Yesterday morning I had a conversation that got me thinking.

Twitter was poppin with discussions about the death of actor Corey Haim  and my girl, Bassey, offered up her thoughts as to what may have led to his demise: mental illness. She’s quite familiar with the subject because she suffers from depression and is [...]]]>

Yesterday morning I had a conversation that got me thinking.

Twitter was poppin with discussions about the death of actor Corey Haim  and my girl, Bassey, offered up her thoughts as to what may have led to his demise: mental illness. She’s quite familiar with the subject because she suffers from depression and is currently writing a book of essays about Black women and mental illness.

Her tweets got me thinking about my father and about beloved. Both men have found themselves between a rock and very hard place.

My father has gone from being a vibrant and talented high school basketball coach, with several offers to coach at the college level, to a functioning addict, using alcohol and cocaine to cope with his demons. He has lost nearly everything. He has no house of his own, no car, no material possessions and is on disability from work. He gets by, but is not living the life of a nearly 60 year old man, who has spent his entire life working hard.

And then there is Beloved. I remember thinking he was suffering from depression or perhaps even bipolar disorder the year before he got locked up.  That year his emotions varied wildly. He seemed to be getting increasingly paranoid and had trouble dealing with certain people. At first, I brushed it off as stress. The months leading up to his arrest we had found out I was pregnant. Neither one of us were working, and we were both in school. He was so worried about how we’d make it and conflicted about having the baby, that I figured he was just buggin. Looking back, I think that was the beginning of his illness manifesting itself. Often times bipolar disorder manifests itself fully in the person’s 20s, and before getting locked up, Beloved’s drinking increased (a coping mechanism) and so did his paranoia. After he was sentenced and sent upstate, Beloved was diagnosed with schizophrenia. However, I now know that bipolar disorder is often misdiagnosed as schizophrenia. Currently, he isn’t being treated for either and I’m scared. I don’t want him to be left to his own thoughts, which have again becoming increasingly paranoid and disjointed. It’s good to know what the issue may be, but knowing is only half the battle. 

Not letting it destroy you is something else entirely. 

My father has not dealt with his issues of abandonment. His father died when he was 8, and he was left to help my grandmother out. He’s also never gotten over losing my mom to divorce. STILL, after 15 years, he holds onto to the idea that they will remarry someday. 

Beloved has been through so much in his short life. Abandonment by his parents, his father’s alcoholism, homelessness, his mother’s constant uprooting, the list goes on. He has a lot of pain that he’s yet to deal with and I feel like it takes his toll on him. 

I love both of these men. Watching them suffer kills me. Knowing that they can get help if they JUST acknowledge the need is like a kick to the gut. 

Too many times we suffer in silence, shamed by the thoughts that asking for help signals some sort of weakness. As black folks, many times we discount the need to seek help for our mental health. We think if we pray a little harder we will be fine, but that isn’t always the case. 

I look at my students. They’ve been through so much in their young lives that thearapy is a forgone conclusion, but i know they will have someone that tries to tell them only weak people get help. 

When will we learn?
How many of us will take our own lives or someone else’s before we acknowledge
we can’t do it alone?

Being vulnerable. Asking for help. Dealing with emotions is necessary if we are to survive as a people.

Whole, and not damaged. And not passing these emotional handicaps on to our children.

~~

how do you deal with your mental health?

do you have a friend/relative that is hurting in silence?

Click here to view the embedded video.

every black girl needs a theme song. 

ii. every black girl needs a theme song a song that curls  up inside [...]]]>

in honor of  HAPPY BLACK GIRL DAY, a day to remember to be thankful and participate in a little self-appreciation, i’m re-upping a poem i wrote back in ‘08. i thought this was apropos, no? 

Click here to view the embedded video.

every black girl needs a theme song. 

ii.
every black girl
needs a theme song
a song that curls 
up inside her
feeding her dreams
with the fruit of possibility

every black girl 
needs a theme song
to echo the dreams
she is afraid to share
with the world
which tears down 
faster than it can build

every black girl
needs a theme song
to sway hips, confidently
tossing shoulder back
head up, knowing
that no matter what
she can handle it

~~

what’s your theme song? (i have too many to count)

how dope was Yo Yo back in the day? 

what was the last song you heard that REALLY spoke to you? share!

“In this kind of knowledge economy giving up on your education and dropping out of school means not only giving up on your future, but it’s also giving up on your family’s future and giving up on your country’s future.”

There has been a lot of buzz lately about reforming public [...]]]>

no money, mo' problems.

“In this kind of knowledge economy giving up on your education and dropping out of school means not only giving up on your future, but it’s also giving up on your family’s future and giving up on your country’s future.”

There has been a lot of buzz lately about reforming public schools. Earlier this week, President Obama outlined his plan for turning around America’s schools and closing the “dropout factories.” The President proposes giving $900 million to school districts to turn around or close it’s lowest performing schools.

According to the plan, districts and schools would compete for “School Turnaround Grants” by submitting comprehensive proposals to improve student achievement (read: raise test scores).  This plan would require the schools to “agree to a series of criteria, including: firing the principal and at least half the staff; reopening as a charter school; close the school all together and transfer students to better schools in the district.”

Some applaud these extreme measures, but I can’t help but think that this sort of plan will disproportionally affect urban schools, many of which are on the list of lowest performing.

It’s easy for those looking at schools from the outside to say, “just fire the staff and start over,” but it’s precisely that sort of staff turnover that affects schools. Urban schools—hood schools—are always hard to staff. They are overrun with the newest teachers who need the most support and guidance (I know, I was one), and they are set up to fail.

“The American Civil Liberties Union and other groups filed a lawsuit Wednesday on behalf of students at three of the city’s worst-performing middle schools. The suit claims those students were denied their legal rights to an education and aims to prevent the Los Angeles Unified School District from laying off more teachers.”

Currently, the ACLU is suing my district, LAUSD, on the grounds that teacher layoffs were so devastating to urban schools that they infringed on the students’ civil rights.

Last year thousands of teachers were laid off, gutting many hood schools. Many schools were unable to find teachers because they are not in desirable areas and have a reputation of being a “tough” school. A lot of these schools have been functioning with day-to-day subs, just to have a teacher in the room. This is a recipe for failure.

Which leads me back to Obama’s plan. In order to compete for improvement money, low performing schools would have to jettison its staff, again, causing more upheaval, and in my opinion, more failure.

Teaching ain’t easy, and neither is school reform.

I am skeptical of any sort of school reform plan that does nothing to hold ALL stakeholders (parents, students, staff) accountable, not just teachers. Without support from the home, the teacher’s job is THAT much harder. If you can’t get your kid to behave at home or open a book (or don’t value books in your home), I’m going to have to work doubly hard to get him in line.

Letting the weight fall squarely on the shoulders of teachers and school staff isn’t fair. The schools that tend to perform better are either A) in an area with a higher socio-economic level or B) have greater parental support.

Schools are not islands; we can’t do it alone.

I am all for pruning the weeds.  Some teachers need to go, but not all. I am for reform that, instead of cleansing a school of its staff (that knows the kids & surrounding community) that may be working hard, implements tough standards for both the students and the staff and has everyone work together for the betterment of the students.

I am all for school reform, but I am for reform that makes sense.

But as my momma would say, that’s too much like right.

~~

Side note: Today my district approved more teacher layoffs. I’m expecting my RIF notice (again) in a few weeks.

What do you think of President Obama’s plan?

Do you think people are SERIOUS about reform?

“One.  Abortion, no matter the race, is a tragic loss of beauty and possibility.  Induced abortion, the deliberate act of killing an unborn child, is inherently wrong…Actions have consequences, and the disproportionate impact of abortion on the Black community is glaringly evident and statistically irrefutable. Since the  legalization of Roe v. Wade, the black community [...]]]>

“One.  Abortion, no matter the race, is a tragic loss of beauty and possibility.  Induced abortion, the deliberate act of killing an unborn child, is inherently wrong…Actions have consequences, and the disproportionate impact of abortion on the Black community is glaringly evident and statistically irrefutable. Since the  legalization of Roe v. Wade, the black community has been hit hardest with its aftermath. Urban decay has been accelerated due to rampant sexual irresponsibility, increasing poverty, fatherlessness that exceeds 70%, and the continuing deterioration of stable (two-parent) black families” (toomanyaborted.com).

When I first found out I was pregnant with my son, I wasn’t at all ready.

It wasn’t the right time. I was unmarried, had just lost my job, didn’t have any health insurance, and was a semester away from finishing grad school. I wasn’t sure how I would take care of myself, let alone a child.

So I made the call.

I scheduled an abortion appointment.

Even though my mother and I had had conversations about waiting until marriage, and if that didn’t work out and I happened to get pregnant, to woman-up and have the baby, I was unsure. How could I have a child when so much was up in the air?

I struggled with the decision to have my son. I weighed the pros and cons. Beloved said we weren’t ready, that we didn’t have much. But somehow, I knew. I knew I wanted this child and that something would work out so that we could take care of it.

But I never canceled the appointment. I couldn’t. I felt I was selfish to want to keep a baby I couldn’t take care of, so I convinced myself an abortion was the right thing to do.

Then I overslept and missed that appointment.

I couldn’t bring myself to make another, not when I knew I wanted a shot a raising my child. So I embarked on a journey that has profoundly changed my life. I had my son, and even though it’s hard sometime, I love him the best I can.

Many women have been in my predicament. We find ourselves pregnant at the absolute wrong time and then have to decide if we can manage a child and our sanity at the same time. Many of us do, some don’t. But each woman makes her own personal decision based on what’s right for her.

Giving life is personal. And according to some, it’s political.

Last week, my coworker told me about the “Black Children Are An Endangered Species” billboards that have been blanketing Georgia. At first, I thought they were being used to call attention to violence in the Black community. Then, she told me it was about Black women and abortions. And immediately I felt some kind of way about it.

Once again, Black women and our bodies were being used to make a point.

“What’s giving it momentum is blacks are finally figuring out what’s going down,” said Johnny M. Hunter, a black pastor and longtime abortion opponent in Fayetteville, N.C. “The game changes when blacks get involved. And in the pro-life movement, a lot of the groups that have been ignored for years, they’re now getting galvanized (more)”

Apparently, the pro-lifers need the black vote to sway the overall conversation on abortions, and want us to jump on board. The aforementioned website state that “40% of all pregnancies by black women end in abortion”.  Startling, right? Until you look at the actual CDC report.

While Black women have higher rates of abortion based on race (38.5% of all abortions), white women still account for over half (almost 60%) of all abortions.

So why not trot out the percentages of white women who have abortions? Is that not shocking enough? 

Saying you want to end abortions among black women without addressing the systematic forces that affect Black people as a whole (ehem, inadequate schools and choices) is disingenuous and extremely problematic. Even SUGGESTING that “Urban decay has been accelerated due to rampant sexual irresponsibility” assumes that Black women are promiscuous and can’t control our urges. It assumes that all Black women seek abortions based on voluntary sexual activity. This sort of thinking doesn’t examine the forces that contribute to the issues of poverty (joblessness, under-education) and does everyone a disservice.  

Black women have a long tradition of taking care of our own bodies, demanding birth control, and yes, even abortion when we deem necessary. To now suggest we are mere dupes to the “plans” of those who seek to kill off our community makes us seem like victims, instead of those with power over our situation.

I am not a victim.

I got pregnant and I made a choice.

My choice, not anyone else’s.

~

What do you think about the billboards? 

Do you think pro-lifers are genuine in their concern for black women? 

i love saturdays.

especially after a week dealing with attitudinal teenagers in my classroom. saturdays come as a welcomed reprieve to the hectic week of go, go, go. 

presently i am lying across my bed watching tv, tweeting, and blogging. i love it. i wish this was how i could spend every morning, [...]]]>

Click here to view the embedded video.

i love saturdays.

especially after a week dealing with attitudinal teenagers in my classroom. saturdays come as a welcomed reprieve to the hectic week of go, go, go. 

presently i am lying across my bed watching tv, tweeting, and blogging. i love it. i wish this was how i could spend every morning, but alas it’s not (yet). 

saturdays help me put things in perspective because i have enough time to think about what it is i want out of life. i can refocus without having to rush off to work, or drop off the munchkin to school. i can ponder what i want the rest of my life to look like. i can dream. 

saturdays are my day to daydream.

we all need to remember our dreams, so we won’t lose sight of what we want to do and fall into the same ol’ humdrum of a life deferred (word to Langston). 

~

do you daydream?

when do you take a moment to focus on what you really want?

I’m a dreamer.

I set big lofty goals and work really, really hard to reach them—for a while. Then I burn out, or give up, or get bored. When I somehow stop working toward a goal it’s not that I no longer want to accomplish it, it’s just that I’ve gotten in my own way.

I go [...]]]>

I’m a dreamer.

I set big lofty goals and work really, really hard to reach them—for a while. Then I burn out, or give up, or get bored. When I somehow stop working toward a goal it’s not that I no longer want to accomplish it, it’s just that I’ve gotten in my own way.

I go through so many fits and starts that I’m tired. I start something all gung-ho, a workout regimen, a new diet, my book, then somehow all that enthusiasm fizzles and I’m left feeling guilty that I’m not further along.

This is how I feel right now.

I have my “30 in ’10” list posted next to my vision board. I stare at it daily and then get upset with myself. I’m not writing, I’m not working out, still don’t have a passport. Overall, I’m a pretty positive person. I can point out the silver lining in the darkest of clouds, but when it comes to the things I want to accomplish, I’m not as optimistic.

I’ve had so many opportunities in my life. I’ve working with some amazing people. And somehow I’m not as far along as I want to be. Sometimes I feel like I’ve squandered my chance. I feel like I didn’t follow up on opportunities that could have changed my life, or maybe I’m not working hard enough and that’s why I’m not where I want to be yet.

But is that really the case?

Some say that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. But what if that isn’t true? What if I was supposed to be more successful right now and I’m not?

These are the questions I struggle with. I doubt myself. I doubt my abilities, my talents, and inevitably, I end up getting in my own way, again.

No matter where I am right now or why, this is where I am and it’s up to me to get to the next level. I most certainly won’t get there playing the “what if” and “shoulda, woulda, coulda” games, so asking such questions is useless.

It’s time to step it up, keep my eyes focused on the prize and just do it.

~~~

Have you been getting in your own way?

This has been a trying week.

Fresh off my wonderful dance with Beloved last weekend, I picked myself up, and jumped back into my weekly routine. Getting ready for work, dropping the kid at preschool, going to work (begrudgingly). Luckily we had a pupil-free day on Monday & I only had to half-way pay [...]]]>

This has been a trying week.

Fresh off my wonderful dance with Beloved last weekend, I picked myself up, and jumped back into my weekly routine. Getting ready for work, dropping the kid at preschool, going to work (begrudgingly). Luckily we had a pupil-free day on Monday & I only had to half-way pay attention to what was going on.

Fast forward to the end of the day of meetings.

Someone comes to the library where all the teachers were meeting & tells me I have an emergency.  I’m caught off guard. Me? Emergency? I never have those. But she said my son’s school called and he was running a fever.

I dash out to pick up my munchkin and when I get to his school he’s sitting in the office with the saddest little look on his face that you’ve ever seen. He didn’t want to walk. I had to carry him—all 44lbs.—to the car. When I picked him up, I noticed he was burning up so I took him home and gave him some children’s Tylenol.

Then the crying. And crying and crying.

My munchkin clutched at his stomach and I was alarmed. I’ve never seen him cry and hold his stomach like so.  He didn’t want to be touched because it hurt, yet wanted his mommy to comfort him. I immediately called the doctor and got an emergency appointment.

Sometimes Doctors aren’t your friends.

I still feel some kinda way about this doctor. His previous pediatrician, whom I LOVED, stopped practicing medicine, so we’re stuck with this guy. He can be a little rough, and his bedside manner isn’t as nice, but he works.

This doctor saw my son, said it was probably just a virus and sent us home. That’s it. This was Monday.

Tuesday, the fever persisted. It got higher. Son still said his stomach hurt. I call the doctor to ask what number is too high for a fever, he says “I’m not worried about fevers. The numbers don’t matter.” This totally went against everything I’ve ever thought about fevers. But he’s the doctor right? He closed our call by saying, “Keep an eye on him. If he starts vomiting, bring him back.”

There was no vomiting so I kept him home, but vowed to go to the ER if the fever hit 104 (it was thisclose), damn what he said.

Come Wednesday it seemed like whatever-it-was was passing. Son’s temperature was below 100 for the first time all week. He still wasn’t eating so I took him to get a smoothie and some new shoes (he picked out ones with lights. Good Lord.). When we got home, he fell asleep and I was thankful he seemed to be feeling better.

While he slept, I couldn’t help but touch his head, just to make sure his fever was still gone. It wasn’t. It came back with a vengeance. My baby started shivering, his teeth chattered and I got scared. Are these convulsions? I call the doc and they squeezed me in. This time I vowed he would tell me SOMETHING.

This time I told the doctor my baby was STILL talking about his stomach, still had the temperature, was convulsing, and was now coughing. I was worried about whatever-it-is triggering his asthma. So the doc decided to run tests. After a chest X-ray they found out my son had pneumonia. Pneumonia!

Had I just listened to the doctor, and just plied my son with Tylenol, he would have probably ended up in the hospital.

This ordeal further confirmed that listening to myself is important. Plenty of times I’ve tuned out the voice and have paid for it. I’ve wasted time, money, been robbed (that’s another story). This time I was determined that my son wouldn’t pay just because I doubted my intuition. I wasn’t going to be convinced my gut was wrong simply because a doctor, someone with more authority, told me so. Sometimes you have to stick to what you feel to be true and be an advocate for your intuition (and your child), because no one knows like you know.

The next time your gut tells you to go left, take the detour and see if you aren’t better for it.

~

When was the last time you listened to your gut?

Have you ignored your intuition & have it blow up on you?

four years

handholding memories

across the brooklyn bridge

we walk through life

holding onto hope

and love has never felt like this

. .

this, hard to describe

what it is 

to those that cannot see

what you looked like 

seven summers ago

 the bronx    burned infatuation

and we grew 

into us. a couple

together–in spite of

. .

today we remember

i do. i do

remember what it felt like

then. nervous, [...]]]>

four years

handholding memories

across the brooklyn bridge

we walk through life

holding onto hope

and love has never felt like this

.
.

this, hard to describe

what it is 

to those that cannot see

what you looked like 

seven summers ago

 the bronx    burned infatuation

and we grew 

into us. a couple

together–in spite of

.
.

today we remember

i do. i do

remember what it felt like

then. nervous, but full.

and scared, so damn scared

that we might mess it up

and disappoint Him.

but He smiled

and so did we.

Click here to view the embedded video.

~

bless.

Today, something big happened. One of my essays was featured on Essence.com. ESSENCE!

Ok, so, it wasn’t in the magazine, a magazine that I’ve grown up reading and adoring, but it was close (at least to me), and I’ve been amped for about a week waiting for it to get posted.

And today it happened. [...]]]>

Today, something big happened. One of my essays was featured on Essence.com. ESSENCE!

Ok, so, it wasn’t in the magazine, a magazine that I’ve grown up reading and adoring, but it was close (at least to me), and I’ve been amped for about a week waiting for it to get posted.

And today it happened. My essay about raising my son alone while his father is incarcerated hit. This morning I checked the site and my heart nearly beat out of my chest (overacting, I know), and then…I read the comments.

*record scratch*

Did someone just call me pathetic?

Opening myself up on this blog is one thing. We’ve built sort of a public intimacy through our shared dialogue of blogs/comments/tweets. But putting my words on Essence.com and being vulnerable for all the world to see is something else entirely. I didn’t expect everyone to love it, but damn, I didn’t expect so much negativity.

Several comments were positive, but some (a lot?) questioned my parenting, my decision to love in spite of prison, and basically called me desperate. Before I could truly get upset (and there were times I felt like jumping through the computer to argue MY side), I thought about it. People judge what they don’t know or understand.

And so I relaxed and enjoyed the sheer pleasure of being published on a major magazine’s site (still. head.is.blown.).

When I stopped to think about it, the negative comments simply reaffirmed what I have been blogging about all these years. The stigma attached to the family of prisoners can be paralyzing, and quite frankly, unfair. This needs to be said. And I will continue to say it. With over 2 million people in prison and jails, I am not alone, but sometimes the silence is deafening.

I wonder how many people were scared of commenting because they are or have gone through the same thing and didn’t want to be called “pathetic”?

It is for those people that I continue to share my story.

It is for my son that I refuse to accept the idea that I should be ashamed of my life, our family and my choices.

And it is for myself that I will continue to be vulnerable and speak up, even when the easiest thing I can do is to just be quiet.

I will not apologize for my voice.

It is personal.

It is powerful.

And It is necessary. 

~~~

When was the last time you spoke up when it was easier to just be quiet? 

Saturday I caught a glimpse of the good life.

After the kid’s gymnastics class, my mother and I went to look at a house. Not a house we were intending to buy, but a house that’s being rehabbed by my former boss (and my mom’s current boss), the principal of the school [...]]]>

Saturday I caught a glimpse of the good life.

After the kid’s gymnastics class, my mother and I went to look at a house. Not a house we were intending to buy, but a house that’s being rehabbed by my former boss (and my mom’s current boss), the principal of the school where I previously taught.

Although the house was cool, it still needed quite a bit of work. But that wasn’t the best part. After we saw the house, the principal invited us over to her place for a drink. As we drove through Windsor Hills, an affluent/upper-middle class Black neighborhood adjacent to Baldwin Hills, I took in the view.

Many times, while I was growing up in South-Central, I would dream about living in that area. The houses were large, the yards sprawling and green, and the neighbors still looked liked me, but had more money. Even though I’ve been out of “the hood” for many years now, a part of me still would love to live in “Black Beverly Hills.”

The principal’s house is AMAZING. Marble floors, steam showers, a custom kitchen, a pool with a waterfall Jacuzzi. My breath literally caught in my throat. It. Was. Beautiful. All while we were there I could picture myself living in a house like that. Having enough space to entertain, my son having enough space to run and play, and just having a place to LIVE, truly live and have a wonderful life.

The principal works hard. Not only has she been with the district for over 30 years, she owns and manages property, she’s a dental hygienist, and about a million other things. I need to sit and take lessons, because this sista is the QUEEN of lucrative side-hustles!  But she has created the life that she wants and it reaffirmed in me that in order to have the life that I want, I have to go out and work for it. No one else is going to go out to grab it for me.

This year is all about growth. Not just because I’m turning 30, but also because I don’t want to waste any more time spinning my wheels. I don’t want to look back on another year and think it was wasted, or that I didn’t move closer to my goals. So I am energized. I know what I want, and I know that only I can get myself there.

This feeling of…being in control of your own shit is scary. But it’s also very liberating. At the end of the year, I pray I will look back and be happy at how far I’ve come.

Ashe.

~~~

Where do you want to be at the end of 2010?

Have you caught a glimpse of the life you want?