two years ago, in the summer, i posted a blog about my son's insane tantrums over inane things, and sometimes i'm amazed that i'm still alive, still breathing, after all 2 and 1/2 years of this. women have done this for millenia, but raising toddlers is the toughest thing i've ever done and i hate it all of the time. i cry every single day when i am home alone with them. i yell. i scream. i lock myself in the bathroom. i have sourced a well of anger that i didn't even know i had. i'm pretty much a love-and-peace kind of person, so to be this short-tempered and angry all of the time feels like i'm inhabiting another body. i don't know who i am anymore, but i do not like who i see in the mirror.
constantly, i am trying to remember that my voice that i use with my kids becomes their internal voice, but i am angered so often everyday... i am slapped, pinched, bit, kicked, hit, headbutted, elbowed, and stepped on more times than i can count before 10 a.m. he is defiant and looks me in the face as he disobeys my directions, she is feisty and follows the lead of her big brother, insistent pout on her face. they will be such a powerful pair in the face of evil and discrimination, but i hope with all of my soul that they use their power for good. that nothing i've done will fuck them up enough that they cross into the dark side.
sali, your middle name means seeker of justice, so we have named you heavy, with this intent.
nasir, you are her protector. it is your job to serve, protect and love your sister, and all girls and women you meet. you are their protector, so we have named you heavy, with this intent.
for now, he will continuously wake up his sister whenever she takes a nap, "wash his hands" for 20 minutes and get soap and water all over the bathroom, and she will forever find new hiding spots for my credit cards and keys. i am ever frustrated, locking myself in the bathroom to take a breath and 30 seconds alone, but ever thankful for these determined spirits who have been brought to me as gifts. i hope to nurture their souls.
in memorium of my sanity,
lauren
Saturday, August 27, 2016
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
two steps forward, two steps back
Someday, I'll have 28 minutes to watch Bernie's speech at the DNC last night, and will watch Michelle Obama's speech again and again. As a parent, I needed to get up this morning and read the text again, though, after I wrote 5 pages of my own book. It's been a really frustrating, hurtful and difficult few weeks, as I've been watching so much happen in the way of police brutality, attacks on police officers in the U.S., attacks in Nice, in Munich, in Kabul (84 people were killed in a blast and I barely heard a blip about it as the U.S. media focused on the literal wrestling match entry of Donald Trump at the RNC in Cleveland last week). It was Sandra Bland's 28th birthday, Aiyana Jones' 14th birthday, Emmett Till's 75th birthday, the anniversary of the beginning of the '67 riots in Detroit.
All of this leaves me in a strange place, as I reach back to my 21 year old self to work on completing a book I started way back then. In a professional transition and feeling very strong in terms of work, we have been visiting my family in Michigan for a few weeks and I have been focusing the part of my identity that I am least confident in -- that of being a parent. So Michelle's speech last night hit me particularly in the feels, as I wrestle with who I was at the outset of my education career, and reflect upon how much I've grown. I am now a parent, a wife, a veteran teacher, have a Master's Degree, have developed my consciousness and speak and teach about race, class, gender, sexuality and so many other aspects of my identity as they face the characters we read, view and write.
So, as we move toward this election, as I'm considering what it means to be raising children in this world, I am moved by the role of a president being a role model of perseverance, and struggling again with a two party system that has never spoken to what I believe in, I find myself again in that minority of people who want to open up and examine the wounds of our country, collectively. Figure out and re-trace our steps. How did we get here? How do we move forward? Why do folks want to "go back" and what does that mean in a national context?
I have been arguing with folks and Audre Lorde's infamous quote popped up, the one that I use to begin each year in my classroom. The one I will use for United Playaz this year, "The master's tools will never dismantle the master's house." It expresses where I'm at right now, because I'm struggling with being called naive when I'm questioning the "fall in line" and #imwithher posts from many of my democrat friends. I am troubled by the request to fall into line and reinscribe the status quo, even if the request is being made by a woman who has been in politics for decades, who I generally like. I am tired of settling for a politician who has recently shifted her views to the left and taken up issues that are important to me, but who chose a VP who is actively anti-gay and anti-woman.
All in all, I know what I must do, because it does come down to the kind of country we are leaving for our children, one of whom is just waking up from a nap. As I comfort her tears and attempt to make her giggle, I am not worried about her shattering glass ceilings: her fists are poised to break any barrier in her way. I find myself worrying about her life mattering to a legislature who still doesn't see her as human, and won't regulate keeping guns out of our neighborhoods. I find myself worrying about students in Highbridge who are facing funeral after funeral in this deadly Bronx summer. Chicago summer. Detroit summer.
My friend Samirah said it best when she said that she already lives in the kind of world that Trump proposes, as a black woman. I want this ceiling shattered for all girls, all boys, all students around the world, who need their families home from prison for petty crimes, who need rebuilding and funding in their communities to build the village that it will take to raise these children right. Michelle's resounding ending about America already being great is the ache in my heart right now: I so wish this weren't fiction. I want to believe in a dream like this, I want my kids to see this, but it's just so hard to trust a system that is designed to deceive and reinforce who is already in power.
We will be organizing around gun violence, congressional seats, local elections, making connections and trying to make an impact in our community, where I do not feel lost, but feel like I can empower students, other teachers and families to take a step forward, even when we threaten as a nation to stumble backward.
Yours in struggle,
a reticent and exhausted mom
All of this leaves me in a strange place, as I reach back to my 21 year old self to work on completing a book I started way back then. In a professional transition and feeling very strong in terms of work, we have been visiting my family in Michigan for a few weeks and I have been focusing the part of my identity that I am least confident in -- that of being a parent. So Michelle's speech last night hit me particularly in the feels, as I wrestle with who I was at the outset of my education career, and reflect upon how much I've grown. I am now a parent, a wife, a veteran teacher, have a Master's Degree, have developed my consciousness and speak and teach about race, class, gender, sexuality and so many other aspects of my identity as they face the characters we read, view and write.
So, as we move toward this election, as I'm considering what it means to be raising children in this world, I am moved by the role of a president being a role model of perseverance, and struggling again with a two party system that has never spoken to what I believe in, I find myself again in that minority of people who want to open up and examine the wounds of our country, collectively. Figure out and re-trace our steps. How did we get here? How do we move forward? Why do folks want to "go back" and what does that mean in a national context?
I have been arguing with folks and Audre Lorde's infamous quote popped up, the one that I use to begin each year in my classroom. The one I will use for United Playaz this year, "The master's tools will never dismantle the master's house." It expresses where I'm at right now, because I'm struggling with being called naive when I'm questioning the "fall in line" and #imwithher posts from many of my democrat friends. I am troubled by the request to fall into line and reinscribe the status quo, even if the request is being made by a woman who has been in politics for decades, who I generally like. I am tired of settling for a politician who has recently shifted her views to the left and taken up issues that are important to me, but who chose a VP who is actively anti-gay and anti-woman.
All in all, I know what I must do, because it does come down to the kind of country we are leaving for our children, one of whom is just waking up from a nap. As I comfort her tears and attempt to make her giggle, I am not worried about her shattering glass ceilings: her fists are poised to break any barrier in her way. I find myself worrying about her life mattering to a legislature who still doesn't see her as human, and won't regulate keeping guns out of our neighborhoods. I find myself worrying about students in Highbridge who are facing funeral after funeral in this deadly Bronx summer. Chicago summer. Detroit summer.
My friend Samirah said it best when she said that she already lives in the kind of world that Trump proposes, as a black woman. I want this ceiling shattered for all girls, all boys, all students around the world, who need their families home from prison for petty crimes, who need rebuilding and funding in their communities to build the village that it will take to raise these children right. Michelle's resounding ending about America already being great is the ache in my heart right now: I so wish this weren't fiction. I want to believe in a dream like this, I want my kids to see this, but it's just so hard to trust a system that is designed to deceive and reinforce who is already in power.
We will be organizing around gun violence, congressional seats, local elections, making connections and trying to make an impact in our community, where I do not feel lost, but feel like I can empower students, other teachers and families to take a step forward, even when we threaten as a nation to stumble backward.
Yours in struggle,
a reticent and exhausted mom
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
predictable heartbreak
I am shaking as I'm sending my child into the other room to watch a show while I burst my heart over the keys. I am letting him have all the sugar and all of the snacks today, because his life is more fragile than my own in ways he won't understand for years. State-sanctioned violence inside of a white supremacy hasn't surprised me in a long time, but the rage is still there, it's a low, guttural moan with the stench of strange fruit and public lynchings, it's howl of the MOVE bombing in Philadelphia, with the predictability of any attack being blamed on an "other" that we've created an acronym for, just like we created the very illusive group we are now "fighting", with our own weapons on both sides.
I want to be an active voice, but I know that I am an ally and that the pain is not my own. I am empath, and think that I understand sometimes, but it is important to recognize, now and always, that I could choose to turn the story off and go back to watching something else. I cannot, and I will not, but I could, and most white folks do. How do you continue having hope for a movement when all attempts at public outcry, at all positive outlets for rage are shut down, fizzled out and systematically dismantled to continue the disempowerment? How can I use my voice and place of privilege to call out what those in power will hope to blow over? This is a movement that has been building, and must keep collaborating, networking and taking action. We are exhausted, but we must move.
I am sick in the stomach every time that there is a new name, or a new number broadcast on the news, but I am also sick in the stomach when it is not national news, and why I have made this my life's work. We who glorify the guns cannot reckon with their damage until it hits home. Why isn't this hitting home for so many folks? When will it? I do not like hashtags and trending topics, cannot stand twitter for its snippets and soundbites, but the need to move, to be active, to stop white supremacy in its tracks and undo this system that is predicated on the backs, bodies and blood of people of color (Native peoples, immigrants from Europe, Asia and Mexico, with varying degrees of "whiteness" ascribed to them upon entry, queer and trans folks, people of mixed or multi-ethnic heritage, and of course African-Americans) is pulled to the front burner, each time.
Spare me the shock, this predictable heartbreak will result in no indictment, no jail time, few consequences and we all know that rinse and repeat cycle of 24 hour news. Alton Sterling's family deserves more. I am sending all of my love and healing to them, and to all of the families impacted by gun violence, police violence and find themselves the victims of white supremacy. There are too many to name, but yet we must stop and name them.
Rest in Power, Mr. Alton Sterling. Ms. Aiyana Stanley-Jones, Mr. Eric Garner, Mr. Trayvon Martin, Mr. Michael Brown, Ms. Sandra Bland, Mr. Freddie Gray, Mr. Tamir Rice, Ms. Renisha McBride, Ms. Aura Rosser, Mr. Jordan Davis, Mr. Khalief Browder, Mr. Oscar Grant, Mr. Alex Nieto, Mr. Amadou Diallo, Mr. Sean Bell, Mr. Akai Gurley, Mr. Ramarley Graham, Mr. John Crawford III, and thousands more. Your stories, lives and legacies are embedded into my work every single day.
I want to be an active voice, but I know that I am an ally and that the pain is not my own. I am empath, and think that I understand sometimes, but it is important to recognize, now and always, that I could choose to turn the story off and go back to watching something else. I cannot, and I will not, but I could, and most white folks do. How do you continue having hope for a movement when all attempts at public outcry, at all positive outlets for rage are shut down, fizzled out and systematically dismantled to continue the disempowerment? How can I use my voice and place of privilege to call out what those in power will hope to blow over? This is a movement that has been building, and must keep collaborating, networking and taking action. We are exhausted, but we must move.
I am sick in the stomach every time that there is a new name, or a new number broadcast on the news, but I am also sick in the stomach when it is not national news, and why I have made this my life's work. We who glorify the guns cannot reckon with their damage until it hits home. Why isn't this hitting home for so many folks? When will it? I do not like hashtags and trending topics, cannot stand twitter for its snippets and soundbites, but the need to move, to be active, to stop white supremacy in its tracks and undo this system that is predicated on the backs, bodies and blood of people of color (Native peoples, immigrants from Europe, Asia and Mexico, with varying degrees of "whiteness" ascribed to them upon entry, queer and trans folks, people of mixed or multi-ethnic heritage, and of course African-Americans) is pulled to the front burner, each time.
Spare me the shock, this predictable heartbreak will result in no indictment, no jail time, few consequences and we all know that rinse and repeat cycle of 24 hour news. Alton Sterling's family deserves more. I am sending all of my love and healing to them, and to all of the families impacted by gun violence, police violence and find themselves the victims of white supremacy. There are too many to name, but yet we must stop and name them.
Rest in Power, Mr. Alton Sterling. Ms. Aiyana Stanley-Jones, Mr. Eric Garner, Mr. Trayvon Martin, Mr. Michael Brown, Ms. Sandra Bland, Mr. Freddie Gray, Mr. Tamir Rice, Ms. Renisha McBride, Ms. Aura Rosser, Mr. Jordan Davis, Mr. Khalief Browder, Mr. Oscar Grant, Mr. Alex Nieto, Mr. Amadou Diallo, Mr. Sean Bell, Mr. Akai Gurley, Mr. Ramarley Graham, Mr. John Crawford III, and thousands more. Your stories, lives and legacies are embedded into my work every single day.
Saturday, June 25, 2016
transitions
So, I'm leaving the classroom this year. Everything has been extra-nostalgic as a I take down posters, clear the board, begin to pack up the student artwork and photos that line the walls, trying to brighten a space without windows. Next year, I am becoming a dean, which means that I will still be in the classroom, but in a much different capacity. I will be working with students on building relationships with teachers and other students, working with teachers on building relationships with students and other staff members. I will still teach, and am definitely still an educator, but what happens when a key part of your identity shifts? I'm feeling the fracture right now.
If I'm going to be truly honest here, I have to tell you this. I'm not the best mother. When I get home from work, I am tired, I am cranky, I have been patient and soothing all day. I try to locate patience from the depths of my diaphragm, but sometimes there just isn't any. Sometimes I yell, sometimes I am rash, sometimes I slam doors and hide in the bathroom to take a deep breath. I am trying to get better and recognize my own needs, so that I can be calmer and more patient with my kids. So my identity as a teacher has been incredibly important to me, because in a time when motherhood is tough, I can hang on to my ability to do something well.
But now I'm casting aside my teacher identity to try on a new role. I am terrified. I love the classroom, have left teaching before for other educational pursuits and always end up back here. I'll be at a school, I'll be working with kids, I'll have a classroom space that I can decorate and design with my team, but this feels so different in my brain, and I'm trying to wrap my head around the reality. I will miss talking books and poetry. I will miss the class discussions dissecting an author's intention or a symbol.
As I sat in graduation yesterday, I too, inhaled the charge that my colleague and dear friend Elizabeth was giving the class. The world needs my idealism, my dreams, my love, in order to manage the chaos and disorder that we see, the violence that has become all too normal for my community. I am looking forward to the new beginning as someone who can positively impact school culture, who can connect and unite students and staff. I will learn so much from my colleagues and students, but I intend to prove that love is not weakness but a source of strength. As I do this, I continue looking back, and will hopefully reconnect with folks who positively impacted me this summer.
As I work on finally completing my first book, 14 years after I began, I look forward to writing the next one. The first step is the most difficult to take, but let's make this road loud and vibrant.
If I'm going to be truly honest here, I have to tell you this. I'm not the best mother. When I get home from work, I am tired, I am cranky, I have been patient and soothing all day. I try to locate patience from the depths of my diaphragm, but sometimes there just isn't any. Sometimes I yell, sometimes I am rash, sometimes I slam doors and hide in the bathroom to take a deep breath. I am trying to get better and recognize my own needs, so that I can be calmer and more patient with my kids. So my identity as a teacher has been incredibly important to me, because in a time when motherhood is tough, I can hang on to my ability to do something well.
But now I'm casting aside my teacher identity to try on a new role. I am terrified. I love the classroom, have left teaching before for other educational pursuits and always end up back here. I'll be at a school, I'll be working with kids, I'll have a classroom space that I can decorate and design with my team, but this feels so different in my brain, and I'm trying to wrap my head around the reality. I will miss talking books and poetry. I will miss the class discussions dissecting an author's intention or a symbol.
As I sat in graduation yesterday, I too, inhaled the charge that my colleague and dear friend Elizabeth was giving the class. The world needs my idealism, my dreams, my love, in order to manage the chaos and disorder that we see, the violence that has become all too normal for my community. I am looking forward to the new beginning as someone who can positively impact school culture, who can connect and unite students and staff. I will learn so much from my colleagues and students, but I intend to prove that love is not weakness but a source of strength. As I do this, I continue looking back, and will hopefully reconnect with folks who positively impacted me this summer.
As I work on finally completing my first book, 14 years after I began, I look forward to writing the next one. The first step is the most difficult to take, but let's make this road loud and vibrant.
Saturday, March 12, 2016
when white supremacy needs to lose.
i am outraged and disgusted by the decision in the Alex Nieto case in San Fransisco. you can read A Letter to Privileged People if you know nothing about the case. i am disheartened about the rise of white supremacy in the U.S. in 2016. fueled by trump's outright bigotry and encouragement of violence (police and civilian) against his protesters, many of whom are people of color. i am worried about this election, printing out registration forms for seniors, providing envelopes, stamps and mailing them for them. white supremacy needs to lose this year. or...
i need to think seriously about raising my children in the United States. they are not white, and i cannot always be there to protect them. on a very real level, this is my family's lives at stake. my husband is profiled on a regular basis. is this the best life we can get in this world?
i need to think seriously about my students. i only get to keep them for the daylight hours, when the hood is most innocuous. when the sun sets, the warriors come out to play, and i am starting to see why the military doesn't look like a bad option. i know that many of them are in college, recent graduates and very politically active, but others, who don't graduate, aren't headed off to SUNY, they feel stuck in the hood. the military seems like a way out. but i will not stand silently while my young women and men go off to die for a country that does not care about them.
reading The Other Wes Moore right now, and he's talking near the conclusion of the book about how the military has been more progressive on racial politics than the country it protects. i don't know if i agree with him, but I’m starting to see travel not as an option, but a priority.
i need to think seriously about raising my children in the United States. they are not white, and i cannot always be there to protect them. on a very real level, this is my family's lives at stake. my husband is profiled on a regular basis. is this the best life we can get in this world?
i need to think seriously about my students. i only get to keep them for the daylight hours, when the hood is most innocuous. when the sun sets, the warriors come out to play, and i am starting to see why the military doesn't look like a bad option. i know that many of them are in college, recent graduates and very politically active, but others, who don't graduate, aren't headed off to SUNY, they feel stuck in the hood. the military seems like a way out. but i will not stand silently while my young women and men go off to die for a country that does not care about them.
reading The Other Wes Moore right now, and he's talking near the conclusion of the book about how the military has been more progressive on racial politics than the country it protects. i don't know if i agree with him, but I’m starting to see travel not as an option, but a priority.
it’s time to get passports ready, to take leave from this, and
gain perspective. white supremacy needs
to lose this year. because the power is
shifting, and we are finally taking control.
Saturday, February 20, 2016
february break, or why i'm a bad adult
no, i did not grade your papers.
no, i did not make progress reports.
no, i didn't scrub every inch of my house.
no, i didn't go anywhere outside of the city.
no, i didn't get my to-do list done.
no, i didn't deal with the adult things.
yes, i visited people i loved and missed.
yes, Sali and Nas got to see more of NYC.
yes, we had bold, new subway adventures.
yes, we made new friends.
yes, daily dance parties.
yes, i made the right choices this break.
no, i did not make progress reports.
no, i didn't scrub every inch of my house.
no, i didn't go anywhere outside of the city.
no, i didn't get my to-do list done.
no, i didn't deal with the adult things.
yes, i visited people i loved and missed.
yes, Sali and Nas got to see more of NYC.
yes, we had bold, new subway adventures.
yes, we made new friends.
yes, daily dance parties.
yes, i made the right choices this break.
Sunday, January 17, 2016
livejournal and diaryland
in 1998, i began writing zines. i miss it so much. not long afterward, i started blogging. writing out long, cryptic journal entries. my diaryland has been called "my heart has hit ground zero" since 1999, before "ground zero" was an American thing, and it remains my secret diary. with no audience, i love the public privacy it affords me. not that anyone will necessarily want to read my writing after i am gone, but it will all be there as long as archives still exist. i wish i had all of the entries written down.
there is something i love so much about paper, that blogging can't capture. don't get me wrong, i love blogs, teach podcasts, use prezis, am constantly trying to teach new skills with regard to technology. i am no guru, but i like to be aware of some of the tech things. but, as a i get older, i also crave privacy more. i don't want to put everything i know and own out there into the world. having a voice in zines was about making connections with people, but now i need to tend to my connections, love and nurture them, instead of consistently adding more. i want fewer friends, of quality, and the circle will always be drawn large, but my life is very social by nature of being a teacher. sometimes i want calm and quiet.
the truth is, i couldn't handle zines anymore, anyway. it takes me weeks to mail something out that i would've had out the door the next day in college - i have become so much less efficient than i used to be. but i'm adulting in different ways, in caring for kids ways, and my time is spent laundry-ing, and cleaning and dancing and playing soccer, basketball, hockey and dinosaur stomping. watching her learn to walk. if the people are fewer now, so are the words. life feels too full to stop and document all of the time. paying bills on-time is a growth area.
mashallah. it is a blessing to feel full, to have home be something i meditate on, and work to improve. i am imperfect as a teacher, as a mom, as a woman, as a wife, but i try hard, and i keep showing up. good luck on Regents, 1st semester is coming to a close and now it is time to act. what will drive you to wake up in the morning? this is what we're going to write about now.
ms. lauren
there is something i love so much about paper, that blogging can't capture. don't get me wrong, i love blogs, teach podcasts, use prezis, am constantly trying to teach new skills with regard to technology. i am no guru, but i like to be aware of some of the tech things. but, as a i get older, i also crave privacy more. i don't want to put everything i know and own out there into the world. having a voice in zines was about making connections with people, but now i need to tend to my connections, love and nurture them, instead of consistently adding more. i want fewer friends, of quality, and the circle will always be drawn large, but my life is very social by nature of being a teacher. sometimes i want calm and quiet.
the truth is, i couldn't handle zines anymore, anyway. it takes me weeks to mail something out that i would've had out the door the next day in college - i have become so much less efficient than i used to be. but i'm adulting in different ways, in caring for kids ways, and my time is spent laundry-ing, and cleaning and dancing and playing soccer, basketball, hockey and dinosaur stomping. watching her learn to walk. if the people are fewer now, so are the words. life feels too full to stop and document all of the time. paying bills on-time is a growth area.
mashallah. it is a blessing to feel full, to have home be something i meditate on, and work to improve. i am imperfect as a teacher, as a mom, as a woman, as a wife, but i try hard, and i keep showing up. good luck on Regents, 1st semester is coming to a close and now it is time to act. what will drive you to wake up in the morning? this is what we're going to write about now.
ms. lauren
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