In Marvin's words, "What's going on?"

France, Tunisia, Kuwait...my heart is hurting for our world. Feeling like I need to help, but I don't know what I can do besides be and teach compassion, tolerance and love. It just doesn't feel like enough right now.

We need his music and wisdom to help us heal.

https://youtu.be/jzPA-FrVu3I

The Readenest Child You Ever Did See…”

"The Readenest Child You Ever Did See…”

“The readnesest child you ever did see,”

Just the opposite of the she that was me.

“Silent reading time,” Mrs. Butler would say,

The favorite part of many of my fellow third-graders’ day.

But not mine.

For me, reading meant racing the others to see

Who would be,

The Pages Read (red) champion, never me.

A slow reader I was, kind of killed the reading buzz

Because

I thought I was inferior

Because my reading log numbers weren’t superior.

Little did I know,

It was interest, not skill

That delayed my completion

of getting that log to fill.

Not my lack of speed,

That kept me from wanting to read.

Though books were a plenty,

None starred little brown girls

With ebony, kinky curls,

barrettes and bows,

and a fear of ashy elbows.

No heroines for me

To see me on the page,

So my natural response

Was to stay off the reading stage.

Until,

Until many years later with professors

and friends

and roommates

and sorors

awakened my being to all the

Little Ruby Bridges,

The Maya Angelou’s.

Langston’s telling verses made Harlem come alive and

Zora Neal Hurston made my eyes want to watch God.

While Baldwin gave me something to go tell on the mountain,

Ntozake Shange told me the rainbow was enough so considering anything else would not do.

“The readenest child you ever did see,”

Became the readenest, writingest, teachingest truly grown woman, you ever did see.

‘Cause finally, I could see me.

*Inspired by Lou Heck’s Demonstration, Mining of Nuggets. This quote was captured and posted by another student, made ready for the taking!

Cheers to New Beginnings: Back to School

The “just right” outfit picked out; comfortable, cute and “appropriate” for professional company. Backpack ready with new pens and a clean journal.Lunch and snack packed in the sack that’s become comforting. Jif PB & Welch’s J, just like third grade. The only difference is that I, not my mother, packed it, in the home I own, leaving my own children behind as I walk out the door for my first day of school. Feeling the need to “rep” the real me in tandem with the me I want to be.

Backpack on, head up, comfy shoes, steady gait, walking tracker set (recording the mileage and calories for posterity). Five weeks of one-mile-each-way-walks in the hope of becoming a better me: a better teacher, better writer, better human.

Nostalgia’s gentle breeze takes me back over 20 years when I last walked to school, analyzing blowing leaves, locating that sound in the bushes and noting property markers with each step. Sunlight growing as shade fades, even at 8 am. In it all, excitement and nerves grow conjoined. Climbing the University stairs, felt like coming home. I am supposed to be in proverbial ivory towers pondering difficult questions and pushing myself intellectually.

When reluctantly responding to the inevitable, “What are your summer plans,” question and my “Going back to school,” response left many speechless and baffled, I felt no need to justify myself. No, I need no more letters behind my name. No, I won’t get a raise or promotion. With all due respect, what type of teacher would I be if I ceased to be a learner? How can I deny my spirit the cleansing push it’s longing for? How can I close the door on what might be beyond the University doors?

No amount of sand between my toes, poolside naps or daytime TV can feed my soul the way writing and learning can. (Plus, I can do all of that after school. So to new beginnings, I say, Count Me In!

What new beginning is waiting for you?

From the Demons...In the End, We Can't Win

Let's make sure, she's in pain
That she always has something
That can rob her of sanity giving sleep.

Let's also be sure her heart aches,
Her stomach quakes,
That she feels alone and burdened.

Let's ensure she second guesses
Every decision she's ever made...
Every yes, every no, every hesitation.

Let's make sure she's exhausted
And that when she does need,
The person she hesitantly reaches out to is away,
If even momentarily.

Let's make sure we beat her down,
Stall her will,
And preoccupy her mind with every possible "could go wrong."

Let's climb on her shoulders,
Tie weights to her journey,
And tie one hand behind the other.

Only we know,
In the end,
We can't win.

Her will moves her forward
Even when she doesn't know what
She, herself is capable of.

Her so-called waning faith will carry her through to the faint light in the distance.

Her fight is stronger than we know.

So torment, yes we can,
Defeat her...alas...no.

The "Blingy" Pen - Gratitude for a Simple Gift

The Blingy Pen

A gift from the sweet daughter that looks slightly down into the eyes of her mother who is just a tad shorter than she. A gift selected for the mother she knows lives and breathes to write.

It sparkles and shines, draws radiance from the light and casts a sense of elegance the way she sees her mother.

This daughter's eyes look past the frazzled racing around the house, the slamming of cupboards in response to life’s latest disappointment and beyond the tears of frustration and the inability to be in more than one just-as-important-place at a time. Daughter sees beyond the self-denouncing inner voice, the overly critical eye, and the self-deprecating angst mother reserves for herself.

Truly, daughter sees just mom, the closest thing to the real Wonder Woman her mother, herself, has idolized since 2nd grade.

Daughter takes note of the kindness displayed to others even when mother is beyond exhausted. Daughter sees all the mothering of kids not her own and of their parents sometimes, too.

Daughter sees paying bills online while stirring some recipe mother “just made up” as she stands in the kitchen still in work clothes having had meetings before and after school and patiently explaining #3 for the fiftieth time.

For daughter, this blingy pen is a symbol of honor, love and awe for the woman whose voice sometimes only can be heard with pen and paper. Daughter knows this pen can be a friend when it’s 3 a.m.; when no one else is there for her mother. Sometimes, daughter knows, this pen can be a lifeline.

So for mother, this blingy pen, is simply the best gift, saying more with simplicity’s angelic voice in the form of sweet daughter.

Mother, thanks you, my love.

Even when it seems like no one would really miss you if you were gone, truth is, you are still here.

Even in the loneliest hour when it feels like there’s only you and yourself to keep you company, remember, there is someone who would not be on this planet if it were not for you. Whether it be your kind words of encouragement in what may seem like an infantecmile moment to you, your smile at a seemingly innocent stranger, your couch cushion coins to a homeless person on the corner of your route home, or what seems like a random text to a long lost friend, they need you. Your tears need to be wiped from that tender, child-like cheek, your seemingly endless heartache, your questions of why me or why not me are insignificant in terms of the one life, the one person, at that one moment when it is you who makes all the difference.

So in those times of darkness and pain-filled deep breaths, or those times of questioning why you are really here and if anyone would miss you if you were gone, remember, there is someone out there, most likely unbeknownst to you, that needs you for even that one moment. So hang in there. Wipe your own tears from that pillowcase. It’s ok if you’re all you’ve got. Breathe deeply and remember you are necessary, you are here for a reason and you are needed. Even when it seems like no one would really miss you if you were gone, truth is, you are still here. And that someone you need, is there waiting to run into you...too. Tears dried, tiara on, holding on tight. You are still here for a reason.

Anxiety...You Bitch

Anxiety is a real, true, utter BITCH. Yes, I said bitch because only a female could be as conniving, backstabbing and messy as Anxiety. Her ability to wake you in a cold sweat by bringing your fears to the forefront on repeat, as if it’s your favorite song, is a skill only females have mastered. She can sweet talk her way into your chest until you feel as if the weight of the universe is settled there and you can garner no more than a straw’s worth of oxygen, just enough to keep you from literally dying: though you have already died a thousand times in your mind because of Her.

Anxiety worms her way through to your soul, particularly when the clock ticks it’s loudest in the hours where the the moon is at it’s fullest and the nocturnal animals are on their jobs. She wants you tired for the next day so her work is easier. So that She can weasel her way into your forethought and so that you suddenly feel like not living would be easier than facing her again.

Guess what, Anxiety. I am a bitch, too. Strong willed, strong arming my way through a world whose mantra is that women like me, women period, are second best, second string and for some, second veiled without the freedom to walk down the street. I am a bad bitch who would rather walk alone than compromise what I know to be my truth whether it is The Truth. But then, She comes along and creeps into my otherwise peaceful dreams distorting them into dark sounds and eerie sights. She comes into my waking moments making my heart race as if I’ve just been told to run for my life. She fills my head with all of the things that could go wrong because so many have gone wrong and is somehow able to overshadow everything that’s gone just right.

Oh, you bitch. NO amount of prayer or meditation or medication can remove you forever, only tame you into temporary submission. It is my blood to fight until my last breath so me and you will remain adversaries of the ages. Know this, bitch, I do not quit. So...leave...me...the...fuck...alone. I will no longer be easy prey. I DO NOT stop and you are NOT my master. Keep swinging, though. I know you will often connect and have one heck of a left hook. But know that I fight whenever, wherever, however it needs to be done and I will not ever stop. Bring it, Bitch. My tiara and sword will be right here, not running, but standing firm.

From Teacher to Parents...These Are OUR Kids

These Kids, Your kids, Our kids

These kids want to be grown up, 

Do-it-yourself, but don't realize how much they need you know-it-alls,

While really needing to be 

Guided, nurtured and heard.

These kids will grow to be their best 

With the right combination of “supportilizer” that 

Each of us has patented our own brand of.

Your kids will fight, argue, swear they’re “done,” and have “done” their best,

Will become door slamming, 

Lawyer worthy case pleaders 

Who cry in your lap one minute 

And swear they are grown-up enough to handle everything the next. 

Your kids need to know you’re still there,

Through the mistakes, 

The tears, 

The successes, 

The failures, 

The dreaded questions

And answers they sometimes do not want to hear. 

Our kids will forget we were once in their shoes, 

Forget we have survived many bumps and scrapes they have yet to experience, 

And forget we truly want what’s best for them. 

In all of that, 

Our kids will know, 

That under our protective partnership of loving understanding, 

And letting them make and learn from their mistakes kind of care, 

We are united, 

We have the best intentions and 

We will do whatever it takes to 

Push, 

Pull, 

Drag and 

Glide them to the next level. 

We are we. 

We are united. 

Because they are all 

Our kids.

A "Feel Good" Challenge...

A sweet, former student of mine, that I've grown to admire, respect and look forward to witnessing her oozing awesomeness, recently including me on a social media "Challenge" to post photos of some feel-good moments. 

Sadly, my immediate reaction was, "Oh, heck no," "I don't have any good pictures, " "I look too ----------" (fill in the blank,) "in all my pictures." 

What happened to the girl who used to photobomb before that was en vogue? What happened to the cheesy grins, jumping over shoulders and pushing people out of the way to be seen? When did the camera become the enemy and perfection seem like a realistic option? The quest for the perfect photo to make me look (fill in the blank) or no photo at all. You know what that means, no photo at all. No birthdays, goofy moments with the kids, and only tolerated momentous occasion like a graduation or wedding. 

So what does this accomplish? Stolen moments from the big and little people that actually love the me I'm not so sure about? God forbid, I leave the earth in what most consider a premature fashion...what will they have then? How will I learn to love the bad hair days, smile lines, chunk factor here and there, if I hide from myself? How does my journey continue when something as simple as a camera makes me cringe, duck and dodge. 

Mommas, what are we doing to ourselves? Is it a crime not to look like we did 20 years ago? And a real truth, we are still rock stars and "that girl" is still in there. No matter the hairstyle, clothing or poundage. The sparkle in our eye, warmth of our smile and glow is still there. You, we, she are beautiful inside and out. 

So ladies, take that photo. Pose, toast, cheese, strut and show these little girls what being a proud, strong, sexy women is truly all about. TAKE THE DAMN PICTURE without hesitation or reluctance. Tell that inner doubtful bitch to sit down and sling that crap at a truly worthy cause, like someone interfering with your rights or your babies. 

And truth is, to everyone that loves us, everyone that matters, the picture is perfect (with the exception of closed eyes, hair blown cock-eyed, blur and the weird look on your face...those are legit vetoes and auto-retakes). Truth is, those that matter are awed by you simply being you. Even when you think it's bad. To those that matter, you are Goddess, beauty, class and sass intertwined. Work it, girl! 

"Re-Birthdays"

Birthdays.

While you're only born of a woman once, and can be born again, in the religious sense, birthdays are an opportunity, a reminder, that you can rebirth yourself as often as you set your mind to do so. Rebirth as frequently as each first opening of the eyes upon waking, but at a minimum, it should occur on your yearly anniversary of simply being you.

Each birthday is an opportunity to reflect on everything from your annual contribution of carbon emissions, to what your internal energy focus has been the past year. Was it spent in the service of others? Was it solely focused on what you feel life is short changing you? Did you make random acts of kindness a priority and face challenges with ferocity and grace? Or did you crumble into particles when yet another proverbial monkey wrench blazed a course toward your head and your heart? 

Why not use each birthday as a reminder to reflect, reconnect and recommit yourself to those deep down, soul stirring values that keep you on the path toward personal enlightenment and fulfillment? Use that particular day on the calendar to clear your lenses of cloudy expectations and hone in on what your heart is calling you to do. Live your best life, love those around you whether they have earned it or not and let laughter resound throughout your spirit. 

My birthday wish for you...and a reminder for me. Happy "Rebirth"Day!