Calling all Teachers (and Lifelong Learners)

I know it’s summer and to some, this call is premature, but its importance means now is the time.

I made the mistake of reading a social media post from a local news station regarding “teaching” the Martin/Zimmerman case in public schools. It caught my attention because I wondered what adding the topic to curriculum would look like. In fact, with or without curriculum, chances are teachers that encourage discussion in class have already addressed it because the kids brought it up. What a teachable moment - NOT a liberal, agenda loaded, teacher/media/union led/out to brainwash our kids opportunity. The ignorance within the social media thread confirmed in me the need to be a teacher as long as I have breath in my body.

As teachers, our job is not to push content, in fact teaching all the content in the entire world is absurd and impossible and it’s just as ridiculous to believe any teacher worth their salt would even try. Real teaching and learning is about the process. We USE curriculum as a medium to TEACH students how to question, assess, compare, extend, draw conclusions from and manipulate information available to them so they can make THEIR OWN informed decisions.

What pissed me off in the social media thread was the abundance of people arguing without any facts. It’s clear that too many of them had teachers who pushed limited, separated content irrelevant to any form of free thinking or even the ability to step inside the perspective of others.

MAYBE Common Core will help address and begin to correct what looks like several generations of emotional, bandwagon riding, card-carrying and often flag waving people who learnt’ their readin’, writin’, and ‘rithmatic, but didn’t learn how to open their eyes and use the tools around them to march forward with the tools needed for informed decision making in their pocket.

No, I do not want to teach children what to think, but rather HOW, by any means necessary. Some crazy revolutionary once said, “Educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all.” I believe Aristotle’s “educating the heart,” to be to follow what’s on yours. How can you do that if you can’t think for yourself? No amount of content is going to help you there.

I’m fired up! Teachers...who’s with me?

I've Found My “Eden”

A place where serenity abounds, deep breaths force the abdomen to full capacity, where sun fills skin with warmth and sand underfoot carefully emulsifies and reminds us we are like one grain in the whole of the world. My “Eden,” is the beach, literally, the end of the earth.

It’s my way of communing with the elements. I am a water-bender so waves, sea mist, and chilly water whether on my big toe or as my whole body is tossed by the power of the waves feels like home. Watching birds coast on the salty, brisk, sea breeze as that same air forces the shallow, stress-filled breaths to give way to those of the deep, must slow down and even smile kind. The granules of sand and the juxtaposition of the rocky cliffs remind me that the earth, like people, comes in all shapes, colors and sizes. And finally, fire, in the form of a red-orange-yellow glow that warms and tans from the outside in, an engaging way to intermingle with fire.

Seagull songs, waves crashing, children giggling and the sound of my own deep breaths complete the experience of Nirvana.

What’s more, my visit to “Eden” does not require a plane ticket or more than a twenty minute drive. I don’t need a ticket, a pass or even a partner. I am a different person after my water, gets to commune with air, fire and earth. It reminds me of the love my Creator has for us that he would provide an accessible, modern-day, “Eden.” They are everywhere. WE need to find our own “Eden.” What would the world be like if we each regularly visited our own place that reminds us we are loved, we are welcomed, we are OK as we are and that we are home?

Fear

I am full of fear

I’m terrified

I’m frozen

I’m scared

I feel like I’m dying

I’m panicked

I’m wanting to give up before I start

I’m worrying

I’m doubtful

I’m trying to calm a racing heart

I’m done before I start

I’m fighting the urge to turn around

I’m fighting the urge to keep going

I don’t feel like putting on a “brave face”

I’m wishing I could hide in the closet with a teddy like I did when I was little

I’m afraid

I’m wondering who will be there to hold my hand

I’m wondering who will give me a hug

I am full of fear

La Voz

In the 10 days and 8 posts since I allowed myself to dare to speak and dream, Wonder Woman Speaks has been rewarded with over 500 page views in 10 countries. That’s mind f-ing blowing! Me, who has allowed perfectionism to keep me from trying countless new things from playing ANY sport to speaking my mind in various settings and new experiences. Me, who has let, “having no one to go with,” keep me from stepping out into bigger, better, more fun-filled venues.

This time it’s my newly freed “voice” that is the true winner. And the irony is, it’s LA VOZ that is my inspiration behind it. Call it conscience, true-self, the universe or God.  We each have it within us. Some of us hit the “ignore” button out of fear, shame or indifference. But, we are truly designed, created and re-directed to do something on this earth. To ensure it’s possible, we are granted gifts known as skills and talents that enable us to flourish in the areas our VOICE tells us to go. It’s not always easy. Sometimes it speaks to us in a whisper as delicate as a mild summer breeze, while other times it screams at us and if we don’t listen, causes the proverbial shoe to fall in the form of road blocks. It doesn't mean we are all meant to be CEO’s, doctors, or parents. That’s part of it, we don’t know what our mission is, though we can choose to accept it, or not.

I think part of truly growing up is learning to listen to La Voz whether it feels comfortable or not, safe or scary, sensible or impossible. We each have something we were put here to do and what a better place this would be if we all walked in faith, no matter our circumstances.

You were made to be awesome, inspiring and creative. Escucha La Voz.

Gambling Lessons from Mama to Son!

I took boy-child (and others)  to the horse races (sorry animal advocates) to celebrate a milestone birthday for his father. Boy-child was a willing participant to the day’s events, though he didn't know what to expect. Because he cares deeply for his father and wanted to help ensure the celebratory tone of the day continued, he walked onto the fairgrounds and racetrack with a sense of positivity and awe. To his surprise, the intensity of those studying stats and amateurs picking horses by name, energized him to the point of wanting to get involved.I remembered my own father giving me the race lists and having me pick horses I “felt” were winners with such fondness, that I welcomed his enthusiasm.

I let him pick the horse that “moved him” and had him walk up to the betting counter with me. As I bet on his horse to, “win, place or show,” with a whopping $4, he smiled, paced and had the racing heart of a seasoned gambler. I chuckled, smiled and explained where to look to see if, in fact, his horse would “come in.”

As we watched the horses cross the finish line, his horse in first, I told him that winning wasn't the norm.. As I placed the $10 winnings in his hand, he vibrated with energy and floated back to our inner track picnic area to celebrate with our friends.

I took this moment to talk about the winners high and loser’s, “just one more bet.” He didn't “get it” until we bet $4 of his winnings on another race and he lost. He literally laid prostrate on the ground as if in a silent temper tantrum. I took this moment to discuss gambling addicts and their need for, “just one more time.”

After reconciling with the loss, he announced to the group, “I gotta go one more time so I can win my money back,” (I reminded him it was “my” money to begin with!)  After a whisper filled convo over the race bulletin and paper, he picked a horse, yet entrusted me with the type of bet as he almost regretfully handed me $4.

His horse came in, he won his money back and announced proudly, “I’m, DONE.” He didn't want to bet the rest of the day, though he cheered his mother on as I placed a few more bets including a winner in the 10th

As I watched my quickly approaching adulthood child, I smiled at his sensibility. I realized his hard-hardheadedness hadn't kept him from hearing the little gems of wisdom that I’d slipped his way here and there. Maybe he was listening underneath that, "OMG, I don't need to hear this," posturing. What other times had he absorbed things I'd said when I swore I was talking just to hear myself? SO MANY TIMES, THEY HEAR US. So, keep talking. He made me laugh, smile and realize, that in the end, he just might be OK and have a little fun along the way. Something his mother should remember, too!

I'm still a PBS Kid ;-)

I completely “geeked out” last night which, I think, is an accurate description of what you’d call watching a two hour PBS documentary on Buddhism. My 6th graders do go on a virtual journey to Ancient China and India, but it’s summer and there I was, drawn into the teachings of the man that was to be called The Buddha. While I was raised in the Baptist church, I find that Buddhism has appeal to so many religions and I am slowly adding to my belief in the theory that each major religions’ prophets’ teachings shared the same message. I get so frustrated with the stupidity and ignorance of people and the answer could be so simple if people followed a few simple rules for living:

1. Share what you've learned. Some of us have been through a few levels of hell and survived the journey. What was it worth if we didn't gain wisdom (and a few gray hairs) in the journey? Don’t hide like I have. Scream, yell, write.
2. Leave light so others can follow after you've gone. Kind of like leaving a hall light on for that far journey to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Why let someone stub their toe in the same spot that you did, when you could, instead, lead them in the right direction.
3. We've turned this world into an evil place, but it doesn't have to be that way. Start with you, Michael Jackson’s “Man in the Mirror.” Or as the Baptist hymn suggests, let your little light shine. Heck, even President George Bush, Sr. talked about the 1000 points of light.
4. As Buddha said to Brahma when asked why he was so different, “I was the one who woke up.” Wake up, people!

Be the lotus flower whose seed is planted in the muck below the flowing river, that fights through the muddy water and finds the sun, in spite of it all, and blooms to brighten and pollinate the world with it’s beauty. That’s us.

I’m looking for some fellow lotus blossoms; blue, white, purple, yellow. I’m looking for a bouquet.

Gray Hair Wisdom

Sticking out horizontally, wiry, stubborn, never taking no for an answer, never taking a backseat, refusing to be quieted, or shunned. That gray hair that pops it’s way out of any gel, pins, clips, refuses to stay dyed or tucked underneath is what we need to learn from.

Those gray hairs that sometimes get celebrated with titles such as “salt and pepper,” “blue hair” and snow white, while others try to cover them up with toxic dye, henna washes or plucked out hoping to defy logic and transcend them back to their original color.

Guess what? White/gray is the new “original color.” As our hair changes, we should as well. We should dare to be the type of ladies that are wiry to injustice, never take no for an answer when it comes to what our years on this planet have taught us to be right and wrong. We should refuse to be quieted, shunned or stay tucked in an intellectual corner. Celebrate those grays, lady friend! They are honor badges only granted and sported by those willing to live according to their rules. Not the fashion industry, not the media, not that judgy-judgy neighbor next door or at the office. To them, I say kiss my gray! My grays will not be tamed and neither will I.

Everyone Needs Someone to Ring Their Doorbell...

As an only child that always wished brothers and sisters (older brothers to be precise) were a part of my life, I realize being an “only” was a station assigned to ensure I became the little bit of crazy that I am.

I had no choice but to step outside of me, my thoughts, heck, even my room, to create a world filled with family that was beyond blood. I had to learn to walk up to strangers with a false confidence that led many to believe I was strong, independent and a little bit invincible. A few besties along the way; secrets, sleepovers, hours-long phone conversations on a rotary phone. Sharing dresses for high school dances, french braiding each others hair and laying by the pool.

In college, new friends came along in the form of dorm hallmates and roommates, sorority sisters and first apartments, holding hair back while worshiping the porcelain throne, deep conversations from what we thought was a grown up way of thinking and questioning our futures.

Time to move on again leads to change again and the friendships dissolve, at least in the see you everyday sort of way. And then, if you’re like me, you made the mistake of letting careers and husbands and kids and home buying and grown up problems like layoffs and death take precedence.

Instead of turning toward the family I had been so good about creating, I retreated into the crab shell I carried. And now, that those kids are needing me less, career is on the right path and life has shown that one ugly event leads to another, I see that I need the friends I let depression and life run away from me as if those things were contagious.

I now look at friendships like they are the fountain of youth. Girlfriends of all ages gathering around cups of coffee, sporting big sun hats, screaming their head off at Charger games, fussing at each others kids, wiping tears, joining each other at doctor appointments. I don’t have that. I feel like a little kid watching everyone else play outside, while I’m stuck peering through the sheer curtains wishing someone would ring my doorbell. In all the ways I have grown up, I regressed in terms of the true realness that is that first introduction, “Hi, my name is Carol. You wanna play?”

The lesson, remember not only to play, but to be sure you have someone to play with you. Old is hard enough, but old and alone just plain sucks.

I’m Sorry

I’m sorry I’m not the kind of mother who always says yes. Sometimes to opening my wallet like it’s a bottomless pit, sometimes for sensibility sake because a _______ year old doesn't need a ________ or doesn't need to go to ___________. Sometimes, I just I just don’t plain feel like it.

I’m sorry I don’t have the money to buy you everything you want and feel you need and deserve. Even if I could, sometimes I would still say no. Though I admit it kills me when I see other children who don’t deserve things any more than you do, getting the latest “must have” because their parents don’t have to be sorry.

I’m sorry you get a crazy mother who gets tired, angry, cries, works way too much and still can’t make it, sometimes retreats into her crab shell to escape the world, even if it’s just for five minutes.

I’m sorry you don’t have home cooked meals and freshly baked cookies on the regular, Pollyanna greeting you at the door after you've had a long day and take you on regularly scheduled adventure-filled family vacations to paradise.

I AM SORRY!

But, I’m not sorry for being true to me, for working to fight for what I believe for something more than what’s just within my household and my grasp.

I’m not sorry for being cursed with the burden of being a superhero.

I’m not sorry you’ll have to learn by making your own observations and decisions, rather than being spoon fed.

I’m not sorry things will not be handed to you so I can watch you throw them by the wayside because you don’t value them.

I’m not sorry I will miss watching you depressed because you've done everything “right” and life still throws you monkey wrench after monkey wrench after chainsaw.

I’m just sorry I can’t make this world better for you, but I’m trying.

Get Out...

Get Out...

I need to get out 

Of my head,

And welcome, 

What's on my heart.

I need to get out 

And welcome the healing of the sun's energy

On every pore 

Until my glow

Resembles the light cast 

Even as

The sun exit's for the day.

Yes, I need to get out

And hear Marley's, "Three Little Birds"

Singing sweet songs of melodies pure and true

This, is my message to Me.

On race, skin color, ethnicity…whatever you want to call it…as seen in Starbucks

At the continued coverage of the tragedy of Trayvon Martin’s death and Zimmerman’s release, I find myself repeatedly asking questions like, “Why is this still happening?” and “Why don’t some people understand the bigger, deeper problems?”  I catch myself as I head in an angry direction, a hopeless direction or where I arrived this morning while standing in an overwhelmingly long line at Starbucks, a questioning direction.

I was running late today and as a treat to myself for finishing yet another career endeavor, thought I would gift myself with a hazelnut macchiato and slice of banana walnut bread. The line was ridiculous, but the familiar fragrance and sounds coming through the portal to coffee heaven reeled me in. And since I was already running late, I might as well be late with a warm cup of sunshine in my hand.

Every seat was taken and the line curved through the cafe and almost out the door. On the comfy chairs with the mini-circular end tables nearby, a group of elderly men in track suits were people watching and talking baseball. They seemed to enjoy the ample line as it fueled their conversation. I smiled at their kind eyes as they spoke about all the women in line and that they didn't know it was such a pick-up spot. I secretly hoped I would be able to sit in their spots at their age and be just as spry and witty.

There must have been a student orientation or parent weekend at the nearby college, because there were teen girls in their crisp college sweatshirts acting a little mortified to be stuck in line with their parents for so long. There were healthcare workers in scrubs, ladies in Friday casual clothes with fancy, strappy, leather, summer sandals and a few university police officers with stereotypical bellies.

Then, there was me, observing the diversity within that Starbucks, not just in occupation or what was on the day’s agenda, but in what we call race, ethnicity, or global station of origin. Hues of skin ranged from cream to coffee colored (pun intended). Hair was braided, bone straight and every type of curl in between; up, down, short, long and sprinkled with grey. Some of it store bought and attached, too.

My point is, in that crowded Starbucks, narrow noses evolved for warming air before filling the lungs in cold weather climates, dark skin to fight damage from UV rays, and jaw structure evolved from the type of food available in a region didn't matter. These features we attribute to race come from an evolutionary need to survive in various climates throughout the world before the world could be traveled around in far more than even 80 days. We have turned race into the stratification of livelihood, neighborhoods, education and even the worth of one’s life. I don’t have an answer and frankly, that pisses me off. My blood also boils at the amount of people who don’t give a damn, who say it’s not their problem and who throw blame and responsibility around selfishly. Blame is a boomerang.

As commercial and overpriced as Starbucks is, I will now add a Utopian flavor to my coffee as I enter because within its walls (at least at MY Starbucks) I do not feel judged, less than, or looked down upon. I am simply another coffee lover without wearing my caramel macchiato with a dash of extra cream colored skin or my black coffee with a swirl of milk hair. I’m just allowed to be whatever Wonder I want to be, at least for that moment. 

I Did It!

On the Opening Day of Comic Con 2013 and as I sit here in my Wonder Woman Tee and caped knee socks, I write my first entry.

I've always felt like I had a lot to say, really about everything, and decided on my birthday this year, that I was going to say it whether I had anyone to listen or not.

I want to say all the things I wish I'd had someone share with me so I didn't have to feel like I was going completely insane while trying to figure out all of this crap called life, in a manner that feels like by myself.

I'm not sure of the rhyme or reason in how I'm going to format the things swirling in my head from past, present and a postulated future. When I get caught up in all that, the perfectionistic naysayer gets set to defeat me before I have a chance to scream, cry and crack myself up.

If you read it regularly (although I do not know the definition of regular right now), great. If you read it once, great. If you learn something, better. If you get pissed, then good - writing is art and is supposed to illicit a reaction and maybe I will cause you to re-examine who you are and the role you play in the universe.

As for me, I'm proud that I'm here and welcome you to find your inner Wonder Woman (even you of the male kind). More "Wonder Womanness" couldn't hurt anyone.