Kanye West, Joe Wilson and Kindergarten
16 Sep 2009 10 Comments
Joe Wilson’s and Kanye West’s recent outbursts make me think of the things I learned in Kindergarten. I know it was a long time ago, but I don’t think the curriculum has changed that much. My own children attended much more recently. Even though Ron and I read and sang and talked to our children from the time they were little fetusus (No — I’m not kidding. We did!), when they each reached school age we tearfully (okay – that was just me) enrolled them in one of the local schools. They seemed so small during those first days, but we felt it was a good experience. They were going to have the opportunity to learn some more important stuff — like how symbols come together to form meaning, and how some things are alike and some different. And they began to learn how to get along with other children who might be different than them.
Kindergarten reinforced some of the lessons we taught at home. They learned that just because someone doesn’t agree with you doesn’t make them your enemy. That it’s not polite to interrupt others when they are speaking. That even if you don’t like what someone else does it is not okay to hit them or call them names or throw blocks at them. If little Johnny is playing with all the puzzles and you don’t think it’s fair, you should still try to work it out or find someone who can help. These were good lessons. And while Sara and Simeon eventually learned to read and count and even speak Spanish and a little Japanese, I think it was those earliest lessons that may best serve them as they move into adulthood.
Maybe some of the adults I see on television never went to Kindergarten. Too bad. I know a few well educated five year olds who could teach them a thing or two.
(The chair is entitled “Scream My Head Off.” I finished this piece in 2004.)
Play Time
16 Jun 2009 6 Comments
School was out this past Friday. My son is so happy. The summer stretches out before him and he sees a driver’s license, the beach, lots of basketball, cook-outs and girls who think he’s cute. I see that it’s time for him to get a job. Play time, at least unlimited play time, is over.
Actually, that sounds gloomier than I intend. I believe in play. I love play. I try to play as much as I can, as a matter of fact. I don’t think we ever outgrow it. I strongly believe that the ability to be creative and the ability to be playful are closely related. That’s one reason that I’ve started doing “Playshops” at schools, conferences and education centers around the country. For so many little children the pressure to succeed in academics is pushing away the opportunity for creative play. Kids learn through play. For that matter, adults learn through play too! For children, just being allowed to interact in their environment and satisfy their natural curiousity is a learning opportunity. For adults, just letting go of expectations and allowing ourselves to experience places, materials and others is also a learning experience.
Okay, I’m getting a little lectur-y here. Didn’t mean too. It’s just that I’ve met so many grown ups who’ve forgotten how to paint with their fingers, or wear a bright pattern or try something new. Little people do that naturally.
So, okay Simeon, I do want you to play this summer. Meet new girls, get sand in your shoes, laugh ’till you cry and drive SAFELY AND WITH A SEAT BELT. But get a job, too, okay?
About the pics: The adults playing are at a Head Start Play-Shop in May. The other pic is Sim and his friend and “Play Sis” Jessica before the prom.
Here I Am!
06 May 2009 15 Comments
Emerge
This past month has been a bit overwhelming. While I was preparing for my father’s death, I was not prepared. Loss feels like swimming at the bottom of heavy water. But each day I feel more of myself emerging, rising to the surface.
I spent the past week in Orlando, Florida where I presented teacher training at the National Head Start conference. That was great! I love folk who love kids! We explored the ways that children (and grown ups) learn through playing. My idea of fun! So, I’m back. My days are starting to take shape again and I’ll be back to blogging! Simeon started driving classes this week. He thinks this means he’ll have free access to the car this summer. I don’t think so…..
The painting, “Emerge” is from a gallery show I had with other artists at ArtWorks. It’s the 3rd in a series. This is the piece I sold!
A Mama’s Gotta Do What A Mama’s Gotta Do
30 Mar 2009 4 Comments
It’s really dark at 5:00 a.m. I tie up my sneakers, stick my ear buds in my ears and head out anyway. I need to get to the gym, work out and get back home by 6:00 a.m. to make sure my son gets up in time for school.
I used to go to exercise after he was dropped off, but things have changed. My son sat down next to me one night last week and told me he was in over his head in his school work, uncomfortable with the kids he’d started hanging out with and feeling like he wasn’t himself. He was worried. I was worried. I guess my biggest worry is that I hadn’t realized how much he was floundering. It was so easy to accept his one word answer to almost every query — “straight.” But things aren’t straight. And Sim at almost 16, realized he wasn’t able to get it straight by himself.
I like to think I know what’s going on. But I didn’t. My daughter Sara always said I knew everything everyone was doing. It was like a had my own spy network. But when Sara and Sabrina were in High School I was working from my home office and almost always around. Lately I had so much going on with work and my extended family and my own pursuits that I wasn’t really paying attention.
But the reality is this — when some child gets in major trouble the media and community never ask, “Where was his teacher?” “Where was his principal?” “Where was his coach?” No, the question almost always is “Where was his mother? Why didn’t she know?” And, on many levels, that’s the right question. I’m not saying that everything our children do is our fault or that children make mistakes or struggle because we aren’t doing our job. That’s not true. Or even fair. But I am saying that it is my job to do everything I can to be aware. To do everything I can to help my child learn to make right choices and to learn how to accept the consequences of and turn around poor choices. It’s a parent’s job to advocate for their child.
So, I set my alarm for 4:45 a.m. ‘Cause after all, I’ve got to take care of myself if I’m going to take care of anybody else, and I get back home in time to sit and eat breakfast with my son and take him to school before going to work. My earlier hours at work mean that I get home shortly after Sim does and we go over his work together. It’s not easy. Sim resists sometimes. He’s going to be 16 in a few weeks, after all, and all this togetherness is starting to feel like a bit much. Sometimes, as I struggle to remember geometry from 1977, or take a walk in the early morning dark, it feels like a bit much for me too. But I count my blessings and I thank God that, in a moment of clarity and vulnerability, my son came to me. He’s going to be a good man. And his father and I are going to do everything we can to help him get there. After all, a mama’s gotta do what a mama’s gotta do.
Daddy’s Little Girl
22 Mar 2009 8 Comments
My father doesn’t have words any more. He seldom if ever speaks. We can’t tell if he really knows we’re there. Last Sunday Reggie and Sharon (my brother and sister-in-law) drove up from Florida and we went to the Nursing Home where my father has been living for the past 6 weeks. Gloria, my step mother, came too and Ron and my son Simeon. Daddy never said a word. He didn’t look up from the sunlight he was trying to catch on his left pant leg. We rolled him out onto the large front porch into the pre-spring air. Simeon kept looking away. His eyes were wet.
When Simeon was little he thought Papa was the biggest and strongest man in the whole world. He even brought him to kindergarten for show and tell once. It was like bringing his own superhero. Papa was my superhero, too. When I was a child I thought he was perfect. Actually, I thought he was perfect up into my early 20′s. Hero worship dies hard. But even when he ceased to be perfect he still was my comfort and support. The man who believed I could do or be anything. The parent who took the time to listen. He used to bake bread and german chocolate cakes and on Friday’s would introduce us to something new for dinner. Even when we married and started our own homes, he would always find something to fix for us, from a running toilet to our taxes, when he came to visit.
But now he sits slumped in a chair, his eyes turned inward to something we can’t see. We talked at him. And finally we decided to sing. My Daddy was very dedicated to the church. My mother used to say he was there whenever the doors opened. I don’t know about that, but we did spend a lot of time there. And we sang alot. As a matter of fact, I learned to sing harmony listening to my Daddy. The first line I learned was the bass line. So we started to sing old hymns and after a while his mouth began to move and, very faintly, he began to sing with us. Encouraged we sang hymn after hymn. We stopped for a moment to chat among ourselves. And then we heard, from his chair, a clear soft baritone singing the chorus of “Shall we gather at the river,” a song we’d sung a few minutes before. My daddy singing. We immediately joined in and sang another voice. But soon he fell quiet and it was just us. He didn’t make another sound for the rest of our visit. It’s hard to sing when I want to cry. The notes aren’t so clear. Plus I was trying to be tough for my family. Maybe they were too.
We took Daddy back to his room. My brother and Gloria got him in to bed. There was a man across the hall who kept calling for help. We knew him back when he owned a store downtown. Simeon was worried about him and went into his room to see if he could do anything. He couldn’t really. The man thought he was in his store and wanted something from a shelf that wasn’t there. But Simeon stayed and talked to him for a minute and that seemed to help.
I am Simeon and Sara’s mom. I’m Sabrina’s Momz (her term for me), and there are other children who call me by that name. But this morning, as I sit thinking of my father, I am really just my Daddy’s little girl.
Spring Rant — and the Mom Song
10 Mar 2009 5 Comments
I’ve been at the beach. It’s been wonderful! Last week we had the heat on and this weekend Spring is here. Spring ahead indeed! I didn’t even mind the darkness when the alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. Okay — I minded a little, but after waking Simeon up (it took 4 tries. He is not a morning person) and dropping him off at school, I took a walk on the beach and everything was better. It felt so good that I went back after work. (Don’t hate me because I live on the coast…)
The breeze was great. Kids were playing with dogs, folk were digging in the sand and looking for sharks teeth along the water’s edge. I had my beach chair and a book. Pretty cool — except for the guys playing really loud music from their car radio. Music that was so much NOT what I wanted to hear. The parents of those cute kids with the wild little Benji dog didn’t seem to want to hear it either. There are names I do not want to be called and I don’t care who’s doing the calling. And there are words I’d just as soon my children, or anybody elses’ for that matter, not identify themselves with. (The only female dog in our household had 4 legs and fur.) Okay — I’m starting to rant. I’ll stop now. So I came home. Opened my windows and enjoyed the breeze. I’ve got a scented candle burning and an unread magazine to flip through. (It’s a couple of months old, but I get to them when I can!) I’ll go back tomorrow morning. The beach is way quieter before 8:00 a.m.
Speaking of music and ranting, a friend sent this GREAT video clip. I LOVE this.
Which Hat am I Wearing?
27 Feb 2009 7 Comments
While my son is at the Y playing basketball, I’m trying to figure out which hat I’ve got on. You know, out of the closet full of hats I’ve got: designer (I do design work for a company that creates and sells items for preschoolers), Mom (well he’s at the Y and Sara’s away in college, so I can set that hat on the back of my head for a few minutes), wife (okay, Ron’s out of town), writer — blogging counts. Also performer, speaker, artist, daughter, friend. My friend hat may have been slipping lately. I may have lost one along the way due to all the hat switching.
When you’ve only got one head (and that’s all I’ve seen in the mirror) you have to make choices. Mostly my friends understand. My parents have been patient. My employer doesn’t want to hear about it. I pick and choose. Lay some things aside, pick others up. But my Mom hat, though occasionally pushed back from my forehead, is never hung up. No matter what else I am, I’m always Mom. Even if it’s long distance with my girls or with one ear tuned to hear my son’s key in the door.
The pictures at the top are some of my functional art pieces (Yeah, every now and then I get in the studio to create.) The first one, “6 impossible things before breakfast” is a mirror I made after reading this fun quote from “Alice in Wonderland”
I can’t believe that!” said Alice.
“Can’t you?” the Queen said in a pitying tone. “Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes.”
Alice laughed. “There’s no use trying,” she said: “one can’t believe impossible things.”
“I daresay you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”
The chair in the second picture is the first in a series of 4. I call it “goddess I, the mother” It’s one of my favorites.
Fast Food and Good Intentions
21 Feb 2009 5 Comments
He really likes pasta in white sauce. It’s his favorite dish that I make. But I stayed at the office later than I’d planned and didn’t get to the supermarket until after 7 p.m. And I needed to go by and help my mother-in-law with her meds. (She’s a very sharp 95, but all those pills with that tiny little print get to be a bit much.) And by the time I got home Simeon had already left with friends to watch a basketball game at a nearby high school and I was exhausted. The groceries are still sitting on the kitchen counter. I ate take-out chicken. I had planned to cook dinner with my son and to talk about what was happening in school. We were going to make a plan for the rest of the semester. It seemed like a great plan, but it didn’t happen. The whole week has been like that. My little brother Rod and his girlfriend came to town, I worked late several nights. My son had basketball, drama and dance practice. We passed each other in the night. I wish it were as easy as it is on TV.
Sara’s First Date
14 Feb 2009 8 Comments
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- Sara and Ron
Sara went on her first date when she was six. Now don’t start getting all excited. We didn’t let her walk out the door and hop on the back of an 8 year old’s 3-speed. (Hey, she had her own bike!) She went on a date with her Daddy. He asked her out very formally, “I’d like the honor of taking you out to dinner.” She was so excited! She dressed in a long sleeveless dress that was lavender and covered with flowers and she wore patent leather shoes and her white sweater. She had matching barettes on the ends of her braids. Her daddy wore a jacket and tie. He held the door for her when they reached the car and he held her seat for her when they reached the Italian restaurant. This was just a Daddy/Daughter thing. I wasn’t invited. They had a wonderful time. “I wanted to show her how she should be treated,” he told me.
Sara and her daddy had several more dates over the years and at 16 we actually allowed her to date people she wasn’t related to! (She could go out in groups before then — she wasn’t on complete lock down!) My daughter is 19 now and she still remembers that first date. During her senior year of high school she wrote a paper about that evening. She said it made her feel special, and she liked that. I like that too. She is special. She deserves to be treated well. (We all do actually.) And she’s one of my favorite people.
Chris Brown and my Son
12 Feb 2009 13 Comments
Chris Brown could be my son. I mean, really. He’s a handsome guy. So is my son. He’s amazingly talented. So is my son. He can dance his butt off. So can my son. His singing can make even a grown Mama pay attention. My son has a beautiful voice. He is a Golden Boy. So is my son.
Except — right now Chris Brown’s looks and talent are overshadowed by the actions of this past weekend. And the question we’re asking is: How did this happen? How did this beautiful talented guy end up the center of rabid attention for beating his gorgeous girlfriend? I mean, he doesn’t look like a thug. He doesn’t appear to be the kind of guy I warn my daughter about. But there’s more to each of us than our appearance. There’s more to us than even we know. Right now I’m pretty sure even Chris Brown is asking himself, “What happened?”
I talked to my son, Simeon, about the situation as we drove to school today. (I was driving. He’s got his permit, but I’m more comfortable behind the wheel.) “Did you hear about Chris Brown and Rihanna?” I asked. “Yeah,” he responded, that’s messed up. She had bite marks and stuff.” “Wow,” I said, “that had to be a lot of rage for him to lose it like that.” We were quiet for a while as we crossed the bridge. “Son, ” I said, “If you ever find yourself in a situation where you feel like you’re losing control, walk away. Really, man, unless you are struggling for your own life there is never any reason to hurt a woman.” Sim nodded, grunting. We talked some more about men who hit and the women who leave — or sometimes stay. He said, “I know some girls right here at school though, who keep getting beat up and they keep going back. That seems stupid.” Yeah, I guess it does. But I can’t begin to understand their stories or what deep inside them leads them to make the choices that they make. They probably aren’t sure themselves. I doubt even Chris Brown knows what rose up from some place inside him that led him to hurt someone he cared for. He could be my son. But he’s not. I can’t reach out to him. But I can reach my son and tell him to walk away. That every woman is somebody’s daughter, somebody’s sister. I can tell my son that a man is responsible for his actions. He is someone who protects, not someone who we have to be protected from. Chris Brown and Rihanna are in my prayers. My son is in my prayers and in my house.
