his "im into dudes. i just realized this morning." talk. I was not about homosexuality for me, but safety and they should come out of their bubble long enough to recognize the variety of consequences for their actions. Then they think about their actions. Earlier I hope.

Yes, this must be obsessivity because beyond the offense, fear, compulsion to correct grammar, disagreement with the basis of the joke, nervousness about engaging in conversation about sexuality with a young person, desire to reprimand the prankster, and wanting to take a nap all took second priority to being available or teaching....With all the risks involved, this is why I keep a passport to the underworld. An hour later, my real student sends me an IM. "Ms. Jones, my friend said he got revenge with my teacher. Was it you?" Seems like friend told my student. Just maybe friend will think before he acts and still be able to have fun as a kid. Maybe I have a new student.

This time the classroom came to me uninvited. Thank God I didn't retire my thinking cap.

Interesting Weekend...I

Friday night --- So I'm supposed to start a youth choir at my church. Do I sing? In the shower and the car. Do I play the piano? (Lean on Me on keyboard, 1990) Do I play anything? Of course, it was on the checklist as a child. Band. So I told the teenagers, and they stared at me blankly, and then when I repeated it with the added bonus of us starting a band, they told me they play instruments. There is a minister of music who can do all of those things necessary to lead a choir. Maybe this will work. At the interest meeting, I noticed the kids want to be Sister Act 3 or the Fighting Temptations, and they sang their first song (Happy Birthday to youth pastor). I think their ambition based on previous models is good. Now we just have to write and sing the vision. Well, I have had two rehearsals, and exactly 3 people have shown up at each one. Lots of interest (about a dozen), but not many vocal chords showing up for rehearsal. I now have the Spiritual Supremes without gender homogeneity, or instead of Three Mo Tenors, it is 1 Tenor and 2 Altos. The thing is there is a different three every rehearsal. The rest of my sopranos, altos, and tenors are at Girl Scouts, school dances, wrestling matches, studying for finals, and on crutches. And so, at worship service, only (metaphorically) Diana is present. So we are flexible, and teach everybody there the song...back to my youth mass choir (congregation) trick. I'm calling this process the permutations to perfection.

Resolved...

So, I just got around to seeing the Great Debaters. It's midday and the only other people in the theatre are over 50 and not brown, except for another pair. Guess we were the three musketeers.

Anyway, it resonates with me because:

1. I was on a debate team from 8th to 12th grade. The best thing about it was that there were only judges and the other team in the room. The second best thing about it was that I would prepare both sides no matter which one I was debating, and then I could avoid the 'overlooks.' (I have NEVER liked surprises.) Undefeated and still hate public speaking.
   
2. As much as I didn't want to be, I am a teacher. I recognize the daily challenge and triumph of trying to resurrect and preserve an individual's 'righteous mind.' I also love the fact that this time he can SEE the fruit of the obsessivity that we teachers suffer from 24/7. It is not passion because you might not love it. It is obsessivity because there is no end and as soon as you accomplish one task, you birth multiple others. The question that haunts you ("WHY...?") is the root of your own behavior. "Why not...?"
3. I like it when people dress as if they intended to accomplish something that day.
   
4. I'm from the South (a two type people town) and I live in New England. A(my) drawl (when it slips out, ok all the time) is usually connected to a 'slowness' of intelligence rather than a slowness of cadence. Only when I am in a bubble-bursting mood do I set one up to receive the trickle down facts that I have degrees from Harvard arch enemies. But did I ever want to rewind over and over Jurnee Smollett's voice in any rhetorical delivery...followed by respectful applause.
5. I cannot stand Boston. I believe that it is God's less-than-gracious prank on me. Today, I felt like this was a place where young people without their leader but "no opponent" could go deep into themselves, find who they are, and command accolade for the ability to think and present information. I can do that. My students can GO and WIN whatever they DECIDE. Here.
   

Now begins a love-hate relationship. Seems like I need to go run across that bridge, sit on Mem Drive, and figure out what I have RESOLVED that I have not completed. And I need to find a classroom. Quick.

The Crying Game

Hmmm….Hilary’s breakdown was a hot topic in my young women’s group last night. There’s multiple reactions to it, but most seemed to agree that it is more acceptable to cry in admitting to being overwhelmed that to get emotional over the issues and the lost potential of the country. And that the question should never have been asked.

I haven’t decided yet, but I have always been told about the “One Cry” Rule. You can do it once. Make it good and don’t waste it. After that, you’re a whiner. Suck it up. It could be a different rule for White women. (Surely it is.) I’ve seen women with the privilege (not the guts and the sweaty win) cry, and my reaction is different. Everybody needs a good cry, but timing and location are crucial to what happens after the cry.

So, I wonder in my conspiratorial lens…Funny how she lost in Iowa…Polls said she was behind in NH…She cries on camera…Then she wins and one media report says she has is a “Comeback Kid.” (Like it is the last round in a Rocky movie, and not primary number 2.) More women showed up for the primary and she won them the time. Did the women show up for their sister? What difference does crying make and are we getting sucked in to the gender game with it as a political strategy?

Let’s see what happens…

Medicine and Cheerleaders

So this year I decided to do something on New Year's Eve. Mind you, I got sick the day after Christmas and was eventually diagnosed with sinusitis and bronchitis, so I was still sick on New Year's Eve. One of the side effects of all that was intermittent laryngitis, so I didn't even sound normal. Suffice it to say, I was in no condition for a major party.

I went to look for a little healing. After some conversational bonding with my dad, I hit the road at six pm on the way to Baltimore. Sometimes you can predict where your healing will come from, and this time it wasn't physical healing that was most important. Antibiotics make breathing less painful, and coughing less frequent, but spiritual and emotional balms were what was going to wrap up the last year and set me in a good space for the next year.

10 p.m. --After four hours of driving, some tips on where the Baltimore family is, and I sit in WatchNight Service surrounded mostly by people I don't know, but hearing the voice of one who encouraged my spirit weekly and periodically for years. I couldn't sing any of the songs because I didn't have a voice, but my voice wasn't the one that was important. I sat beside a lady who looked like my deceased godmother. After service, the hoarseness gave me away. "Let me give you a hug. School good? You know, there are such things as trains. You could ride those instead of driving all over the country. Be careful and take care of yourself. Steward your body." Spirit medicine! Check.

12:30 a.m. I went to my church home in Baltimore. Two little birdies had told me that they were eating after service, a la Miss Clusty. So I drove over, and as I walked into the sanctuary, the two birds were cheering with excitement. Hugs, kisses, compliments, questions, and encouragement. Mostly, "You look great! You sound terrible. Go get some food." I stand in line, and Miss Clusty says,"When did you get here?"---"10 minutes ago"---"Oh, you sound horrible. Give the baby two helpings of collards, chicken, and beans. We got to run the cold out of her and bring in the new year right!" And then I got some food for my body and love from the Payne family. One hour of old stories, congratulations, hugs without fear of germs, and funny looks from kids who were knee high when I left that went berserk when they figured out who it was. I got caught in a conversation telling my call story to a couple who were not surprised, and was reminded again of how unbelievable yet phenomenal my life path is. The husband says as he walks me to my car, "We look forward to hearing from you, but we are excited to hear about you." She blows kisses from the window. There is something about going somewhere where the people are always excited to see you. Stomach and Heart medicine. Check.

2:30 a.m. --I go the my room at the Westin (thanks Daddy!) with a full belly, warmed heart, Word-wrapped-like-gauze spirit, and go to sleep in the Heavenly Bed. Truly, this is G-d's doing.

The next day, I visit a model family, raincheck a Wii tournament with the kids, and check in with the mom and dad.

4p.m. --Get some Chick-Fil-A and Ethiopian for the road, and receive multiple calls from all those angels that knew I was sick and driving from Baltimore to Boston. They talked me home. (thanks Mom!)

12:15a.m. I'm walking into my apartment after 8 hours on the road and two naps where I can't account for not having lost time.

New Year's Day, and I feel my healing as it happens. Now I know for sure that I got cheerleaders if I'm just willing to continue playing God's game.

Or dare I say "Ye Little of Faith"

I just saw August Rush. (Just go see the movie.) I pride myself in the ability to see a good story or predict a dynamically written movie...so much that I don't feign humility when a movie buddy trusts my taste. This movie is about a little boy who is orphaned, and BELIEVES that music will bring his family back to him. How does he know this? He HEARS it. He knows it is a gift from them. The cast is wonderful (and everybody that is Black is portrayed rather positively), the music is amazing, and now I want to go learn how to play the guitar.

If you watch movies with an analytical and careful eye, you catch the nuances that foreshadow the outcome of the movie. At least sometimes the writers give you some clues just so you maintain hope. Or is the whole movie about faith?

He has no other reason to believe this theory of his. He doesn't even have playing music in common with his parents..but he knows.

It teaches me a few things. He's not young and foolish, but young and faithful. SIDEBAR: Wouldn't you know that the Black church is instrumental in the plot? Today I was proud to be a member. Not that every other day I'm not proud to be a member, but today when I said, "Look what the church did" I wasn't shaking my head. END SIDEBAR....People thought he was foolish, and he didn't care. How many times in my life have I not cared and been faithful to the point folks thought I was foolish and was bold about it?

The thing that it confirms for me is that we have behavioral, attitudinal, and expressive DNA from parents that we do not have to know or have spent lots of time with to receive deposits. I won't tell you how the movie substantiates this because I don't want to blow it for you, but it makes a girl feel safer. Just because I tend to think that I have missed the opportunity to be taught so many things by my own mother does not mean that it isn't already there anyway. Thank you, Jesus. Yes, it was a movie. Maybe it was fictional. I don't care. In this holiday season, when I bounce between "and I pray for quiet in my head that I can hear clearly what God said" (India Arie, This Too Shall Pass) and "if you catch me dreaming, please don't wake me till I'm done, just leave me sleeping, just pass me over, make believe that I'm not there, just leave me be" (Anthony Hamilton, Pass Me Over), it is good to get the reminder that foolish faith ain't foolish. I have been foolish over other things, so I know how to do foolish. Why not make it efficient?

He was 11, and I am twice 11 plus. I have an excellent memory. I have been heartbroken, sad, mad, broke, happy, awestruck, abused, misunderstood, celebrated, loved, and appreciated, but I can't point to any place where I have actually been forsaken. I am inspired to grow up from Ye of little faith to Ye Little of Faith. For in his little tuxedo, he was a 'little' of faith. Like a living vial of it. His gift and his faith were connected. If you poured him out, it would have been music or tears. His music breathed his faith, for it actually moved. Sound waves move, they travel, and they do move mountains. When he cried, he cried with conflict and confidence. He cried around his gift, because he couldn't use his gift, because his faith was in his gift. By the time I cry, it isn't faith (more like fear, fatigue, frustration, submission, or gratitude) that sparks it, and my gifts are waiting on the sidelines for me to finish so they can get back in the game to at least not forfeit the game if they can't make a comeback.

Whether he found his parents or not, he found out who he was and he became who he was. The gift does not fit into a fixed volume vial. I won't tell you what happens, but...Faith comes by hearing. Listen.

Today I was sitting in a church history seminary class zoning out when I heard the lecturer mention the growth of American Christianity, and in particular the development of African Christianity, or African-American Christianity. My ears perked up, and I swear I heard "because of the openness and inclusiveness of Methodism, they were successfully able to bring their African influence" to Christianity. "Episcopalians had tried to bring the catechism and force them into churches, etc...but the music tradition in Methodism allowed them to bring in their oral tradition and dance which they were used to.." You get my point. And then she played three selections to demonstrate the call-response, ring shout, spiritual ("lyrics, but in a gospel form"). Sitting up after 3 hours of lecture, I was trying to figure out the phrase that woke me out of my stupor (Did she say "African significance"? Write this down for later..you could be paranoid.) and looking around to see if any of the other Black folk in the room were listening. Me, with my big afro today, wanting stand up in the back of the class to yell "How in the hell can Africans bring 'significance' and why do you keep saying 'they?' while it did not seem like any of the other 'theys' in the room were making eye contact with each other because something didn't seem right. Then I was mad (not Claire Huxtable angry, but mad) at her because she soon went back to descriptive pronouns (Puritans, Separatists) after this part of the lecture was over. And I realized that it was going to have to be an email. One because I look like the angry black woman by default with the afro. Two because I need a favor from the professor and crucifying his TA in her first lecture might not help my case. Finally, because I am not confident that I would have had anybody yelling with me.

The goal now is to make THEM remember my name enough to say it. Then I will smile.

Hmmm, no more in front of the classroom. I had to trade positions and now I take a seat as I sit in seminary for the next 3 years. People keep asking me if I miss the kids, and I do, but I never knew solitude until September. I hadn't heard my name being called all day, and for a few days I thought I was hearing voices until I realized that there really was none. Silence did not mean that something was up, just that nobody was there. And I could think uninterrupted.

Yet now I can still talk to them through IM, and some are on Facebook if they can find me. It's not "Miss Jones" but "Check IM" and then they have to wait, and if I don't answer there is no offense. Still silent, but now much more intentional about conversation. The blessing of this is that what is said is written and has posterity. It's almost like writing letters back and forth when letter writing would not otherwise happen. We'll see how long I can handle the lack of noise.

I started a new year teaching 7th and 8th grade. Since most of them are bigger than me, it really makes sense that they don't listen the first time I tell them something.

Guess what? I had to create a blog so I can keep in touch with some friends. Welcome to the classroom. We'll see what we learn in here.