SATURDAY THOUGHTS: NIGHT OUT

Wyomme Pariss phoned, and asked if I was available to sing a song with the Spirit of Faith Christian Center's Brandywine choir. 

Soloists from the praise team were otherwise engaged in their church's "Born to Be King" winter production, and she didn't want to perform the leads to Richard Smallwood's "Anthem of Praise" by herself. 

Frankly, I understood her plight. The song is a bit of a work out! I've been tapped many times to fill in for a soloist who wasn't able to make a concert, and my respect level for Renee Adams, Darlene Simmons and Charrisse Nelson, grows exponentially every time I pinch hit for either one of them.

I was glad to go last night. One--People don't have to ask you to do anything--especially when you know who they could have asked. 

Two-- It's always fun to sing a song you already know and like, with capable singers and musicians. Three--it was another test of my "hangability". 

This has been a busier than usual week. 

Four--I knew it would be a pleasant event.

It really was the first day of Winter yesterday. 

I remember the time that nothing could make me go out on a night so cold, but there I was yesterday evening, getting ready and not even thinking about using the weather as an excuse to curl up with a cup of Swiss Miss hot cocoa. 

Not having to drive to Brandywine was a wonderful thing, too.

After hearing some of the SOFCC singers, it occurred to me that there was no urgency for me to be there at all. One young lady in particular had such a powerful voice, I thought to myself, "The next time they decide to sing the song, they really should allow her to do it". She was teriffic! Any one of them, actually, (including the little ones) could have done just fine.  

I appreciated the invitation, though, and was honored for the opportunity. 

The band was fantastic and the children's vocal and dance performances were simply delightful. 

It was obvious that the production took lots of time, energy, sacrifice and effort. 

It reminded me of the plays and assemblies we used to participate in at my childhood church and in elementary school. It's the kind of thing kids look back on fondly--their first solo, first speaking part, first public performance.
The kids who performed last night were so talented and well behaved. It says a lot about their parents and those tasked to lead them.
Kudos to the parents and adults who work with the children of the church so patiently, and encourage their gifts and talents. Kudos to anyone who works with children, for that matter, and have a genuine interest in their moral, social, and artistic development.

Oh, yeah--and a very special shout out to the SOFCC popcorn ministry, for faithfully popping corn the old fashioned way. I don't know that I've ever enjoyed a bag of hot, fresh popped corn while sitting on a church pew! 

That was a little bit of heaven.
What?
Have you met me? 

Lol

SUBSTITUTE TEACHER TALES: POETRY PROMPT---DISCIPLINE

Someone knew something about the Newtown shooter that, perhaps, should have been shared with the Newtown community. 

Someone is not saying something, is whispering amongst others who also knew something, or is thinking that speaking up now won't do any good, or is too late.

As a teacher, I could ALWAYS tell, when in a conference with a parent, that I wasn't sharing anything about a child's behavior that the parent didn't already know. 

In some cases, parents would become defensive and even belligerent. Telling them their child had broken a rule would strike, not the nerve that said, "Thank you. I need to correct my child" but the one that yelled, "Who do you think you are, and why are you attacking me?"

When I would hear comments like, "I know my child can be a handful.", I'd think to myself, "That's alright. Your child may act a fool at home, but he/ she is going to follow directions in my classroom". That was, of course, only after thinking "Well, what the heck do you expect me to do with him/her?" 

It was okay, though. 

I knew EXACTLY what to do. 

I prayed. 

A LOT. 

I reasoned with kids. 

A LOT. 

I wonder if the scores of children I taught ever knew that it was I who craved peace and pleasantness the most? 

I didn't intend to have problems. 

I was going to teach Art, AND have order in my classroom, and no one would be excluded. 

I didn't think that was an unreasonable hope or achievement.

At the end of the year, some parents who dreaded summer vacation as much as they celebrated the first day of school, would ask, "Why does he/ she listen to you?" 

My reply would be something along the lines of: "I'm a mother, myself. What I expect from my own child, I expect from yours. 

What I wish for my own child, I wish for yours. 

I don't play with my students. 

I'm their teacher, and I love them. 

I would do all I can to help them, and won't hurt them, but I'm not trying to be their friends. 

They know that I mean what I say, and there will be no dialog or debate. 

If they want to come in here and stay, they know they have to behave themselves, and follow directions. 

I also need to know that I have the support of parents, and that they acknowledge that where their children are concerned, we are a united front--- a team. 

I am not the enemy. 

The school system doesn't pay me enough to be afraid of or intimidated by a child, nor his or her parent."

One needed not resort to any of the various methods now deemed corporal punishment, either, (although just one good old fashioned trip to the woodshed may have been just what a few kids--and parents--may have needed). 

Most parents would admit they wouldn't trade places with a school teacher for a minute. 

I remember the neighborhood parent who used to be a veritable hellion in her criticism of the school and teachers, and her defense of her children. Then, she became a school security guard. 

From that day on, she was the biggest, most outspoken advocate in the community for teachers, and the biggest critic of parents who raised the most hell, but whose presence at the school was rare.

There is a way to deal with children, whereby they know you love them, will protect, and go to bat for them. 

Defending them when they're wrong, making excuses for, minimizing, being amused by, or putting up with disrespectful words and behavior, however was, and is never smart. 

When there is no mention of consequences, or parents are inconsistent, it's not long before children begin to see themselves as their parents' equal. 

If they see their parents as people who can be easily manipulated, it's not long before they see other adults as pushovers, too.

I listen to the way some children talk to their parents and I cringe. 

I see kids in public behaving ridiculously while their parents seem to have lapsed into a coma, and I can imagine my late mother, late grandmothers, or any adult from my childhood whose mere look in a child's direction could freeze inappropriate behavior in a matter of seconds. 

Sometimes, I think it has become easier to drug children and give their behavior a name, than to take the time required to teach them right from wrong.

Some parents act as if they just don't want to be bothered, and don't care what their children do. Some don't want anyone to say anything to their children. They say they can handle them, but they either don't, or won't do it. 

Further, they expect the people upon whom they unleash their children to understand.  (So you're NOT going to turn down the volume on the video game you brought to church, close the zip lock bag of goldfish crackers, pick up the crumbs from the floor, and just let your child kick, scream and cry through the ENTIRE sermon, ARE you? 

Then you're going to get all mad and offended when you're asked to step out, or an usher comes to save the day for everyone? Then you have the nerve to conclude that people can buy the tape? So they can do what? Meditate on, and reminisce about your child's meltdown and your inconsideration?...but, of course, I digress.)

I wish I would have talked back to either of my parents, let alone hit one of them. 

I imagine there would have been vehicles from two government agencies outside our home: The police and the coroner. Guess which one I would have been riding in? Mine would have been a lovely funeral where everyone would have commented on how well the undertaker fixed my corpse's swollen lip. 

The thought that either of my parents would be afraid of me, never crossed my mind at any stage of my life. Not listening to either of them just wasn't an option. 

(Case in point: Four of the 12 rolls were a little browner than the others on Thanksgiving Day, because my father said "It's time to pray over the food." That meant stop what you're doing and head to the table NOW. 

Did I mention I'm not 8 years old? )

Good home training sticks, and it can't suddenly start when a child is looking at you eye to eye.

There is a huge difference, however, between a defiant, disrespectful, unruly, child whose parents failed to discipline and teach respect/manners, and a mentally ill child whose parents don't know what to do, beg for help, but don't get it.
She's an adult, and taller than I am, but I can't imagine being afraid of my own child. 

Anyone from the "I brought you in this world, and I'll take you out" generation, gets it. Those who managed to survive the school of thought which had mantras like:
"I won't have NOTHING in my house that I can't control!", or
"You don't have any rights. You do what you're told.", or
"Don't embarrass me. Wherever you act up, is where you're gonna get it.", have a VERY hard time watching kids run roughshod over their exasperated parents. 

Hearing parents say, "I just don't know what to do with him/ her" makes some old-schoolers shake their heads and mutter, "Give that kid to me for one day, and I bet you won't have any more trouble out of them."

MODERN CLASSROOM: A RANT

Lots of information on the walls

For official observers to see

Lots of ideas for lessons to learn

But, it's too bad they can't read

Smart mouthed, foul mouthed, defiant ones

Live to challenge you

Sad, they don't have sense enough

To see the harm they do

It's on themselves that they project

The greatest, darkest light

Failing to appreciate, their actions are not right

Manners lost; kindness missing

Just basic rules they lack

Never knowing why they're here

But they keep coming back

I heard one say, "This school is dumb"

I said, "But wait. You're here".

I guess he hadn't thought of that

As his smirk disappeared

He said that "the academy" he'd attended, called him "bright"

The only reason he's now here's, because he chose to fight

"They put me out", he said as if he didn't understand

Acting a fool is something for which some schools just won't stand

And so, it seems that some places 

Have become the dumping ground

Where disruption has no consequence

And order can't be found

And those who do know how to behave

Whose hopes to learn are so sincere

Spend endless days in chaos

Thinking, "Get me out of here!"

There's no amount of money

No new technology

To hide the fact that scores of kids

Are woefully in need

They're crying for attention

That's what it's all about

The way they've chosen, sadly

Is to spend days acting out

The talking back, the disrespect

The words that bite and sting

For some, has removed all the joy

From this noble teaching thing

Too many getting punished

For daring to do right

Too many get uprooted

Before kids see the light

But someone knows what's going on

It's so hard not to care

Could it be systematic

This failure in the air?

We know what works

We know what won't

We could set all things right

The elephant that's in the room

Is fueling all the blight

It's time to get control of things

The time to act is now

Dysfunction breeds in apathy

You get what you allow

THURSDAY THOUGHTS: QUALIFIED?

 

I just watched an episode of "Yes Minister" on PBS station, WETA-UK. 

How ironic it was, in light of recent events. 

Apparently there weren't enough qualified women in senior civil service positions in that fictional world, either.

Many people watch the lives of others with great interest, and apply what they've observed to their own. 

What they see can either inspire, or discourage them.

 

I've heard so many women say of Halle Berry: 

"If SHE gets cheated on, what hope is there for me?" 

Women saw what happened to the woman they assumed every man--including their own--should desire. She has it all, doesn't she? 

Nevertheless, she too experienced rejection.

Another woman has been in the spotlight lately, and she also appears to have it all. 

She, too, seemed to be one who could write her own ticket, or be easily swept into any important leadership position. 

Unfortunately, people who couldn't hold a candle to her in terms of education, service, or credentials, blocked her path. 

I hope no young woman is considering putting the brakes on her educational/ professional hopes, dreams, or ambition because they witnessed the pitiful way Susan Rice was treated by Congress. 

There's a standard, and there's an assumption--an expectation even--when someone reaches a pinnacle in their academic and professional life, that they would be given a certain amount of consideration, respect, and even favor.  

It would seem that Susan Rice has done all the right things a Black child is often told one MUST to do: 

be twice as good, 

study and work twice as hard, 

mind your manners,

and stay out of trouble.

 

Since when is putting forward the best and the brightest a bad thing? 

Why is stupidity applauded while intelligence inspires skepticism?

What is this aversion to excellence?

As I watched, I was reminded of a Tonight Show segment where Jay Leno asks questions of people on the street, and they prove to know more about popular culture than Mathematics, Science, or History.

 

If I hear one more person brag about American exceptionalism, I might scream. 

TWITTER ART EXHIBIT

I like Twitter, and I love to paint, so it's probably no surprise that I think the Twitter Art Exhibit is such a great idea. Who isn't happy to support a worthy, artsy cause which ensures that all of the proceeds benefit legitimate charities?
My intention was to complete one postcard and send it on it's merry way, but it appears I've gotten a little carried away. Perhaps I've grown fond of the dimensions set by the exhibit organizer's guidelines.
I asked my daughter for her opinion, and she suggested I send the "Mother and Child". Hmmm...

It's not too late to participate. For details, visit 
http://twitterartexhibit.org/callforartists

A GOOD DAY

Today is my Dad's 86th birthday, and we successfully kept secret the arrival of my big sister. It was so nice for my family to be together today. I'm grateful...happy...and sleepy....: )

SUNDAY THOUGHTS: TAXI!

I'm watching the DC taxi cab undercover operation with interest. 

I admit, I'll hop in a taxi in a heartbeat, as opposed to taking the bus or train. 

I'm working on rekindling my teenage appreciation for public transportation, though. 

The blunders I've made riding METRO recently make me wonder if I'm a real Washingtonian. Sometimes I feel as if I'm the only one eyeballing the map for dear life. I'm going to master the system, though. It is convenient, and much, much less expensive.

I don't like wasting time, nor extreme heat or cold, so ever since a friend shared 202-TAXI-CAB, I've known I have a taxi at my fingertips if I:

don't want to drive, 

know that parking will be a nightmare, 

or need to get somewhere in a hurry. 

It's disappointing to hear, "We can't find a driver for you. We'll keep trying". 

Unfortunately, I've heard it a lot more than, "Your taxi _______, will arrive in ______ minutes". 

When you're in a hurry, or just prefer the convenience, it seems strange that in all of DC, not a single taxi is in Ward 8. 

Due to waiting long periods of time, or not getting a taxi dispatched to my address at all, I have conducted my own unscientific poll. 

I've asked every taxi driver I've encountered about the standard of service--or lack thereof--East of The River. They all sing the same song: 

"A few people make it bad for everyone else." 

They frankly state that they are fed up, as a result of personal encounters with dishonest, threatening, shady looking, and/or unruly/profane passengers. ONE time is all that is needed for someone to hop out without paying, threaten safety, destroy property, etc., for a taxi driver to skip Ward 8.

If it is a recurring problem, as unfair as it may be, conclusions are drawn, and decisions are made to only hack downtown (where the bulk of the business is) and avoid EoTR altogether. 

The price of gasoline is too high, and life is too short to deal with foolishness, when all they want to do is earn an honest living. 

As awful as it is that Black men may have difficulty getting a cab in DC, it is important to respect and find solutions to the very valid reasons why.

In the cases of taxis I've hailed, they simply don't want to go where trouble is reported to be. 

I hear the apprehension in their voices when I get settled in the back seat and say, "No. Not the waterfront. You'll have to cross the river." 

Almost always, they'll sigh heavily and say, 

"You'll have to tell me where to go.", or ask 

"Is it far?" 

Once I arrive at home, I almost always have to direct them back to 295 North, or tell them how close the are to National Harbor and The Capital Beltway. 

It amazes me that so many drivers never venture across the river, or are aware of the new traffic patterns.

Sometimes I feel like an ambassador for my neighborhood, trying to convince a driver that he won't spontaneously combust the minute he veers off of the SE/SW freeway onto South Capitol Street! Many scan the area as they drive. "Oh. This is nice. Looks just like other parts of the city." 

Well duh...

They comment positively about a part of the city they've never seen, as if they're surprised to see human beings walking upright. 

Once they see that far SE/SW isn't the hell they've been warned it is, their anxiety wanes. 

They see that there ARE law-abiding, pleasant, hard-working people who DO need and appreciate their services. 

There are people EoTR who DO pay in full, and DO tip, with real, negotiable, legal tender.

Seeing something for oneself, often changes one's perceptions. 

Perhaps a little PR is in order for neighborhoods East of The River. Until then, many EOTR residents obtain the business cards of reliable taxi drivers, and phone them directly to see if they're on the job, or nearby when they've got someplace to go.

SUNDAY THOUGHTS: IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

I thought I'd be in bed a little longer, but my rest was interrupted.

I finally drifted off to sleep after figuring out how to escape the bass coming from someone's condo. 

Into the ridiculous hours of the morning, the thumping went on. 

Perhaps, a party was going on, but at some points, it didn't seem like the party-goers liked each other. 

I noticed the voice of the neighborhood person I've dubbed "The Loud Lady". 

I've never met her, but I'm imagining some towering amazon of a woman, with a scowl like the cartoon version of The Incredible Hulk. 

I thought about dialing 911, but the police have more important things to do than crash loud parties, I guess, like figuring out who's deciding it's a good idea to just shoot off guns in the middle of the night, or drag race up and down South Capitol Street.

It's amazing how far the human voice can carry. 

This morning, it came crashing through the gentle sound of the falling rain like a sledgehammer. 

A woman was yelling like the world was coming to an abrupt end. 

I got up and went to the window.  

"No! No! It's a black bag and a white bag! It wasn't just one bag!", she screamed.

I was sure she would be fast asleep so early in the morning, but I was mistaken. The Loud Lady (aka The Loud Party Lady) had her family looking for her missing white and black bags this fine morning. 

Poor things were rummaging through the dumpsters in the rain as she yelled out of the window from the warmth of her condo. 

I sure hope they find them, and am sorry the bags, apparently, weren't in the dumpsters-- which made their unfortunate, stinky, early morning hunt totally unnecessary.

Did I mention she's not even in my building? That's right. 

That's what makes it so remarkable. She's in another building on another street, but when she gets to yelling and/or arguing--or even talking on the phone, if I purposed to pay attention, I could hear every word. 

I don't know that I've ever heard a woman be so loud. 

Her voice carries so unbelievably far, that she should work for...well...some organization that needs the services of really loud people. 

My windows are closed. I'm behind brick and mortar and glass, but when she revs up, look out. It's harsh and shrill, and her tone is angry and impatient. It's a shame to wake up that way.

She's not the only loud one around here. 

Another lady, instead of climbing the stairs to knock on the door of the person she intends to visit, yells her name from the time she sees the building until she enters it. It's positively startling. 

Then, instead of taking her attempt at surroundsound inside, when she finally reaches her destination, she decides it's best to remain in the stairwell so that we all can be privy to what's going on. 

When she leaves, obviously she still has things to say because she keeps talking on the way down the stairs. 

I wonder why she doesn't just finish her conversation face to face, or tone it down a little? Looking for attention, maybe?

I know way too much information that I shouldn't about lost bags, drunkenness, appointments, cheaters, pizza preferences, rehab, Chinese food, and vomiting cats.

I guess I won't be enjoying the convenience of the laundry room any more.

10:12. Sirens blaring. 

Yep. I'm awake, and it's okay. 

Thanks, Lord. I appreciate it. 

Better to be able to hear The Loud Lady and the sirens, than to be unconscious on a stretcher inside that ambulance.