Yessir, I can surely sing ’em. I come from proud working-class roots. Except my mom was a teacher, but society kinda treats teachers like glorified babysitters instead of professionals. Though I’ve had a couple of professional careers, I ain’t ashamed to have used more muscle than mind in many jobs throughout my life. My first were menial, like baby sitting or cashiering at an ice cream parlor and later a barbecue joint. Once I became of legal working age, I was thrilled to work part time at Sears at the mall. It was the ’70s, and though Sears was losing out against rivals like JC Penney, I was happy to finally be one of those high school teen-agers with a secure job: one where I didn’t have to deal with food (except when scheduled to work the store’s nut stand) and could wear nice clothes like an adult. I was assigned to the children’s clothing department which featured a Dallas Cowboys’ fan shop. I wore dresses, hose and platform shoes while folding and hanging clothes but mostly picking up after customers. It was then I realized how inconsiderate society is when shopping. But it was a job, so hey.
A year later I wound up working part time as a newspaper reporter, covering the high school beat for my hometown paper. The pay was $10 an article, which in those days had to be retyped by a typesetter. I was a natural at the job, turned in two or three stories a week plus a column, and wore whatever I wanted though always dressing professionally when interviewing. I got my first taste of a profession, a career.
I worked my way through college. As a freshman, I tried hard to get a job at the local mall or the town newspaper. But the timing wasn’t right. Desperate for some source of income that would provide the incidentals of a young lady, I ended up working at a sandwich shop across from the university. Never was really good at handling food though. And then the customers wanted their food fast. I was … too neat. And slow. And after a couple of months got the heave ho. Just as well. I dreaded closing by myself late at night, having to sweep and mop the entire cement floor, and then cleaning the toilets in the men’s and women’s restrooms. P U!
I ventured into the logical working gal’s job of waitress. But again, me and food jobs don’t get along. After six weeks, I was informed I was unable to manage five tables at a time and was summarily fired during the shift. Shoot, I hoped that job would be my college gig for spending money. Cash tips could be $60 a night. No one ever told me I wasn’t doing a good job.
But the close of a door opens a window, and mine was a much better job as a reporter for the university news service. I was in my element, sniffing out stories and whipping up articles, using whatever typewriter I could find on campus because I did not have one of my own. This was in the days before personal computers and laptops. This job, however, was grant funded which meant it was precarious. I earned $200 every two weeks and lived in an on-campus apartment, really feeling grown up for a college kid. I was praying this job would be my lengthy gig to get me through college. But ’tweren’t to be. The Reagan years ushered in the Gramm-Rudman budget cuts interestingly toward colleges and universities and work-study students like me. The job lasted one year.
Of books and nooks
The college helped me find another job, this time in the library. I was the assistant to the assistant music librarian. And again proved to be a natural with the prerequisite clerical tasks: naturally organized, accurate, thorough, respectful of deadlines—I proved to be the whole ball of wax. The job required researching copyright and other publishing information for hundreds of sound recordings, books and journals—all in my college major of music. I learned to use the computer in this library job. Part of the work dealt with typing all data to replace the card catalog drawers. The work had to be completely accurate, not one mistake. Or you’d have to get back into the computer and fix it. Anyway, I was paid the hourly wage of the day and worked a few afternoons a week. It was enough to get by a little. My boss and I got along fabulously. She gave me a birthday gift, an album of Gershwin’s classical music.
Along my college route, however, another snag occurred. Long story short, I wasn’t graduating as soon as I had planned. I prematurely quit the music library job and ended up searching for another work-study position. All along, throughout college I wrote freelance articles for the city paper but never was hired for steady work like in high school. Reading the posted campus want ads, I saw a job for writing tutor in the library writing lab. I applied and was interviewed. The tutors were paid slightly more than minimum wage due to our proven college-level writing expertise: We helped peers formulate and write better papers for required coursework. The writing lab director was impressed with my clerical background and hired me not only to tutor but to keep up with and file all the paperwork. Again, I excelled at the chores. But by my final year of college, even a poor college student as I was no longer qualified for federal work-study. The writing lab director kept me on, shuffling my salary into another account, as she explained it’s all just paperwork.
Cutting to the chase, I graduated … only to be unemployed for a year and a half, tried my hand at piano and voice lessons and substitute teaching before getting a job back at the college library as binding assistant. I prepared hundreds of books and journals for professional binding and oversaw a crew of college students with repairing ripped and missing pages and worn spines. The job required no degree and was indeed blue collar. Everyone at the library knew me, so I was hired quickly. It was a living for several months, but I ended up in the big city to pursue a profession: teaching or newspapering—wherever life leads.
Life is a journey
Even as a graduate, I realized I would have to pay work dues. Like I did in high school, I walked the entire mall and applied everywhere (except the food court where I wasn’t wanted anyway). I was called by the art-frame store manager several times to be assistant manager. Though I love art, I kept passing, holding out for something else. Heck, I probably should’ve just taken the job.
Realizing I wasn’t going to be teaching the upcoming school year, I earnestly looked into joining the Peace Corps. They were hiring college grads to teach English in the former Eastern bloc nations of Europe. On the application I also selected to work in Africa or India. But life took me back to the newspaper biz as a clerk at a big-city paper. We clerks hung out together during lunch, worked on all kinds of projects like compiling contest entries including the Pulitzer Prize. We glued and pasted articles in scrapbooks while chatting about our college days and wondering what to do now as graduates. We earned like $6 an hour. But I took full advantage of the opportunity before me, frequently tossing story ideas to the features editor and got one approved to write and publish, a huge triumph. In a couple of years the paper went out of business as cities became one-paper towns. This was before the internet, social media, blogs and dubious news outlets.
How did I survive? By getting hired part-time at the homeless shelter at which I had been volunteering. Now I was the weekend night monitor, sleeping overnight Fridays and Saturdays with the homeless. Dressed in jeans, Beatles T-shirt and sneakers with walkie-talkie and master keys in hand, I patrolled the hallways and checked the rooms, making sure occupants were where they were supposed to be and that there were no drugs or booze of which I kept a partial blind eye. I also had to oversee guys working community service by serving meals and cleaning the kitchen. By day, well I subbed as a public school teacher anywhere anytime any school any subject. So I had to switch mindsets from professional to working class, know how to act professionally then dress down to hang with the underprivileged. I was careful not to be smug with the homeless or less than a consummate professional in dress and deed with school students and principals.
This exhausting whirlwind ended when I was hired full time at a used book store. With my library experience, it was more my speed. I could see potential for moving up in the corporation but still pursued other jobs, casting my net across the state. On my two weekdays off, I drove all over Texas seeking work, filling out job applications (none were online yet) and doing some interviews. To my complete surprise, I ended up back in the newspaper biz as a real-deal reporter. I took to the job like a fish in water. A few years later, I was hired at another newspaper. A career was building. Several years later, I wound up at another big-city paper then within a couple of years crossed over into teaching, building my original career aspiration sixteen years after college. I kept up the pace with all this career stuff for close to thirty years, even earned a master’s degree along the way.
Free as a bird
Then boom. Right or wrong, I took early retirement, pursued some risky ventures (like that nonprofit still in federal limbo due to the shutdown) and applied online for close to a thousand jobs—all easily done these days with one click. Even so, finding a new job has not been easy. To pay the bills, I’ve returned to my working-class roots … handling food, this time at a grocery store: schlepping gallons of milk and heavy bags of dog food or cases of bottled water across the counter, carefully handling cartons of eggs and bread, packing every little thing as if it were my own. I’ve developed a chronic numbness from shoulders to fingertips and when a full day is done, my body aches like I’ve been run over by a train. But I experienced similar pain by the end of each school day teaching a decade and a half; it comes from mandatory standing. Yet I handle grocerying with a friendly smile and sincere kindness. After all, there’s no need to be hasty or rude to paying customers. I get the picture of what business is all about. To make a long day go by faster, I remember my newly created mantra, one for the working folks: Work, break. Work, lunch. Work, break. Work, leave.
As for my third act, this blog is part of it. Who knows what else may come along in life, the thing John Lennon said happens while we’re busy making other plans? Now that I’ve grown comfortably into middle age, I am more at ease. The urgency to get on with the rest of my life and make a spectacular splash and workworkworkworkwork is pretty much gone—though I’m not dead yet. I figure another twenty years or more remains of work energy.
The inadvertent time off from career has been reflective. Diving back into the working class, a job that requires no degree, has been not so much humbling as for me expected. Growing up in a family that would rather be the hired hand than the big boss man, I’ve come to see a job is just a job. No need to look down on yourself for what you do for a living.
I’ve never thought any job I’ve had as dead-end. I always saw potential for advancement, maybe not in the exact career I wanted or anticipated, but management maybe. Looking back at a working life, I’ve thrived on hard work with few rewards, keeping busy while earning never-enough pay, earning my keep best I can, doing my part to help others, maybe leaving folks in a better frame of mind. Building a career, like building a life, takes everything within us: energy, smarts, foresight, and the ability to roll with the punches because there are a lot of them and they hurt real bad. Life is our own creation. Relying on the internet with its plethora of ‘job’ listings—real and bogus—cannot take the place of our individuality, experience, expertise and self worth nor the spiritual bond among people.
For all the kids out there starting out, the journey toward work and careers is really an individual pursuit of happiness. Don’t ever forget that. If a working job comes along while waiting for the big career profession, consider taking it for awhile. The work we do, the job title and menial tasks, is not what makes us who we are. But it develops the interesting trait of character and most of all teaches us what we still need to learn about ourselves and how to treat others who come in and out of our lives. In other words, like life itself, no job lasts forever.
Gotta loathe our federal elected officials
I am ashamed of each and every one of our elected men and women in Washington, D.C. The only people who would play with 800,000 federal workers and their families while screwing over millions of American citizens in the process are fat, lazy, rich millionaires and even fatter billionaires. The only obligation you have while holding your powerful office is to keep the United States government operating. You should not be able to sleep each night in a warm cozy bed while ruining less fortunate and powerless American families.
Get back to ‘negotiating.’ Eat crow. Forget about a stupid 5th century, environmentally unsound 2,000-mile wall between the U.S. and Mexico border. For 200 years, our country has managed quite well without one. Drugs will always be with us. The need for drugs and the risk of addiction and overdose or addiction management will always be a part of the human condition. That’s how our nation should deal with our big drug problem, and the educational and psychological method takes generations of time and effort. Our drug crisis should be dealt with by our citizens, families, churches, schools and society rather than the government. But the complex international drug trade is not the real reason for a border wall with Mexico.
Back to the federal shutdown, all of our national leaders from Congress to the White House must learn how to practice the Art of Diplomacy. Government is not like running a business. It is far more important and involves the lives of tens of millions of tax-paying citizens. Businesses come and go. A smart business person knows most will not last more than 30 years. But a democrazy—excuse me—democracy must endure. It requires constant effort, hard work, difficult decisions, painful emotions, sleepless nights, concern for the greater good, selflessness and most importantly intelligence … as was phrased in our nation’s beginnings, common sense.
Enough with the cruelty trickling down from the very top of the U.S. power structure. Everything in life is about compromise. Poor people know how to do it every day. Families with one TV compromise on the shows they will watch. They compromise at the grocery store when deciding which is cheaper fresh fruit or canned, which is more important new towels or milk.
March of the penguins
Where are the chambers of commerce, bankers and the rest of the corporate suits taking to the streets demanding an end to another childish national government shutdown? They’re the ones who understand local economics: how every dollar spent in a community rolls over seven times, meaning seven businesses benefit from people with jobs.
Shutting down the government and ruining livelihoods should be illegal in the United States of America. We’re not a banana republic where a game of chicken is played by the powerful, the heartless and the gutless. Or are we? The strength of a leader is not measured in fear but character. The character of a leader is developed by having actually worked from the bottom up instead of growing up with a silver spoon in the mouth. A leader should reflect an exemplary moral life grounded in decency and empathy toward our fellow man, not brute force just to break the will of others.
Our national leaders have forgotten who they work for and who elected them. The American rich no doubt have the upper hand financially. But their tiny numbers are no match to the hundreds of millions of us who have to work to pay bills and actually want to work for self worth. We the People must remind our elected officials they work for us. In this country, pal, the People are in charge. Every elected official works for us and is paid by our sweat, physical or mental or both. You have no right to shutdown our federal government while expecting the most vital work still be done by employees without pay. It’s uncivilized, moronic, and unAmerican, and we will not tolerate it. Consider this a final warning, a come-to-Jesus meeting.
Ready for the ninth and final year of the 20teens?
As we face the end of a tumultuous decade, let us not be downtrodden but prepare for the most spectacular event certainly yet to come, if history tells us anything. The 21st century teen years were not unlike living with a surly adolescent: pushing toward unfettered independence while desperately seeking guidance and assurance of parental love; staying out beyond curfew, mouthing off and breaking other rules to push boundaries and discover if any punishment still stings or breaks the will; learning to drive as anxious backseat parents pray silently for their safe return and instant maturity of their teen-age offspring; breaking away from believing everything ever taught by any adult while developing their own cynical if not radical views on complex issues like politics and religion. Well, parental old guard, we made it through with sanity intact, some of us even spotting a few rays of light that will transform rebellious youth into admirable friends, someday.
In this decade the world reached consummate concern for the future of life on planet Earth with the Paris climate accord, and Americans reincarnated the Women’s Rights movement. With more mass shootings than any previous decade (a mass shooting every single day in America), future legislation in this final decade year or the following year will undoubtedly address the issue soberly than ever before and do something that will significantly halt our national recurring horror especially among our children at school. As soon as Trump swarmed in as president, tens of millions of Americans and others around the world protested in the streets not only making known their distrust of Trumpian politics and the man himself but maintaining the election and outcome were dubious and possibly corrupt. A return to civility and common decency among politicians will likely prevent another national election of the biggest-and-baddest ever again.
Number 9
But 2019 holds promise for mankind as a review of past final decade years have shown:
1909—The NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Colored People) founded by mostly white Americans appalled by routine lynching of black Americans;
1919—The League of Nations formed, later to be reconstituted as the United Nations, to prevent future world wars and political and economic catastrophes;
1929—The stock market crash, though ushering in the Great Depression, would lead to a New Deal president with innovative and far-reaching public projects putting Americans back to work as well as setting controls on the banking industry while federally insuring depositors;
1939—World War II officially begins along with the ultra secretive Manhattan Project that would eventually ensure world dominance of the United States at the cost of our vigilance to prevent a future nuclear war;
1949—Communism takes brutal control in China while ironically novelist George Orwell publishes his foreboding political satire Nineteen Eighty Four, which depicts the real story of life within a country of thought control, word removal, surveillance cameras, and on-cue weeping by devotees of Big Brother;
1959—The Twilight Zone begins airing nationwide, each black-and-white episode probing the human imagination with godly or godless wonder but mostly bringing to life the deepest darkest fears of America’s post-war generation not to mention the little Baby Boomers watching each week beside their parents;
1969—THE most important moment in human history, televised by computer technology, the world witnessing three brave American astronauts landing then walking on the moon, an incredulous feat boosting American pride despite hostility and division while leaving most feeling insignificant when viewing Earth from outer space;
1979—Middle East politics, culture and religion force themselves permanently into the everyday psyche of a previously oblivious free-wheeling, car-loving, get-up-and-go American society;
1989—The fall of the Berlin Wall meant Western culture and capitalism ‘beat’ the propped-up utopia promised but never realized for decades among citizens forced to live behind the Iron Curtain of the Union of the Soviet Socialist Republics;
1999—The Columbine High School shooting massacre, along with a Fort Worth church shooting at a teen service, indicated a horrific rift in American mentality when it comes to guns, gun rights, constitutional liberty, violent imagery portrayed in video games and movies, and mental illness—all of which to this day remain unresolved and incomprehensible yet politically strengthened, divisive and socially ruinous as ever an issue faced by Americans;
2009—The first African-American elected President of the United States, Barack Obama remained calm, cool and collected in every crisis and political battle, often resolved by the U.S. Supreme Court as Congress refused to practice diplomacy during his two terms in office.
21st century teens
Highlights of this decade could be: Obamacare; Russia playing Americans via social media; Curiosity Rover on Mars; Lance Armstrong; Bill Cosby; Ebola; ISIS; Black Lives Matter; same-sex marriage; the Trump presidential campaign and election; Hillary Clinton, first woman to run by a major party for U.S. president; Brexit, indicating all’s not well in globalism; Me Too; NFL players kneeling during the National Anthem; removal of Confederate statues; Unite the Right rally chant “Jews will not replace us”; and the deadly opioid crisis.
ISIS terrorist attacks continued worldwide and at home, from the office of a French satirical publication to the Boston Marathon; from a Paris football stadium, restaurants and rock concert to a San Bernardino Christmas party and an Orlando nightclub.
But a review of the past nine years in America shows increased deadly mass shootings that left hundreds dead and many more wounded, physically and emotionally:
2011: at a political rally;
2012: at a movie theater and then at an elementary school;
2015: at an African-American church;
2016: at a nightclub in Orlando;
2017: at a Baptist church and then at a country show in Las Vegas.
What will be the memorable history of 2018? Probably more mass shootings like the one at a Florida high school. But that time youth found the wherewithal to create a movement of their own, one for the nation really, those of us sick and tired of legislators sitting on their butts and unwilling to do something to prevent mass shooting murder sprees. The first Never Again rally brought marches in every state as well as sympathizing nations. One march was in New York City where none other than Paul McCartney was spotted marching with the crowd. Asked why he was participating, his answer was simple as he explained he, too, has been impacted by gun violence, recalling a dear friend shot to death.
Yet school shooting massacres didn’t stop as somehow we were surprised with the same story from the small Texas town of Santa Fe. Mass shootings continued nationwide with reporters killed inside the newsroom of The Capital in Maryland, youth at a gamer tournament, Jews at a synagogue, and young adults at a California bar.
If there is an optimistic capper for the Teen decade of the 21st century, 2019 would produce meaningful gun legislation and election security to ensure the sanctity of our democratic process. As for the nation’s citizens, a return to public civility in tongue, tone, tweet and email would go a long way in restoring American trust in our fellow Americans regardless of political beliefs and affiliations. We can vote for whomever we want. Remember?
Along the same lines, Americans say they don’t know who to trust when it comes to the news, referring to online and cable TV products. For that matter, Americans aren’t that concerned when journalists are shot in newsrooms or hacked to death by order of a national leader, one who does not support free speech or a free press. A 21st century American president who refers to the media as the ‘enemy of the people’ along with national apathy toward journalism and journalists is the most incredible and detrimental development to come out of the 20teens, in my opinion. As adolescents are prone to think they know everything already, perhaps the forthcoming decade will bring maturity and the serious mindful responsible actions of a grown-up.
Twelve daze of Trumpmess
On the first day of Trumpmess, our country came to see
a federal inquiry!
On the second day of Trumpmess, our country came to see
two hushed honeys and a federal inquiry!
On the third day of Trumpmess, our country came to see
three years for fixin’, two hushed honeys
and a federal inquiry!
On the fourth day of Trumpmess, our country came to see
4 a.m. tweeting, three years for fixin’, two hushed honeys
and a federal inquiry!
On the fifth day of Trumpmess, our country came to see
five plea deals!
4 a.m. tweets, three prison years, two hushed honeys
and a federal inquiry!
On the sixth day of Trumpmess, our country came to see
six sneaky staffers,
five plea deals!
4 a.m. tweets, three prison years, two hushed honeys
and a federal inquiry!
On the seventh day of Trumpmess, our country came to see
seven Russian theories, six sneaky staffers,
five plea deals!
4 a.m. tweets, three prison years, two hushed honeys
and a federal inquiry!
On the eighth day of Trumpmess, our country came to see
eight victory rallies, seven Russian theories, six sneaky staffers,
five plea deals!
4 a.m. tweets, three prison years, two hushed honeys
and a federal inquiry!
On the ninth day of Trumpmess, our country came to see
nine DNC hackers, eight victory rallies, seven Russian theories,
six sneaky staffers,
five plea deals!
4 a.m. tweets, three prison years, two hushed honeys
and a federal inquiry!
On the tenth day of Trumpmess, our country came to see
ten legal experts, nine DNC hackers, eight victory rallies,
seven Russian theories, six sneaky staffers,
five plea deals!
4 a.m. tweets, three prison years, two hushed honeys
and a federal inquiry!
On the eleventh day of Trumpmess, our country came to see
11 a.m. work days, ten legal experts, nine DNC hackers,
eight victory rallies,seven Russian theories, six sneaky staffers,
five plea deals!
4 a.m. tweets, three prison years, two hushed honeys
and a federal inquiry!
On the twelfth day of Trumpmess, our country came to see
twelve meddlin’ Russians, 11 a.m. work days, ten legal experts,
nine DNC hackers, eight victory rallies, seven Russian theories,
six sneaky staffers,
five plea deals!
4 a.m. tweets, three prison years, two hushed honeys …
and a federal inquiry!!
Leave it to Communist China to eradicate Muslim terrorism
Have you heard what China is doing to a minority Muslim population? From the sound of it, they’re ‘nipping in the bud’ religious terrorist attacks, schemes, plans and thoughts. The Communist government is attacking this murderous global problem by special indoctrination camps for certain undesirables, like Orwell’s 1984 and Hitler’s Nazi Germany. The goal is to destroy the Muslim’s belief in not only Islam but any religion. Of this goal, Communist China will no doubt be 100 percent effective. What’s the other option for Muslims practicing their faith in China: death?
According to several recent news reports, a million members of a Muslim minority called the Uyghurs (pronounced ‘wee-gers’), who have traditionally lived near the Mongolian border, have been rounded up and forced to reside in camps. There they will undergo forced assimilation which no doubt will include learning to appreciate the social equality and efficiency of communism while also destroying one’s intellectual, emotional and spiritual bond to religion such as belief in God or Allah. Remaining Uyghurs not yet forced into camps must welcome Communist Party workers into their homes for inspections. The Uyghur community maintains every family now has at least one member in the indoctrination camps.
The Uyghur minority is objecting to this mass humiliation as a violation of their human rights. They claim they are not ethnically Chinese, and their land was not part of China until invasion and annexation in the mid 20th century. Uyghurs have been discriminated against as workers unless they prove to be devout followers of Chinese communism and enthusiastic members of the Party.
Center of the world
Renowned for audaciously ruthless global business ventures, from mining Africa to building islands in the international waters of the South China Sea, China has patiently watched as the U.S. and other nations ineffectively deal with terrorism in their own countries. Along with sporadic violence instigated by Al-Qaeda and ISIS, China diligently observed two decades of perpetual war in the Middle East which has left hundreds of millions dead and wounded. For its role in leading the Middle East war on terrorism, the United States owes China more than $1 trillion.
China has had its share of Muslim terrorist attacks within its borders. But when it comes to China, communism is going to defeat any other way of life. Their brand of communism includes torture, mind control and death. China’s Cultural War of the 1940s began by rounding up all teachers and the educated who were summarily slaughtered and culminated in forcing Buddhist monks and nuns to copulate in public. China is not like the United States and Western Europe, both unwilling to violate human rights even in war. China does not adhere to or believe in a human being’s inalienable rights of freedom, free speech, free press, or individual pursuits of happiness. That is the way communism remains in China; it dominates any citizen’s thought to the contrary. As for religion, God, spiritual beliefs: that will be crushed if detected in the human brain of a fellow countryman.
In the 1980s, China permitted Western influence and culture, even Christianity, but college students began protesting, wanting total freedom not just a taste. Then in 1989 China’s military massacred an estimated 10,000 protesters in Tiananmen Square. Life soon was restored to normalcy and faithful communism with a sustaining vengeance. China’s communism is like a plague that destroys all mankind or like an alien invasion of humanity as quietly as “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” Creepy, how Communist China has yet to fall like Eastern Europe and the USSR. Makes you wonder what they are holding onto. The answer is supreme, glorious, indestructible power.
With a population of one billion, modern China is bustling with a generation far wealthier than Chairman Mao would have preferred. After all, communism is supposed to be ‘all for one and one for all,’ meaning everyone receives the same earnings from a government stipend regardless of occupation. Money, or the love of it, ultimately will change the hearts and minds of the Chinese. Communism pretends to hate capitalism and free enterprise, but no one earns money better than China, mostly on the backs of a slave workforce.
So now China joins the rest of the world in dealing with global terrorism stemming from radicalized Muslim communities and individuals. Throughout the 21st century, China has watched war-weary Americans and other international soldiers return to their homelands—presumably demoralized; with some blind, deaf, amputated, emasculated. The beauty of Communist China is it will once and for all defeat the global enemy of terrorism in as much as it relates to religion. A quick online look at the extremely fit and insurmountable Chinese soldiers, marching goose step in precision along their nation’s latest artillery and killing machines, one foresees extreme victory and rather soon. Communist China is more than willing to pay the price to eradicate Muslim terrorism within a vast expansive territory. Similar to the terrorists themselves, the Chinese method is simple: obliterate all human rights, especially religious beliefs and practices. China has shown the world what it takes to install and maintain Godless communism: consummate brutality physically, psychologically and spiritually.
Hail to Susie: a dog’s life lived well, no need to clone
First thing I did after moving into my first house in 2004 was to get a dog. I searched the SPCA, intent on getting the smallest dog, which turned out to be a 19-pound black-and-tan dachshund mix already named Susie. As all the big horse dogs barked and jumped excitedly begging me to spring ’em from the joint, Susie was the only one who was solemn, laying belly down on the cement ground, her head on the floor and brown brow patches moving curiously like she thought she’d gotten herself into a pickle. An attendant took her out of the cage to greet me. Surprised to be chosen, Susie wagged her tail and appeared ready to go, as if she’d been waiting just for me. I paid the fee and drove her home in my car. Soon as we arrived, Susie shot out and ran into the backyard, bouncing in the grass, smiling with glee, happy to finally be free.
I’ve never had a dog like Susie. I cannot walk her on a leash because she pulls hard, like she’s on a mission, sniffing out critters alive and dead or thrown away foodstuffs. She is the only dog I ever had to enroll in obedience school which both of us, dog and master, had to attend. She only learned one lesson, to sit at my loud and stern command. And she never got the position quite right, but we compromised with her laying belly down with head up and alert to my command, awaiting a treat. I read about dachshunds and found two things: Dachshunds are indomitable, and they won’t stay in a backyard. To their minds, the whole world is their backyard. In other words, Susie’s nature was to get out of the fence and explore. During most of her life, she did this many times, exhausting my husband and me while the neighbors got to know her name well and be on the lookout, too. We learned to always check the yard for her newly dug holes to crawl underneath a wood fence. We’d plug them with large rocks, bricks and heavy cement blocks. Still, Susie was strong enough to move them or dig other holes to plan an escape.
She remains a nuisance whenever we come home or anyone else enters our house. She enthusiastically jumps on people, demanding a greeting and attention (one of the reasons I took her to obedience school). We figured she was lonely and eventually brought home another SPCA dog, only to find Susie if not restrained jumps on anyone coming in the house. It’s friendly of her but bad dog. We’ve taken her to the city’s small dog park where Susie designates herself the official gate greeter to other dogs. All the weenie dogs gather around Susie, encircling her in either familiarity or admiration for her impressively large size. We call Susie ‘Queen of the Dachshunds.’
Whenever we’d find that Susie had escaped the backyard again, my husband and I walked the neighborhood yelling for her. I’d have her leash in hand in case of capturing her once again while my poor husband drove all around, windows down while calling her name. There is a nearby creek that probably attracted her. Many nights, after I’d let her out back before bedtime, we’d find she’d escaped. One foggy evening, I walked all around the neighborhood streets, calling for her, very angry spending my time this way and having to hold an umbrella so my glasses wouldn’t get wet. By the time I had given up and was returning to the house, Susie was walking right beside me. I didn’t realize it till we were close to home. Damn dog.
Don’t get me started on her annual trips to the vet where more than one assistant has to be called in to hold Susie while her nails are clipped. The vet took to muzzling her because she tries to bite anyone restraining her, wagging her tail merrily all the while. Having gone through this ordeal for years, the vet scolded me, “Haven’t you taught her ‘NO’ yet!?” Hell yes I tell her NO several times a day, but this dog don’t mind. She minds her father better than me probably because of his size and deeper voice.
During those first months of house training, I got Susie to use pads in a specific area of the house. But some evenings when we were watching a movie or working on the computer, Susie would pee intentionally near us, I suspect as a domineering act because she was looking straight at us while doing it. We’ve learned to listen to her growls and beware of her jumping dominance as a sign she needs or wants to go outside.
And wouldn’t you know it? Susie was determined to sleep on the bed with us, like any other person. For the first two weeks with Susie, I tried training her to sleep in a kennel outside the bedroom. Nothing doing. She wouldn’t stop whining, barking, growling all night long. I moved the kennel into the bedroom; then tried to train her to sleep on a pallet beside the bed; consented to allowing her to sleep on top of the bedspread but stay at the foot of the bed. She wore me down from lack of rest and insisted on sleeping between us with her head close to our pillows. Sometimes I’d awake in the morning to her snout facing me, brown eyes staring at me. Wonder what she’s thinking?
Killer dog
Unlike my previous dogs—cocker spaniels that enjoyed playing with squeaky toys and could fetch balls—Susie always would gnaw the squeak out of any toy and commence to destroying each and every one. She’d start by ripping off the tail, legs, arms, ears and any pointed appendages for some reason. Susie’s a natural born killer. That first year we had her, in the wee hours of the morning she constantly ran off the bed into the kitchen chasing what turned out to be a rat. She was alert but not quick enough and would return to bed. It took several months of interrupting our sleep, but Susie won: finally trapping the rat in the mud room between the kitchen and our bedroom. The rat was terrified hiding behind the dryer. Susie hovered and waited. When the rat bolted, Susie snapped it up horizontally in her jaws, shaking it dead, leaving tiny blood splatters all over the place. She grinned with pride and the taste of blood.
We called Susie our wolf hero and presented her a framed certificate for killing the house rat. Susie would go on to kill again and again: squirrels, mice, roaches, grub worms, a black feral cat, a raccoon her own size … and unfortunately one of our own dogs. Susie always thought tiny dogs were playthings; we realized this at the small dog park when she wanted to play too rough with tiny dogs that people held in their arms. But one time at the creek, we took in an abandoned mini chiweenie with long red hair and green eyes, still with puppy breath. We realized we’d have to keep the 5-pound pup separate from Susie for awhile. Naming her Chelsea, we let her outside with our other dog Tommy to play and grow strong. Susie would watch intently through the backdoor window, whimpering wanting to play with them. After a couple of weeks, I allowed the three dogs to play together, carefully monitoring Susie to stop any roughness.
Eventually the little pup wanted to get stronger and play-fight with Susie. The two ran wild in the backyard and played very rough and tough, toppling over each other, forcing the other down to submission while growling and play choking the victim which would quickly return onto legs and ready for another go. Susie lost some weight with all the exercise. They were inseparable for a few years until Susie grew old. Chelsea was 5 and becoming more dominant, always attacking Susie by jumping off the bed to knock her down. Susie didn’t want to play rough anymore. Besides, Chelsea had sharp teeth and was prone to biting. One night Chelsea got into a big knock-down drag-out fight with Susie. The two would not stop fighting each other. It was horrible and hard to stop. Things changed between them. A year later, the fight between them erupted unexpectedly late night in the backyard. Susie won. We were mortified, heartbroken, and very angry, not knowing what to think about Susie anymore. A few days went by as she moped around like she’d lost her best friend, her Daddy. I asked her softly, “Why, Susie? Why’d you kill Chelsea?” She opened her mouth like she was going to tell me then realized she can’t talk. The vet said dogs are not like humans; the bloodlust is always there.
Stop cloning around
Susie celebrated her 15th birthday this month. As always we sang “Happy Birthday,” presented her with a good meal of salmon and potatoes, gave her a pink frosted dog cookie, some duck meat chews, and ice cream for dogs. She grabbed the container by her teeth and pranced into the backyard away from the other dogs with the same treat and holding the cup between her paws proceeded to spend the next five minutes licking the cold peanut butter contents under the Texas sun.
Despite her zeal during preparation of each and every meal, Susie has slowed down considerably. I think her bones ache, so I started adding a supplement to her morning meal. She’s only had one surgery, years ago to clean wounds and sew her up after a dog fight with a much larger and stronger German shepherd. I doubt Susie sees or hears well though her sniffing sense seems intact. She can be heard snoring throughout the house as she sleeps very soundly. Her naps can last most of the day except for interruptions by our other two dogs. Sometimes she has a mild stomach sickness I suspect from eating grass and other things in the backyard. Often she looks at me confused. She enjoys going in the backyard, lying on the grass right under the sun, which probably is healing and soothing to her. She can’t walk on a leash as fast and as forcefully as she used to. Halfway through a walk, she just stops and lies down. Still her heart is good, and she’s been given a clean bill of health at her annual checkups.
We know Susie’s years with us are numbered. As a longtime dog owner, I’ve made the heart-wrenching decision to put a beloved pet to sleep when they’re in ill health, in pain, and very old and frail. However, in this brave new world in which we live, dogs are being cloned, at $100,000 a pooch, mostly for billionaires and major stars like Barbra Streisand. For someone who has played strong female characters, one would think the superstar could handle life after the death of a beloved pet.
Would I clone Susie? Nope. One dachshund has been enough for me. She is either a breed or a dog who wore me out with her stubborn streak and bullying ways. Yet I love her dearly. We’ve been through so much together. She’s a much better dog now that she no longer needs or even tries to roam around the world. On her 9th birthday, I created a card with graphics from her presumed past lives such as a bull, a walrus, a hog, a snake, a donkey, an ape, a bucking bronco. I wrote “The many incarnations of Susie. You go dog!” And she has for six more years.
Pet parents must come to grips with the fact that we outlive our pets and must be able to deal with it. It is their nature and our grief. And doesn’t nature already reproduce more than enough dogs and cats to fill the grieving hearts of humanity? So why is cloning dogs necessary? The breeds are practically identical. The most humane action pet lovers can take after the death of a beloved furry friend is to go get another one or even two. Maybe this is the reason God made sure dogs and cats would be reproduced naturally in abundance. They’re everywhere to be found. Just waiting for love.
Requiem mass for the spiritually broken
Kyrie, eleison
Lord, have mercy
I’m not Catholic, and I don’t know a lot of Catholics. But through the years, most of the ones I’ve gotten to know are actually former Catholics. So bitter are their childhood memories of Catholic schooling; obligated mass attendance; memorized Hail Marys and many formal prayers; built-in guilt; confession; communion; signs of the cross; and catechism of memorized saints, rituals, holy days, feasts, mass settings, and biblical passages. By the time my ‘former-Catholic’ friends were young adults, they were more than cynical about The Church. But other young people who were raised in Protestant denominations get burned out on religion, too, and strike out on their own, simply choosing not to attend church all the time. Early adulthood is a time of breaking away from required childhood routines, teachings and most importantly spiritual beliefs.
The Catholic Church being a big mystery to me, not unlike the Jewish faith, I never realized what all the silent anger was about among the few Catholics I knew and wanted to get to know better—why a deliberate non-mention that they had been raised Catholic. When the subject came up, they would roll their eyes and grit their teeth. Seemed like they didn’t want to talk about that part of their lives especially to me, a non Catholic.
All I’ve known about The Holy Roman Catholic Church is from high school World History. It was the original Christian church; forming after the fall of the Roman Empire around 450 A.D.; and for 1,500 years dominated Western Europe in culture, dress, law, music, art, architecture, deeds, expectations, behavior and thought. Teachers in the public schools made sure we understood how foolish The Church had been way back when in leading The Crusades, specifically mentioning the Children’s Crusade, and that in Europe the longstanding Catholic Church had become corrupt which ushered in the Renaissance and Reformation. For decades hence, there would be many bloody battles and outright wars between Catholics and Protestants especially in determining which would rule England and other Christian countries. When one Christian sect was in power, the other was severely persecuted.
Sanctus
Holy
I’ve found mature American Catholics to be open minded and liberal thinkers, recalling their fight for civil rights in the 1960s as well as joining protests to end the Vietnam War, serving in the Peace Corps and providing worldwide humanitarian relief through Catholic Charities. An image that comes to mind is the smiling nun at the Woodstock music festival who flashes the peace sign.
Agnus Dei
Lamb of God
But then again … and again … and yet again … the public is informed of another massive scandal within large communities of the Catholic Church involving sex abuse of children and adolescents by dozens of priests. Now I understand the … shame … of those who would rather refer to themselves as former Catholics, maybe determining themselves not religious at all. The revelations are nothing new and to a jaded society may be not only secretly suspected but remain in the forefront of the minds of non Catholics. What are we to think? Sure there have been the famous TV evangelists and little-known preachers throughout the U.S. who’ve committed the same sin, the same crime. But in sheer numbers, there is no comparison, and it’s because of an ancient institution.
The latest scandal involved six dioceses in Pennsylvania; 1,000 victims; 300 priests; and an institutionalized cover up since the 1940s. These were rapes, sex crimes that should have been reported to police … but weren’t … for whatever reasons. In 1997 a similar scandal by a “pedophile priest” occurred within the Dallas Catholic Diocese involving almost a dozen altar boys which went on for years. The priest was sentenced to life in prison, and a $119 million jury award practically bankrupted the Diocese. To prevent such crimes in the future, the jury mandated the Dallas Diocese report any rumor or suspicion of child sexual abuse by priests to law officials, never to hide the unholy again.
In 2015 the Oscar-winning movie “Spotlight” was about The Boston Globe’s investigation into a sex scandal within the Catholic Archdiocese of Boston. Five priests were criminally prosecuted, not to mention a plethora of lawsuits. The Catholic bishop kept the sex crimes secret and reassigned offending priests, as was done in Pennsylvania. So … The Church knew all along. The newspaper reported the scandal in 2002 and won the Pulitzer Prize.
In paradisum
Into paradise
Pope Francis is livid over the same scandal involving priests not only in America but Ireland and other countries around the world. Obviously, to Catholics and non Catholics alike, something has to be done immediately. One solution is not allowing a priest to ever be alone with a minor. Some Catholics are calling for The Pope to reconsider permitting women to enter the priesthood and allowing priests to marry. Why are these two reforms still controversial in the year 2018?
In the 16th century, Martin Luther posted dozens of disagreements with The Church. He also had an opinion on allowing priests to marry, writing that celibacy is not required in the Bible and that on the contrary God called humans to be fruitful and multiply. Once the Protestant Reformation was under way, ministers were allowed to marry, and their wives were part of their ministries. Luther also believed marriage would prevent temptation. He also disagreed with priests as a necessary go-between for man and God. Luther preached that everyone is called to minister to all people, which is biblical, spoken by Jesus Christ Himself.
Today’s Catholics, led by the popular and progressive Pope Francis, are allowed their own discretion on many intimate beliefs such as contraception. What is surprising to non Catholics like me is why a billion people around the world remain dedicated to The Church. Protestants, from the root word ‘protest,’ don’t understand and would simply switch to another church. Given the cover ups, criminal sexual abuse against children, the perversion and hypocrisy—why do so many remain loyal to The Church? Are they eternally dedicated though sorely ashamed and disgusted with atrocious sins and crimes by some priests involving the innocence of children?
Catholic or Protestant, we are taught to believe before we are taught to think. The Catholic faith—with its beautiful stained-glass depictions, sky-high cathedrals, priests donning ornate robes and hats, processions, rituals, congregational prayers and songs, unified mass scripture readings and lectures—is essentially what religion should be: a sacred and profound bond of humans in mind and spirit. There are millions on earth who still believe “To err is human, to forgive divine.” But at what cost to our brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, all God’s children?
American WASPs still stinging immigrants
So the U.S. has the worst immigration laws in the world? Well, let me respond with a little ol’ American folk song, parodied by yours truly, to go somethin’ like this:
This land was their land.
It wasn’t our land
from California to the New York island.
We took it from them.
Sometimes we paid them.
Now we must share this land for all.
No other nation on earth has our history—and sole purpose to admit people from around the world including our own hemisphere—especially within the past 500 years. Everyone on the planet knows America’s convoluted, though in premise sparkling, history. Europeans started migrating over here in the 1600s. But the land the White man named America was not uninhabited. There were thousands of native tribes, mostly brown-skinned people (described as red-skinned by the White man). What would become the United States of America was born in multicultural conflict, not to mention the issue of enslaved Africans dragged in chains all the way over here to work the land for free till death. What a multi-cultural mess: this vast territory, unstable, shocking and terrifying until forced colonization by the English-speaking Christian British.
Anglo Americans can’t forget our shameful past in ‘settling’ this land, right up to the late 20th century when Americans began to realize through public education the damage done to ancient civilizations and Native people. And we think we have the right today to squawk about illegal immigrants? If there weren’t jobs for them, people south of the Rio Grande wouldn’t keep coming up here. American businessmen had a lot to do with creating the alleged illegal immigration problem rued today.
And who’s doing the ruing? Mostly businessmen and the rich of WASP ancestry. This is why Americans who felt our nation was not-so-great returned to electing a forty-fourth white man president. To put a stop once and for all to illegal immigration, even in cases of asylum, the new president’s policy was to separate Central American parents from their Native speaking children. Say what? Some of the Indigenous families do not speak Spanish let alone English. Despite the new get-tough deterrent, after traveling hundreds of miles and undergoing insurmountable hardships, many families crossed over, assumed the position to surrender in arrest to the United States while watching their own children taken into separate custody hundreds and thousands of miles from South Texas. Many of the little ones were understandably traumatized by the family separation. What an unholy mess yet again by White-ruling Americans.
Red and yellow, black and white
Something drastic had to be done to stop illegal immigration. Not really. Illegal crossings along the southern border have been reduced substantially: from more than a million annually during the Clinton years to less than a quarter of a million annually with the vast majority of those people seeking asylum. Decent people cannot and will not live in Central American narco states where drug cartels rule with brutal beat downs, shake downs, gang rule, murder and rape.
Now American history is coming full circle. It was similar hostilities—called ‘religious persecution’ in our schoolbooks—when English and European families began to leave everything behind for the New World. Some died during the rough six-week boat ride across the choppy Atlantic Ocean. Naturally, many arrived sick, feverish, infected, infectious, and yes dirty. Through the decades, most European immigrants did not speak English. Yet somehow they kept coming and coming and coming all the way over to this land right here. The Catholic Irish were discriminated against for employment. Then Italians were treated similarly. And on and on with each nationality, although most Whites generally agreed to uphold equal discrimination against people of color from Central and South America, Africa and Asia.
There isn’t a plot of land in the entire country that anyone can claim free of past Native occupation. But Native Americans did not believe the earth was something man could own or possess—only to care for, love, appreciate and cultivate. All the earth belonged to God—their Sky God, the Supreme Being. Whites took advantage of the sincere spiritual philosophy, offering trade for land: horses, pots, rifles, skins, whatever, maybe coins. Who knows? God knows.
Many supported Trump’s campaign to Make America Great Again (evidently code for Make America White Again). Americans of fifth and sixth or more generations have had enough playing around with Spanish and English: seeing grocery signs, billboards, government documents and election ballots in both languages; infuriated with every business phone call a language selection cue to press 1 or 2. Public schools in states bordering Mexico are becoming majority Hispanic. Much to worry about … if you’re White and want everything and everyone to stay as it seemingly was in the last century.
Things change. Times change. Territories change. Societies change. Of this Europeans still residing in countries with bloody histories spanning a thousand-plus years know well. Human migration is nothing new—in truth, it’s the way of the world. But to a Baby Nation not yet 300 years old, with a ruling class still carrying on our forefathers’ prejudices and bigotry, immigration is the number one cause of all the world’s problems.
During the 20th century, America was great at assimilation: everyone melting into White privilege and culture. But by the end of the century, when hyphenated Americans began to have pride in their diverse ancestral heritage, a social push back began. African-Americans, Mexican-Americans, Cuban-Americans, Asian-Americans, Arab-Americans, Native Americans, etc., will no longer resonate WASP prejudices. Those days are gone. So we Americans and all the wanna-be Americans can accept, understand and enjoy our multi-cultural past, present and future. Or we can go our separate ways—refusing to live together peacefully.
The lines of a Willie Nelson song: etched in his heart & face
Three cheers for Willie Nelson, the national treasure of Texas! He’s turned 85 this year. He and his fans probably thought he’d never live past 50. But as he’s been willing to talk to the media all these decades, we can already guess what’s kept him rolling along. (And I don’t mean the reefer, even his own mind-blowing brands, although he does say pot made him less prone to anger. And that’s gotta do the heart good, right docs?)
Why, everyone knows the story of Willie Nelson: abandoned little boy raised by his grandparents in the tiny Hill Country community of Abbott, Texas; a stint in the Air Force; door-to-door salesman; radio dj; playing country bands; move to Nashville; hit songwriter. His songs are standard in the American songbook: Night Life, Crazy, Whiskey River, Funny How Time Slips Away. His songs were often first recorded to fame by the unique and memorable country and Western voices like Patsy Cline, Johnny Bush and Ray Price.
But back when Willie tried to emulate the country star image of groomed hair and suit circa 1960, it just wasn’t his style. And they made fun of his singing, too. Laughed him all the way back to Texas. And as the life and times of Willie Nelson go, he just happened to be at the right place at the right time. He grew his hair long and wore jeans and t-shirts or muscle Ts. His beloved guitar Trigger always faithful to perform, he met up with other country artists ready to rebel against the polished Nashville sound, more skyscraper than honky tonk. He released Red Headed Stranger, the album cover depicting him in a wanted poster from the 1800s. The album featured his vocal style somberly singing Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain with his signature melodic guitar picking. The album received wide appeal.
Along with country music friend Waylon Jennings, in 1976 Willie co-recorded an album that would top the charts for years. Wanted! The Outlaws featured Good Hearted Woman and My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys. They say Willie brought together the rockers and the rednecks. Willie went on to headline his famous Fourth of July picnics, support Farm Aid, and invest in bio fuels as well as marijuana.
And he’s received just about every music award America has to offer, including: Grammy Hall of Fame; Kennedy Center Honors; Academy of Country Music Entertainer of the Year in 1980; and Grammy Awards for Best Male Country Vocals in 1976, 1979 and 1983. Talk about doing your own thing and believing in yourself!
The Tao of Willie Nelson
Yep, there’s a book melding Eastern philosophy with the life attitude of Willie Nelson. Given the way he’s chosen to live his life, happiness is evident to the rest of us. In figuring out what Willie has to offer us about life, assumptions could be:
First, do your own thing. In retrospect, Willie was of his time: growing up in the Depression and loving country music. He simply took the style and set his own plain yet poetic words. Hint for songwriters out there, according to Willie: Melodies are in the air. Just pick one.
Second, impress yourself. Willie writes good songs because he knows it. He didn’t need anyone to tell him a song like Crazy would be a huge hit. But he was at the right place again: talking to Patsy Cline’s husband at Tootsies in Nashville. Everyone in the country music business already knew Willie wrote great songs. The topic was bound to come up.
But what didn’t come up was letting Willie sing his own songs his way. Yet once again the Tao of Willie is about believing in himself. He always thought he had a pretty good voice. It just took a cultural change in America’s music tastes—the preference for denim folk rock with a lot less polished recordings. Willie was already out there performing. Audiences were willing to listen to and appreciate his own style and renditions of his songs, already nationally known melodically, lyrically and emotionally.
Third, don’t live to impress others. Willie chased fame and fortune, but then the famous started chasing Willie. When he decided to quit the music business, his attitude changed. He may have been hurt and angry, but when his feelings turned to don’t give a damn, wham! That’s the key to real happiness. He split with the Nashville scene, returning home to Texas and found a personal freedom that allowed him to sing his songs his way, making a living doing what he loves. Among the workforce, this is rare. Willie would say he was determined more than just lucky that life worked out for him. The lesson is to be in control of one’s life and pursuit of happiness.
Fourth, keep active. As long as he’s been able, Willie has been athletic, running races and golfing. He’s out there, breathing in the fresh air, taking in the sun, enjoying the day. He found as a famous entertainer, he does not always have to be ‘on’ all the time. He was able to handle success.
Finally, keep an open mind. Willie has a sense of humor, can see the funny in time slipping away, allows himself a good laugh not necessarily produced by the wacky weed. And though the once red-headed scrawny young man never would have imagined his life turning into a national celebration and social influence through the gift of time and age, Willie stayed true to himself: from the braided hair, twinkling smile, love and heartache, versatile endeavors, heart of gold—the face of human life.
Taking a reality tour of our nation’s public schools
Dear U.S. Education Secretary Betsy DeVos:
Given your job title, unawareness of American public education with its tumultuous and racist history, and that you and your entire family including your grandchildren have never had to attend a public school, I strongly suggest you take one year to travel the nation and each day randomly choose a public school to visit starting in our cities. If you’re afraid to step into our public schools, let me be your guide.
First, students sniff fear, so keep a game face. No smiling, waving, embracing, hugging, engaging in pleasantries or sorrowful expression at the sight of impoverished neighborhoods. A polished businesswoman impresses adults not kids. You might consider wearing a baseball cap, sneakers and slacks and tone down the bling. A tattoo, nose piercing or strip of pink hair would be a good way to bond with kids, especially teen girls. They’ll think you’re cool.
Let me guide you through this middle school entrance where everyone forms a single line before passing through metal detectors. Like I said, ditch the jewelry; it’ll just set off the alarm and rile the adolescent crowd. Then once inside the building, you should assume the position with hands up and legs spread as another teacher gently pats you down. They’re checking for permanent markers used for graffiti and any sharp object that can and will be used as a weapon to harm others or themselves. Yeah, some teens really do cut themselves just to feel something. It’s so sad but not uncommon. Don’t stare at the pregnant student either. It’s nothing shocking.
Try to ignore the throbbing rap music blaring from parked cars with parents and students. They both like the same music. And if a parent does stomp through demanding an unscheduled conference or confrontation with the principal or a teacher, just step aside and keep quiet. Mind your business. Look straight ahead, and ignore rude cussing and shoving even between students. Let administrators handle the rough stuff, my dear.
We can wait in the cafeteria where most students are provided a breakfast as well as lunch every school day in our public schools. You’ll see many kids waste food. Few really want the breakfast, yet they have to take dietary proportions given by cafeteria staff. This is because of a federal government partnership with the U.S Department of Agriculture. See, America produces tons more food than we can consume. So the schools are a great place to at least get the food delivered, whether or not kids like it, eat it or toss it in the trash. At least they have the option to eat at school. But looking across the room, you’ll agree some kids are likely eating breakfast at home and then an extra something at school—which may contribute to our epidemic obesity rate. Let me commend you, by the way, for keeping your figure slim and trim. Very admirable. You go, girl!
No school like an old school
That first bell is mind splitting, isn’t it? All the kids are herding to their classes while a good ten percent of the student body will arrive tardy 10 to 20 minutes or later every day, the same kids from the same families all year long. Now morning announcements will start, spoken through the office PA system. In some schools, announcements will be in English and then repeated in Spanish, so this morning ritual may take quite awhile. You might notice some classes remain talkative and do not pay attention while others are quiet. You will undoubtedly notice very few kids actually saying the Pledge of Allegiance or bowing their heads for the traditional moment of silence. It depends on the teacher, what’s important to him or her. Maybe the class is behind in assignments, and completion is the priority. Just letting you know it’s not totally about disrespect but could be.
OK, I’d like you to inspect student restrooms. We’ll just stand inside the girls since the boys always smells of urine. Look at this: little or no toilet paper, no soap, no paper towels. You wanna know why? Mischievous kids ruin it for everyone else. Some exasperated custodians will not stock paper towels, leaving kids to air dry their hands or wipe them on their clothes. Toilet paper can be a play thing to stuff the toilets, stopping them up to overrun—a big mess and common in schools. The soap, well that was another thing some kids played around with, using way too much and making a mess, never cleaning it up off the floor or wall. Many schools will not provide soap, bar or liquid, in student restrooms even in the newest buildings. Too many students playing around in the restrooms, sneaking in for fights and other misadventures, is why restroom doors are removed or remain open at many schools.
Now let’s walk the halls. Most classroom doors have to remain wide open to avoid potential lawsuits involving inappropriate teacher behavior. But every kind of sound plus all the teachers’ voices echo down the corridor. I don’t know how any kid can concentrate. I wouldn’t have been able to. What about you?
Oh, sorry you had to see that! My goodness, look at that graffiti: stick figures in sex positions and words like ‘b—’ and ‘m—-f—-’ and gang tags. Adolescents think they’re the first to shock us with sex stuff and bad language. Just expect to see more of it on occasion: inside books; on walls; in restroom stalls; scratched into painted lockers, windows, steel doors, even video monitors.
I wanted to mention to you an outdated feature of our nation’s schools in the 21st century: Some classrooms still use VCRs and video monitors instead of DVD projectors or Smart Boards with internet connection. You would think every single classroom in America would at least have a Smart Board by now and every student supplied or required to have a laptop for school. Maybe by 2050, huh? Of course, who knows how technology will change by then?
So classrooms here along the first floor seem to be running smoothly. Most classes are very organized, some in apparent disarray. It depends on the teacher and style. Some administrators will demand a streamlined approach, however, and those schools will have to follow suit. A school’s tone, its order or chaos, starts at the top with the principal.
Up the down staircase
Ready to go upstairs? No, we can’t take the elevator, dear. They rarely work in some schools. I’m not sure how this inconvenience and hazard continues after the Americans with Disabilities Act, but it does. Accommodations are made if a student needs to go upstairs. For example, a kid in a wheelchair may have an assigned crew—and other kids will volunteer for this—to lift and carry the kid in chair up a flight of stairs. Other arrangements may be to keep a kid in a wheelchair on the first floor, maybe arranging for a tutor if the math lab is upstairs, for example.
Let’s step into this classroom. Ooops! Gosh, were you hit by that tiny bit of eraser? Feels like shrapnel, doesn’t it? Dog-gone kids. Just quietly walk around the room. Notice how students suddenly are paying attention to the teacher, acting studious, reading. They want to impress you because they don’t know who you are and why you’re here. They think you’re monitoring their behavior. At this moment, they’re truly learning and concentrating. This is a beautiful sight, what school’s all about. Sigh.
But look around the room. See? No cameras anywhere. That’s a problem in this day and age. If a kid is so inclined to misbehave or act out, it’s the teacher’s word against the student or students. But with you here, there will be no outburst, not until you are gone and things get back to normal. Unfortunately, school classrooms should have cameras by now, don’t you agree?
Oh no! That sudden loud order from the vice principal means we’re in lock down. We have to stay in this classroom for now. We’ll know it’s over when we hear a special code over the PA. See how the teacher places a red or green card outside the door then locks it, if it can be locked, while students remain in their seats or in worse scenarios crouch together in a back corner? I think this lock down is to let drug dogs roam free, an unannounced routine. Usually the dogs sniff out something in student lockers or backpacks. Later we’ll probably see police officers escorting arrested adolescents, hands cuffed behind their backs, as they leave school.
Yes, this school is one of many with armed police officers, about one per high school and middle school. This school district has its own police force. Years ago schools used security officers without guns. But in recent years, they’ve been replaced by real law officers who wear handguns. I guess everyone feels safer.
Now that lock down is over, let’s go into the staff parking lot. Students are not allowed access, but there’s no fencing or any way to prevent stragglers from passing through. Today I see four cars have been keyed, all of them red. That means it’s a gang thing, a retaliation of sorts. Adolescents who are entrenched in gang culture assume their teachers are gang members, too. There are cameras monitoring activity around the school’s exterior. Maybe those who scratched the cars will be caught but not if they wore hoodies and aren’t from this school.
Let’s go back inside to watch lunch time. Some cafeterias are tightly monitored with students not allowed to talk above a whisper while some schools allow low conversation. The thing is: kids are known to get out of control quickly, group laugh, ruff house, yell, break into fights or throw food. So don’t be alarmed if you hear a coach or loud teacher instruct everyone: “QUIET!! NO TALKING.” I’m sorry teachers have to come across as mean. You know they really aren’t. It’s just hundreds of youngsters and five teachers monitoring lunch, like keeping a lid on a boiling pot sometimes.
Skip to my Lou
Would you like to pop in to another public school for afternoon touring? Let’s go! This is an elementary school where most students are from Spanish-speaking homes. Many of their teachers also speak Spanish as their native language. This school has a bilingual program whereby every other day, lessons are taught in one language or the other. For example, Monday may be English, Tuesday Spanish, and back and forth through the week. The effectiveness of this type of bilingual education is skewed because a confused kid will often have to break into Spanish on those English-only days to figure out what’s going on. It’s hard on them, and if the teacher only speaks English, the kid must figure out what’s being said and taught sink or swim. Their mandatory state tests will be in Spanish until they reach middle school. Some bilingual teachers support full English immersion at school.
Before leaving, let’s go outside to the rows of small metal buildings surrounding the school. They’re called portables, one-room buildings placed here decades ago as a temporary measure until the school was expanded. But by now, many portables are fifty years old, and few schools actually were expanded through the centuries. Heating and air conditioning are problems in some portables but also throughout many school buildings. There are all kinds of reasons, but mostly the air ventilation systems are not monitored and maintained by an on-site crew. It can take years for air in one freezing wing to be repaired while another area across the school building remains unbearably hot. It’s the way it is. Students learn to bring jackets or wear layers every single school day: summer, autumn, winter and spring.
And that brings me to my final concern about our nation’s school system. Why aren’t American schools year-round by now? It’s practically the middle of the 21st century, and the long summer breaks have been unnecessary for decades. Expanding the school year would be a good place to start in improving our students’ education and retention. Teachers, families and states may kick and scream about it. But you know a lot of knowledge has gone to the wayside in order to maintain a nine-month school year decade after decade.
I understand your reluctance to take American public schools seriously. You support privatizing all services, providing school choice to everyone, and doing away with the U.S. Department of Education altogether. In countering these proposals or grand plan, in actuality our nation’s schools should be under one command. The Department of Education should enforce the same curriculum for every school, rural and urban, so communities aren’t set back by poverty and school board politics. Communities and citizens have failed our schools. The oversight for correction, modernization or privatization must be at the federal level. States would disagree on student courses that are important and essential. But that is a national decision. And you, Madam DeVos, are the Decider.
It’s been my pleasure showing you just a couple of our urban public schools. B’bye! Feel free to call me any time.