Representin' vs. Privilege

"I really hope nobody thinks he was with me just because I'm African-American, you know?"                                     

 Image via Flickr/LifeSupercharger

The air is filled with electricity, and it isn't just the buzz of the lights warming up. The crowd is tense. On edge. Waiting for the big game to start. "It's just little league" is a blasphemous statement that could set angry mobs of senior league pre-teens aflame. To the players, this is serious business; friends playing against friends for the championship. More importantly, playing for bragging rights that will last all summer--perhaps into the new school year.

Game faces on, ice water in veins, adrenaline amped up. Ready.

Flashes of silver light up the night as the little sisters and brothers collect change for the "confession" stand. Popping smacks of pinkness erupt from the mouths of both the players on the field and the parents in the stands. The bleachers are full. Both baselines are separated by fence and mirrored by colorful camp chairs.

The teams are announced. The national anthem is played. Game on!

And there he is...standing behind the fence. Close to home plate, along the third base line, rooting for the Guest team: in other words--in enemy territory. His baggy, ball-capped frame blocks the view to the plate and parents are thinking (at least I am), "You make a better door than a window!" But instead of throwing out that confusing cliche, a parent politely asks him to sit down so she can see. 


"I don't mean any disrespect to you all, but I will not sit down. You can't make me." Fingers resume their interlaced dance with the fence. But he's not just watching the game--he heckles the players on the field. The pitcher tries to retain focus...ice water in veins, game face on, check that adrenaline...don't want any wild pitches. Then the foulness begins--not in the batter's swing, but along the fence. Behind the umpire.


A slew of phrases that my grandmother would attribute to sailors infects the air, making parents tense about more than just the pressure on the diamond. That statement that just a  few minutes ago would've caused child rebellion and pre-teen eye-rolling is now uttered by the crowd in near-unison. No longer a diminishment of the proceedings, but a phrase that warns an inebriated spectacle that his words are not appropriate for young players, younger siblings. "It's just little league!" No need to heckle--they're just kids.


The umpire is also just a kid. Maybe in college. He's focused on the game, not on the Spectacle almost directly behind him. But then a torrent of motherf****s erupts. He must pay attention to the Spectacle because the mom brigade can no longer stay seated. Moms rise up and march forward, one firmly demanding, "You need to sit down and shut up." 


Again the Spectacle turns to the crowd behind him, "I don't mean to disrespect you all, but you will not talk to me like that. I can tone down my cussing but you cannot make me sit down."

He's walking. He's angry now, but so is the mom brigade. The sensible uncle behind them tells the moms to, "just sit down. Don't get involved." Instead of heeding sensible advice, one mom and the Spectacle circle each other, a dance evoking images of elementary school playgrounds after school when the day-long whispered threats finally boil over into a full-blown fight. The game is no longer the primary entertainment, it's tension has shifted to the stands as we wait to see if the lion mama will pounce. Instead, she sits down and pulls out her cell phone to call the police.

Shouts from the crowd, "He's gonna to have to go! Get him outta here!" goad the umpire into quietly saying something to the man (from behind the safety of the fence, of course) and the Spectacle boisterously begins the charade of leaving. After a minute or so, there is silence and the ump calls, "Batter up!"

The game continues. The focus is where it should be--on our boys. Pop-up flies are caught. A pitcher has two innings of perfection and then can't hold it any longer. The winning runs are scored and the guest team celebrates its victory, accepting high fives from both their teammates and their opponents. A secondary battle was waged tonight, too. My son played against his best friend. Brother against brother: one on the mound, the other in the box. Bragging rights are serious between these two whose friendship has only been interrupted by the recent presence of a first girlfriend. Over the years, their camaraderie has naturally led to a friendship between parents. As the season progressed it became obvious that both our families and our teams were set on a collision course for the championship---an awkward battle of the buddies. Before the handing out of medals, my friend comes over to, I assume, exercise some motherly bragging rights.  


My friend is wife of the opposing team's assistant coach. She joins me (the assistant coach's wife for the home team) while I am rehashing the season with the head coach's wife. We stand along the third base line cheering loudly for each boy who played. We are all friends, so there really isn't too much trash talking. A few jokes about how the boys will be exacting or receiving revenge for the rest of the summer (Extra elbows in their summer league basketball practice? A coup d'etat in their video game war? Pranks involving the girlfriend?) We chuckle over the antics we are sure will entertain us in the coming month, but the conversation quickly turns to the Spectacle. 


"Can you believe he was cussing like that? There are kids here! It's just little league!" Our head coach's wife was really shocked.

"I can understand wanting to drink some beer and watch a ball game on a hot night, but that was out of line. Did he really leave?" my friend asked.

I said, "Yeah, I think he left when one of the moms called the cops."

She shook her head and looked at me with concern, "You know I was sitting in the bleachers with a lot of other people. I wasn't too far from him. We were both rooting for the same team. I really hope nobody thinks he was with me just because I'm African-American, you know?"

And I didn't know what to say.

I've been in groups of white women who talk about "those people," when they don't know my family. I've been like a spy in enemy territory, witnessing the truth that comes out when people feel comfortable enough to talk openly among "their own kind." And after being around such women, I can tell you that my friend is right to think about who will judge her based on the actions of the Spectacle tonight. Some white parents, maybe even those from her own team, will think that the drunken Spectacle must've been a part of that big group of black folks in the bleachers--just because they all share a skin color. 

I've seen many drunken white men at sporting events. Some embarrassingly drunk, rowdy, and even violent. But I don't ever recall a time when my own character was judged because of the behavior of a drunken white man, just because we share a skin color.


Privilege. 

2012 Senior League Sox--2nd place team (but champs in our book) Photo by Jen Marshall Duncan

Celebrating Juneteenth

This post also appears today on Multicultural Familia, an online magazine supporting modern families.

Today we celebrate Juneteenth. 

What is Juneteenth?  

It is the oldest African-American holiday, celebrating freedom and honoring the memory of former slaves. You might know that President Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation on January 1, 1863 and wonder–why do we celebrate on June 19th? The answer is that not all slaves knew they were free in 1863. Many white plantation owners wanted to keep their slaves working after the Emancipation; they wanted to continue making profits from free labor. As Union troops marched across the country, news of Emancipation spread; but it did not reach all slaves. The slaves in the state of Texas were not told about their freedom until Union troops marched to Galveston two and a half years after President Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation. It took two and a half years for the United States to make sure that everyone knew: All slaves are free. That was June 19, 1865.

One year later on June 19, 1866, former slaves gathered to celebrate their freedom with music, worship, barbecue and the sharing of stories. The system of slavery and its aftermath did not permit African-Americans to attend school or learn to write, so the story of Emancipation was spread though oral tradition. Through their retelling, June Nineteenth became shortened to Juneteenth.

How Can I Celebrate Juneteenth?

Today, Juneteenth is a state holiday in Texas and in many other states. Families gather to celebrate their freedom by barbecuing, attending parades, sharing music and telling stories. Many drink red beverages or eat red velvet cake. Red symbolizes the blood shed by former slaves.

Looking for ways to teach your children about Junteenth? Many communities have Juneteenth celebrations with family friendly activities and barbecue. www.juneteenth.com has a place to search for and add Juneteenth celebrations occurring worldwide. My family will first remember history by reading some books we got from our local library and talking about them. Then we will celebrate freedom with barbecue, a baseball game and fun!

Children’s Books about Juneteenth

Juneteenth Jamboree by Carole Boston Weatherford, illustrated by Yvonne Buchanan. Published by Lee & Low Books.  Check out the Lee & Low site for a classroom guide filled with activities and discussion questions to help teach kids about Juneteenth here.

Juneteenth by Vaunda Michaux Nelson and Drew Nelson, illustrated by Mark Schroder. This book does a wonderful job of teaching the history of slavery with both sensitivity and honesty. The authors describe how slavery began by asking children to imagine themselves in the past, “Imagine that you are playing outside. Suddenly you are captured in a net like an animal. You are packed in the bottom of a ship with many other stolen people.” They go on to describe the basis for the Civil War and the continued struggle of black Americans for equality.

How does your family celebrate Juneteenth?

© 2012, Multicultural Familia™. All rights reserved.

Read more: What is Juneteenth & How Can I Celebrate at Home? http://www.multiculturalfamilia.com/2012/06/19/celebrating-juneteenth/#ixzz1yH3G595i

Sick

Image Credit:Flickr/ jovino  

I apologize for my absence, and I apologize for the fact that this post is probably not up to par. You won't leave here feeling informed, refreshed, or more knowledgeable about much of anything because I've spent the last week or so wondering if there is enough facial tissue in the world to collect all the stuff that's been coming out of my head and chest. Yep, sick. At first I thought it was just allergies or a reaction to the landfill fire that burned for over 2 weeks near my community; but in the end I think it was an evil intrusion of germs. While laying in bed and wondering how my family was faring in the rest of the house, I totally freaked myself out by watching all of Season 3 of the show 24 on Netflix. The whole season dealt with biological terrorism: the Counter-Terrorist Unit was trying to recover a huge vial of a weaponized virus. The bad guy planned to release it in cities all over the U.S. causing imminent death to millions of people. The first symptom of the virus was a bloody nose, and anyone who thought they were infected first wiped their nose. A drippy nose feeling caused person after person to wipe their nostrils looking for blood. My drippy nose got wiped about ten million times a day. Virus on TV, virus in my house...what if....AAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!  Way to get paranoid about my runny nose, eh?

If I wasn't freaking out about potential bioterrorist occurrences in my nose, all I could think about was this British alternative comedy that I used to watch on MTV in the 1980's The Young Ones. One episode in particular kept running through my mind because I seriously went through like 800 boxes of tissues in about 2 days. Thank goodness trash day fell in the middle of my bout with the slime, or my house would be filled to the brim with dirty snot rags. It was that bad. But not as bad as the sick boys in The Young Ones. Check out their sickness in the clip if you can handle totally disgusting, very low-brow, and outrageously funny British humor (okay, it was outrageously funny when I was a punk rock girl in high school...not so sure about now! But it is exactly what went through my mind all this week. For real.)

I am happy to say that I am now able to sit upright, and I even showered a couple of times in the past 2 days! I ventured out of my house (just to buy more tissues, of course!) but I seem to be on the mend. Now I just need to make sure that my self-quarantine to the bedroom was effective. If my kids get the crud I only have one suggestion for all of you: BUY STOCK IN KLEENEX! For real. You'll make a killing.

If they don't get sick, they are in for a rude awakening. They will be cleaning up the messes they made all week by scrubbing, vacuuming and laundering everything (and I mean everything.) Why is it that common sense flies out the window and chores come to a grinding halt when Mom is down for the count? Have they not heard that hell hath no fury like a mom whose house has been messed up? No joke, they let it go to pots.  I am just thankful that the kids didn't try to give each other home tonsillectomies again...I never could've driven anyone to the ER without passing out.

And on a side note, let me just say that I am hooked on watching 24 now. A black president? A rich political backer who is black? Criminals who are white? Talk about defying TV's racial stereotypes! Season 3 really impressed me in that way (even though it got in my head...okay in my nose...for a while.)

Here's to your health! Wishing you all a happy, healthy summer.

Sisterly Fights: A Home Tonsillectomy?

Image via Flickr/D.Clow - Maryland

My sister and I have these stories about fighting when we were younger. When we shared a room, Mom told us to clean it together. She would sneak out while I cleaned the whole thing, and then I'd tell Mom I was ready to have her look. When we'd get back to the room, there was my sister...playing in the middle of a heap of toys that I'd just put away. Mom would wonder why I'd called her in to check a room that clearly was not yet clean. I'd get so upset with my sister.


When we had separate rooms we'd sabotage each other's stuff. One wrong word could start a war waging. She'd do something to me that irked me, and then I would plot my retaliation. Her favorite cartoon poster came from a Fruity Pebbles cereal box, featuring the Flintstone family, and a big "Yabba Dabba Doo!" emblazoned across it in bright yellow. To this day, she has not forgiven my scribbling on that poster as revenge for whatever it is she did to me.


As teenagers, our fights centered on one area of house--the bathroom. There was only one, and we both needed it desperately. One time in particular, I was in the bathroom trying to close the door, and she was outside the bathroom in the hallway trying to get in. She pulled on the door and I pulled back. Finally, I tired of the tug-of-war and just shoved her out of the doorway as hard as I could. When her butt went through the wall, our fight came to an abrupt ending. Instead of the overwhelming need to get in the bathroom, our thoughts were consumed with, "Oh ***t! How do we tell Mom and Dad about this one?" The fear made us get the giggles and pretty soon we were laughing so hard we were crying! The butt-hole in the wall has become one of our most cherished stories, and we re-hash it regularly at family get-togethers.


I remember sisterly fights very clearly. In fact, my sister just brought up the old Yabba Dabba Doo poster while she was in town this past weekend for my daughters' dance recital. In the back of my head, I wondered what stories my own daughters would have to relive with each other in the future. 


Well, I no longer have to wonder...

Yesterday we ran a bunch of errands in between sports/hair appointments/Brownie cookouts. My youngest daughter (8) used her allowance to buy herself a big bouncy ball for $2.50. 

At bedtime, my older daughter (10) was brushing her teeth. Youngest had her new bouncy ball in hand as she walked toward the bathroom (always the scene of the crime!) Older sister decided to annoy younger sister by bouncing the ball out of her hands as she walked by. Younger sister got mad and decided to retaliate by bouncing the ball in her face. Problem?!? Toothbrush was in mouth at the time of impact.

Immediately I heard screams and looked toward the bathroom. More screams and lots of blood. I assumed a bitten lip, tongue or cheek. The amount of blood definitely warranted a trip to the ER for stitches. I tried to calm the injured one down, but I also remembered that the ball bouncer was probably upset, too. I wished I could clone myself to deal with both girls, but the bloody injury trumped the emotional injury in that moment. I yelled at my son to call his dad immediately and make him come back from the gym )he'd left just moments earlier to go work out.) As soon as I knew he was on his way, we grabbed a towel to catch the blood and tears and drove to the ER.

Luckily, there was no wait. Doctor number one checked her mouth and called doctor number two. Doctor number two checked her mouth and called doctor number three, an ear-nose-throat physician. Ear-Nose-Throat doctors and I have a long history together due to my severe allergies and hearing impairment. I wondered who they'd send down to check on my baby.

There is only one time in my life when I was so happy to see a doctor--that is when my 9lb 1oz baby boy was lodged in my cervix for the 19th straight hour, and my body couldn't open wide enough to get him out. (I wanted to marry the anesthesiologist who gave me the IV that eventually moved the labor along. My husband may even have kissed him!)  Our ER visit was another such time--I was extremely happy to have my very own doctor walk through the doorway to the room where my injured daughter and I waited. He marched right in and gave me a hug, then examined the injured throat with a lot of Tender Loving Care.  The verdict: tonsil laceration. He decided that the bleeding was slowing down enough that it didn't need stitches. The esophagus was not punctured and the airway was not yet obstructed (but I'm supposed to watch out for swelling. If it gets too bad, he may decide to take the tonsil out.) 

Now we are at home with instructions for recovery from a tonsillectomy: acetaminophen, popsicles, ice pack on the throat, don't cough too hard, don't blow your nose too hard, and rest. 

Some day, they will look back on this and laugh. Some day. Until then, we'll enforce a no bouncy ball during toothbrushing rule and make sure that there is only one person at a time in the vicinity of the bathroom. Home tonsillectomies are no fun. Seriously, if there were a sisterly fight competition, my daughters would have my sister and I beat! I hope that this is the only fight of its kind, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it is only the beginning...(pray for me...)

Do you have famous stories of sibling fights? 

A Guest Post on Momsoap

A few weeks ago Martha Wood from Momsoap.com wrote a piece that appeared here on empatheia Yes, This Baby is Mine.  Now I am really excited to have a guest post appear on her blog. Head over to Momsoap to check out my piece Pronouns and look around while you're there. Martha isn't afraid to write about anything--race issues, the underbelly of attachment parenting, and the realities of motherhood. She alternately makes me think, laugh, and shake my head as I read about her journey as a mom to a biracial daughter in Texas. Thanks for sharing it all, Martha! And thanks for sharing my piece.

Read my guest post, "Pronouns," here: http://www.momsoap.com/2012/05/guest-post-pronouns/

Graduation and Ball Games

Image via Flickr/paul.hadsall

Two of my kids are playing ball right now, so I have softball and baseball on my mind (3-4 games/week plus practices makes it hard to think about anything else, honestly!) I've also attended a few graduations besides my own, been to some graduation parties, and been reading about graduations in the paper. Put the two together--ball games and graduations--and here's what I've been thinking about. 

For some kids, playing ball seems to come naturally. They are born with a talent for the game and can connect with the ball just about every time they are at bat. It almost seems like they have an advantage! They know how to play the game, and know how to turn a single into a double, or a double into a triple by being fast and paying attention to the game. For those kids, it almost seems like they're starting out on third base! It's fun to watch their natural talent blossom. They represent the innate beauty of pure athleticism. But there are other kids who start swinging and missing from home plate. They have to use every ounce of strength to hit the ball far enough to make it safely to first base. They have to pay extra close attention to the game so that maybe they can steal second. Then they get stranded at second, and have to wait for the next inning so they can begin the process all over again. 

Imagine a game like this: the struggling kid finally gets on second base after two innings of trying. The runner ahead of them on third could potentially score the game winning run. A ball is hit along the third base line. The third base runner heads home and scores the final, winning run of the game. We celebrate that game winning run with fervor and excitement! The team rallies around the winning runner, the crowd hoots and claps and cheers. Meanwhile, the kid who has fought so hard to make a hit and get on base is left alone. Silently running the bases. Touching home just to say that they made it. In the stands, we often don't pay attention to those kids. They don't get our hoots and cheers and high fives, even though their arrival at home plate took much more effort, more work, and more struggle than the home run of the natural athlete. Their run was scored after the game's official ending, so it really doesn't count.

Image via Flickr /MomMaven

Seven of my own students walked across the stage to receive their diplomas last weekend (another one from a different high school walks today.) Those seven students were from a rural Iowa high school that had a graduating class of 60 students. Seven out of 60 were at risk of dropping out, but they made it! For several of them it was a huge accomplishment, a graduation that occurred against all odds! Some kids have overcome poverty, survived the death of a parent, divorce, health problems, and/or other seemingly insurmountable issues---but they made it! Seven out of 60 means that those alternative school graduates made up just over 11% of the senior class. During typical commencement ceremonies, only the top 10% (or less) is recognized.

On Friday, my wonderful former student-turned-current-co-worker held a surprise going away party for me.  I was shocked to look around the room and find out how many of the attendees were kids who didn't earn a diploma when they were working with me. They left my program at age 17 or 18, and went on to either get an adult high school diploma, a GED, or to pursue a job. In the statistics I put together for the state at the end of each year, they are dropouts ("failures") and not recognized in any positive way for their accomplishments--even though they had to persevere and show more stamina than many of their peers to get where they are now.

Yesterday I was reading a newspaper story about the ceremony held Friday night for the students graduating from the school I will be teaching at next year. There is a long list of Valedictorians, Salutatorians, and all of their academic achievements. So many kids earned scholarships and are going on to do impressive things at colleges and universities all over the world. 320 graduates, the highest average ACT score in school history, and many other achievements and honors were bestowed upon the class of 2012 at my future place of employment.

But here's the thing...while there are a few stories of Valedictorians and Salutatorians rising up after difficult childhoods, most successful kids started their k-12 educations with:

• At least one parent who graduated from high school and attended some college
• A mom who at least knew about the benefits of breast feeding and didn't feel pressure from social service agencies to sign up for free formula
• A roof over their heads--and most likely the same roof for a good portion of their childhood (in other words, low mobility and lots of routine)
• At least one parent who read to them every day as a toddler
• Access to quality preschool
• At least one parent who could help with homework after school
• Access to quality after-school programming
• Transportation to and from programming after school
• Regular meals, every day, every month, every year
• Clothing that not only fit well, but allowed them to fit in well

The most successful kids have all of that, and more, as they grow up. They are set up for success, and the only thing that limits them is their own free will, their own desire to succeed, their own passion for learning. The top 10% of each graduating class sets itself apart because they are driven! They make a commitment to go above and beyond what most of their classmates do, and I agree that they should be recognized for their accomplishments! But I also wish we could recognize the amazing achievements of some students who didn't start out with all that, and still somehow still make it to graduation.

In the game of life, some kids start out on third base and don't even know it. Others struggle to make it on base, work hard to advance, but sometimes don't make it to home plate until after the game is officially over. I am glad that we celebrate the game winning runs! But shouldn't we also celebrate the kid who keeps coming back, inning after inning, trying their best to make it home--even if their feet don't get to home plate until after the game is over?

There are kids who overcome obstacles like parents who are addicted, homelessness, abuse, the death of a parent, poverty and hunger. They try so hard. They overcome so much. For me, those kids accomplish something that is every bit as amazing as what the top 10% of the class does. I wish there was some way to recognize them, too. I wish commencement ceremonies could honor both the top ten percent, and a few of the kids who kept trying, no matter what life put in their way, and finally made it. 

The 11% who worked with me in the alternative program accomplished so much. And I'm sure that among the 320 who graduated from my future school, there are some stories of accomplishment just as great. 

Woo hoo! Congratulations! High Five! Even though you didn't make it to home plate in the usual way, or maybe even during the regular game, I applaud all of you graduates out there who finally did it! 

WAY TO GO!

Yes, This Baby is Mine

Happy Mother's Day! In honor of this day, I am featuring a guest post from one of the feistiest, funniest,  most thoughtful and thought-provoking mom bloggers I know: Martha, from Momsoap. Thank you so very much, Martha, for sharing your experiences of being a mom on this Mother's Day.

Photo courtesy of Momsoap.com

If you look at our features, my daughter looks exactly like me, not her dad. But most people don't notice it until they get to know us. Most people don't look past the color of our skin.

I'm white. My daughter is, as she puts it, "light brown." Her father is Nigerian, so he is very dark. I'm as waspy as they come, full-on European background and raised in west Texas.

But since becoming the parent to a biracial child, I've become accustomed to  the once hurtful, now simply, banal, question, "Is that your daughter?" Or, "Is she adopted?"

Yes, yes she is my daughter. And no. No, she is not adopted.

I carried her around for nine months. Spent 19 1/2 hours in painful labor, pushed her out and nursed her for a long, long time. She is fully mine.

I made her with him. And we are different colors. The conception doesn't seem to fully register with many people until they see us all together. Or get a glimpse of my daughter's dad, who is now my ex.

Over the past four years, I've been asked if my daughter is adopted; had strangers insinuate that I'm the nanny; poked fun at, until they realize I'm not joking, that she really is mine; and just been stared at in general.

All because my daughter and I have different skin colors.

If you look at us up close, I mean, stop, and look past our skin, we look very much alike. I've been told that my daughter is just a mini version of me, with brown skin and curly brownish/black hair. She is mine, through and through. It's difficult for me to see how people don't see it.

Yet, over and over again, we get questioned.

Once, we were at a funeral of a distant relative. My own flesh and blood looked me in the eye and said, "How long have you had her?"

As I bounced my baby in her Mei Tei, I thought it was a strange way of asking me how old she was, confused, I responded, "She's almost a year old." At that point, I had not yet learned to see how we looked to people outside my own frame of reference.

I had a baby. She was mine.

It never occurred to me that people would question my parentage. Until it started happening.

He went on to tell me that he and his wife as missionaries in third world countries had adopted some biracial children. Too.

Too. It was that word that sent my mind quickly to what he had assumed.

I laughed. "Oh, she's not adopted!"

Stammering for a moment he finally managed to spit out, "Uh, uh, OH! You mean your husband is African American?!"

Once he realized that I had indeed procreated with a man from another race, I thought it best not to bother correcting his assumption that we were also married (we were never married) and move into the realm of a hell-bound sinner who had sex outside of marriage. After all, I was at the funeral of Bible-thumping west Texas Christian. There was no point in asking for a prayer session to bless me away from the eternity of hellfire.

Not to mention, possibly confirming for him the stereotype that white women who sleep with black men are sluts. Yes, another small town Texas stereotype that I battled as a youngster when I began exploring men of different cultures, and had long forgotten after living for nine years in Detroit where mixed race couples were much more common, but still not without stereotypes.

Motherhood to a Biracial Child

Now that it's been a few years into motherhood of a biracial daughter, and I've worked out the basics -- like how to comb her unbelievably thick hair; how often to moisturize her skin; and managing to mostly ignore that mini punch to the gut when someone asks me if she's mine --  I realize that I am in a wonderfully amazing position here in between the racial discussions in our society.

Something I learned from a mentor years ago, and I'll share with you here today, is we do a great job with racial discussions here in the United States. We do the most important thing when it comes to relieving racial tension. We talk about it.

We may not always agree. But we talk. It's the most important thing. To not be afraid to talk about race and ethnicity. Because it's all around us.

And as a white woman, who grew up around lots of racism and negative stereotypes about people with brown skins, I know how and when to measure very subtle racism. I also know how to address to my own people, which is an important part of the talks.

And best of all, I have come to realize that there is an important place for the biracial family in the midst of racial conflicts.

We see both sides. We really do.

Since having my daughter I am truly and honestly able to look quickly past the exterior and see a whole person, no matter what color the skin, what kind of clothes they are wearing, and what side of town they live on.

Many people believe that we are already living in a post-racial society because we have a black president. Because we got rid of Jim Crow laws and because everyone has the right to vote.

But we are far from a post-racial society. There is still racism in our culture. And it's time we talk and try to see the other side. All of us. Because eventually, if you don't already, you will probably have someone in your family who has different color skin than yours. And they probably won't be adopted.

___

Photo Courtesy of Momsoap.com

Martha Wood lives in Austin, Texas where she is a single, self-employed, work at home mom. She runs a small social media business, and blogs as a freelancer. She also authors her own blog at http://www.momsoap.com where she writes about racism, attachment parenting, and just general motherhood.

End of the School Year & Behavior Issues

For schools that don't have a year-round schedule, this time of year gets a little rough. The weather is so nice that lots of kids think about their after school ball games more than they think about what's going on in their classrooms. Schools know this, and schedule field trips, picnics, field days, talent shows and all kinds of fun events for the last few weeks of the year. Older high school students think about prom, graduation and...the future (whatever it may bring.) That stuff is definitely fun for most kids, but for some it causes almost debilitating anxiety. The loss of routine, the fear of change---all of that can be really hard for some kids. And honestly, there are not very many kids in any grade who are mature enough to be able to walk up to an adult and say something like, "I'm having difficulty with this transition to the end of the year. I'm really overstimulated by the changes to our schedule and I don't know what to do."  Instead, kids start exhibiting a lot of behaviors. Personally, I think that all kids get antsy at this time of year; but the kids who are most thrown off are kids who have special needs of some kind, and kids who live in poverty.

Why do I mention these two kinds of kids? I've seen it in my own classroom and with my own children--the angst that the end of the year brings for some kids.  Here's what I mean:

Some kids only eat at school. Our economy is so tough right now that the numbers of kids receiving Free or Reduced lunch is growing monthly. In Iowa, check the district-by-district numbers of students receiving Free/Reduced lunch by clicking here. Only 3 districts in the state have less than 10% of students enrolled  receiving Free or Reduced lunch. 57 districts have more than half of their student population receiving Free/Reduced lunch. Where do these kids eat in the summertime?  For some students, the end of the year is a time of worry. They know that they may not get to eat regularly until school starts again. With that kind of worry weighing on you as a child, would you be able to behave well?

In my own classroom, I know that I have students whose only mealtimes happen at school. Some communities like mine have a summer lunch program, where sack lunches are handed out daily in a local park; but not all communities offer a summer lunch program. I worry about my students; and I forgive some of their behaviors at this time of year because I know that they are worried about where their next meals may come from.

Some kids have little or no adult supervision over the summer.  Most parents don't get summer vacation. Many families can't afford summer child care or camps. What happens to their kids? Many are left alone. Some parents are faced with deciding to go to work so that they can afford rent and food, or staying home from work to watch kids and receiving public assistance to pay for rent and food. Younger kids know that when summer comes, they are leaving a structured and supervised school environment to go to a very unstructured and unsupervised environment. For the first few days it might seem like fun to do whatever you want to, but after that kids may feel lost. They may feel abandoned. They could feel angry or sad and begin to get into trouble.

In my own neighborhood, there are kids who wander all summer. They bounce from house to house looking for something to do, usually knocking on a door just in time for lunch or dinner. Several boys who are in my son's grade frequent my house for access to snacks, air conditioning, and just some positive interaction. Summer is really hard on them. In May, they know it's coming. Whether they acknowledge it or not, in the backs of their minds they know what the summer holds. They may already be a little bit worried, and their behavior at school often is a reflection of that worry.

Some kids are scared of change. The end of the year means that kids are getting ready for big changes: a new grade next year, a new classroom, a new teacher. For some kids that is really, really scary. Some kids have more than just a new teacher looming because they have huge transitions happening: graduation. Whether it's graduation from elementary school, junior high/middle school, or high school, kids know that their lives are on the verge of changing dramatically. The unknown future looms in front of them. Not knowing what will happen next can be really scary for adults, too!  If we have a hard time handling those major life changes, how can we expect kids to handle them? Kids who are pre-graduation, at any age, can have a wide range of reactions: cockiness, sadness, anger and avoidance of school are all things I see in my own classroom and with my own son (who is about to graduate elementary school.)

Those kinds of changes can be even more difficult for kids who have some kind of special need. I think all kids thrive when they are in a stable environment with consistent routines and structure, but kids with special needs absolutely require that structure and routine for day-to-day survival. Variation from the routine can cause some kids to lose their ability to concentrate, focus, and function. All the field trips, field days and fun stuff are drastic changes to the routine. They can cause kids to become lost, worried, and anxious. They don't always have the ability to express those feelings, though, and their behaviors may be the way they express them .

Two of my own children have ADHD, and one also has issues with Anxiety. It has been a rough spring for us so far. Stomach aches from anxiety, anger outbursts towards other students and teachers, inattentiveness and forgetfulness--all of these are issues my own kids have had in the last week or so at school. My kids don't have to worry about being supervised or getting meals over the summer. Can you imagine how a kid who has special needs AND has to worry about food and supervision over the summer might be feeling? Can you imagine how a kid with those issues might act in class?

The point of all this is that sometimes teachers, parents, and community members get frustrated by kids' behavior at the end of the school year and during the summer months. A lot of times, the first reaction we all have is to punish kids with office referrals, detentions, suspensions or calling the police. But the reality is that punishment won't really help most kids.

Think about it: how old were you when you could verbally identify your feelings about something and share them in a reasonable, calm way with an adult? I would bet that many, many adults still can't do it. If we can't maturely talk about our feelings and fears, how can we expect kids to do it?  Kids exhibit behaviors because they are communicating something to us. Many times it is fear, worry, or anger at a situation that they are communicating. Instead of punishing them, why not teach them more effective means of communication?

I encourage teachers and parents who deal with kids having end-of-school year behavior issues to talk to your kiddos to see what might really be going on. There is a good chance that all of the changes happening at school are affecting them.  Teach them how to communicate those worries. Give them a picture card, survey, matrix or list of feelings and ask them to identify what they're feeling. Help them try to explain why they're feeling that way. Then see if there's something you can do to help them make it better.

I encourage you all to look for and spread the word about any summer lunch programs offered in your communities. I encourage you all to keep your eye out for kids who look lost this summer. Invite them into your yard or your home for a snack and some positive interaction if you can. Don't look away from kids who are alone. Say hello. Interact. Pay attention. That simple contact might be enough to help them feel better, or at least feel connected to someone while school is out for summer.

Special Education, Suspension, Criminalization of School, Dropout Rates, and Race

Image Credit/Flickr: soonerpa 

My brain has been abuzz with all kinds of things. Although I do not know the specific details of  my new job, I know a lot about the theoretical backing for programs like the one I'm going to work in. Here are the facts:

• African-American students nationwide are labeled as having emotional/behavior disorders and/or learning disabilities and placed in special education programs more often than white students--even though the schools doing that labeling have fewer black students than white students. This is called disproportionate minority representation in Special Education.  (See this book and this study for specifics, or just Google the phrase "disproportionate African Americans in special education" to get over a million results.)
• African-American students, specifically black males, are punished more often than white students--even in schools where there are fewer black students than white students.  This is called the disproportionate discipline of African-American students. The punishments often take the form of out-of-school suspensions or involve police. Out-of-school suspensions lead to students falling behind in schoolwork, increasing the achievement gap. Police involvement leads to the criminalization of school behavior, and more kids entering the juvenile justice system. (See this article with stats for the 20 biggest school districts in the nation, and this page with links to civil rights studies.)
• The system of zero-tolerance for behavioral issues that is in place in many schools often calls for police involvement in schools. This is the criminalization of school behavior. When we allow behavior in school to be criminalized, we send children into the juvenile justice system. Once a child is in the system, it is extremely difficult for them to get out. This is called the School-to-Prison Pipeline. Since disproportionate numbers of African-American students are facing disciplinary action in schools, it follows that disproportionate numbers of African-American students are entering this pipeline, moving directly from school to prison. (Read the ACLU's fact sheet here and find a book from the Civil Rights Project here.)
• High School Dropout Rates are terrible, especially among poor and minority students. Our nation's dropout rate in 2009 was 8.1%. The dropout rate for white students was 5.2%. For Black students it was 9.3% and for Hispanic students it was 17.6%--again, this is a disproportionate number of students of color. (See the National Center for Education Statistics fact sheet here.)

It all seems so dismal. Unsurmountable obstacles to face, especially when most school teachers and administrators nation-wide are white (Find information about the U.S. Department of Education's plan to increase teacher diversity here.) Without the experience of knowing what it is like to be on the receiving end of racially-motivated stereotypes and prejudices or having your own child face such injustices, it is hard for many white people to understand the enormity of these problems. Schools try to alleviate the problems by offering diversity training for teachers (this is now a huge industry in education, with workshops available every year--particularly around Martin Luther King Day.) But is offering diversity workshops to white teachers enough? 


I don't think so.

For me, the thing that irritates me most about education reform is the trickle down theory: if we focus on the administrators and teachers, things will get better for kids. Reformers all seem to start at the top, and then hope that changes eventually make their way to the kids. That trickle-down approach means that things take years to improve for kids. Districts have to search for the proper teacher training materials, schedule the workshops at least a year in advance to get school board approval, and then they have to assume that all teachers will buy-in to the training. Once the in-service or training occurs, teachers have to find value in the material presented in order to start the process of change. And if they find value, then they have to take things one step further and actually apply their learning to their classrooms. If we're honest about things, that doesn't happen very often. Teachers are stuck in the day-to-day, one minute at a time, running of their classrooms. It takes a lot of determination to step back from the minutiae of day-to-day classroom operations so that we can alter the way we do things. One student's behavior, or a group of students' resistance to something new, and the lack of time to properly plan things, makes it difficult to change.

Instead of focusing on teacher diversity training, I think we should be focusing on changing things immediately and drastically for students. Develop plans for students first, and then make sure teachers adjust. Grassroots education change is what will make things better for kids the fastest.

How do we do that?

Start with the kid.  When a behavior occurs, do not call the police. Talk to the kid. When a problem arises, do not instantly suspend a child---talk to him. Teach him. If behavioral expectations aren't being met, consider the fact that perhaps no one has ever specifically taught the kid to meet those expectations. We need to explicitly and directly teach kids how to interact; we can't just assume that they know better. We can't keep punishing kids for doing things they don't necessarily know are wrong. We are educators. We need to teach kids, not kick them out. We need to give students the skills to succeed in school, on the job, and in life by teaching them. That is the only way to stop the school-to-prison pipeline, to end the disproportionate suspensions/labels/dropouts and get kids connected to mainstream society. Research shows that if we can get kids connected to someone/something positive by age 25, their chances of being successful in life improve astronomically. Instead of planning new in-services to teach multicultural communication skills, let's plan a program to directly connect kids to a teacher or community member who can explicitly teach skills that will help them be successful.

And so...that's what's been on my brain lately.  I am finishing out this year in my little alternative education classroom and doing the things we've always done to finish the year, but I am also receiving contact from people in the job I've accepted for next year. I am excited to learn more about what that job entails because it really does seem like a vortex of swirling "rightness" is around me--this job is right for me... I feel it. I don't know what the day-to-day nitty gritty of the new job will bring, and I can't really know until I get there. Obviously, there will be many day-to day changes, including these:

• 10 minute commute instead of 40+ minute commute
• 100 teachers in the building instead of just 1 (me)
• 1,400 students instead of 20-30

The level of student diversity will also be much different. The high school I am moving to is not as diverse as the elementary school my own children attend (that is 56% non-white), but at 30% non-white it is still more diverse than where I currently work--which is all white.

As I've said, I don't know the nitty-gritty daily-grind details of what my new job entails. But it is directly related to all of the above and involves intervening, problem-solving, and directly teaching kids. I am looking forward to being a part of a program that focuses on students, hoping that what they're taught raises them up without having to wait for change to trickle down.

Bittersweet Life Changes

Image Credit: Flickr/wirehead2501

One of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my classroom happened this week. I had to tell my students that I'm leaving next year.  I'm not sure I can even write about it yet, to be honest.  But here's the whole story of how it happened:

Just over three years ago I went back to school in order to become certified in Special Education. There was a need in my own classroom--students with disabilities just weren't being served very well. It was no one's fault, just a fact of life. I couldn't expect a special education teacher to leave their school building, drive between 5-20 miles from their own classroom, and serve the kids in my program. But I wanted those kids to have more/better help. So I went back to school. Besides going back to school for the kids, it was also a move to cover myself: for many years our enrollment was so low that I worried there wouldn't be enough students to sustain the program. I got pink slips every year for 11 years. I worried about paying bills and feeding my family. Special Education jobs are available in schools all across the country, and I thought that if I had my degree in Special Education I'd be able to get a job quickly if our program ever closed.

I completed all of my degree except the student teaching requirement. Because I have been the only teacher on site in our alternative program, I was not allowed to student teach in my own classroom. I needed to gain experience in a certified special education classroom. To do that, I'd have to find a substitute for my own classroom, which is not an easy task! I work with kids who have lots of difficulties in life, and sometimes they aren't friendly to substitute teachers.  A special education teacher in the traditional high school in our district was interested in alternative education and he agreed to switch places with me for 8 weeks. He could learn about alternative education while I finished my degree. It was a win-win as far as I could tell! But then things changed, and he took a job in our district's middle school. The role-swapping was off. I felt like all of my hard work in school was going to be for nothing.

I called the State Department of Education and every education university around to see if there was some way to student teach in my own classroom, but all they said was that if I wanted to student teach in my own classroom I'd have to quit my job and find a new one that was designated as special education. Right about that time an ad appeared for the school district where my children attend. One of our area high schools was hiring special education teachers. I got together my application materials, weighed the pros and cons, and decided.........not to apply. I love my job. I love the kids. I love the freedom I have to develop curriculum and build a community of learners. We grow together, learn together, and get to be a close-knit family. I didn't submit my application. That was May 23, 2011. I figured that I'd finish school someday...something would happen if it was meant to happen.

Well, something did happen. My boss from the community college that sponsors our program informed me that I could apply for a professional development grant, get a leave of absence, and finish my degree. He said that the college was willing to search for and hire a substitute for my classroom. I was going to be able to finish school!

While we searched for a substitute and I negotiated a reduction in pay/partial leave of absence, I continued commuting to work each day--40 miles there, 40 miles back. On one particularly snowy day, I carefully drove 30mph, taking a full 2-hours to drive to work; but I still skidded into the ditch. It was very scary! Thank goodness I was okay (another teacher stopped and picked me up--I will never forget it. Thanks Vicki\y!) But it really changed my joyful commute into a white-knuckled event.

On top of that, my oldest baby brought home his junior high registration information (*sob* junior high? where did the time go?) He informed me that they schedule things so that he can play all of the sports he likes: football, basketball and track! But all of their games and meets are right after school. I realized immediately that commuting 40 miles to get there would mean that I probably wouldn't see any of his games. It broke my heart. Soon after, some news stories played on TV predicting that gas prices will skyrocket this summer. My husband asked, "Will we really be able to afford your commute when gas goes up to $5/gallon?" He encouraged me to apply for  jobs closer to home. So I started to look at what was available. There were openings at both local high schools. I looked at their online application system and discovered that all of the materials I'd uploaded in May of 2011 were still there; all I had to do was click the "submit" button.

In a whirlwind of uncertainty, I clicked it. And then I realized what I'd done. Crazy. Unthinking. Impulsive! I hadn't even changed the date on my cover letter; it was still dated May 23, 2011! My sister and brother-in-law are both in the human resources field, and have told me time and time again that they weed out applicants by looking for little things like the incorrect date on a cover letter. I assumed that they wouldn't give me a second glance; but I was totally wrong. A couple of weeks later, my classroom aide called me to say that she'd just received a reference call: was I keeping a secret from her? My heart dropped. I didn't think they'd call! I explained to her that I'd applied because of gas prices, junior high sports, etc. but wasn't sure I wanted to give up what I have. She is an amazing person; she is my former student, who graduated from our alternative program, and then came back to work with me as a colleague. She gave me a wonderful reference and then worried about it being too good, if you know what I mean. After she got her call, I knew I had to warn my other references. I was shocked; the incorrect date didn't matter.

Sometimes, it just seems like things are meant to be. That everything happens for a reason.

For the next week or so, I felt like I was being stalked. All of my references got called, but I myself didn't get a call. I wondered if I would hear anything from the school that already knew a lot about me from the people I worked with. Finally, though, I did get a call: from a different school than the one that had been calling my references! They requested an interview and I scheduled it, because this school is literally five minutes from my house. Soon after, the school that had talked to my references also called for an interview. The same day I took my comprehensive exams, I had the first interview. Three days later, I had another one. I have to tell you, I hate job interviews. I get so anxious and nervous that I forget who I really am, and what I know. I had to do a lot of positive self-talk and relaxation exercises to prepare for these interviews. I told myself that I just needed to BE ME...and if it was meant to be, it would be. If they didn't like me after I'd been open, honest, and 100% myself, then it wasn't a good fit and I'd just stay in my alternative program. You know what? I did it! I was 100% myself in both interviews and was so proud of myself for not being a big bundle of nerves the whole time. The second interview really went well. I loved the interview team and the way they interacted with each other. Their questions for me were so thoughtful. After years of working with only one other person, it was interesting to think about being a part of a well-functioning team.

When the first post-interview call came, it was a test to see if I could really believe what I'd told myself. The first school said that although I'd done really, really well they were hiring someone else. To be honest, I was sooooo relieved. But at the same time, I felt the sting of rejection. I kept reminding myself that I did what I'd set out to do, and if they didn't want to hire me then it wasn't meant to be. Meanwhile, I kept waiting to hear from the other school--the one I'd really enjoyed interviewing at. I waited....and waited. Finally, I got a call--but it didn't really appease me in the least because it was really cryptic. They hadn't filled the position yet, but they didn't want to offer me the position yet either. There might be something they wanted to offer, but they weren't sure yet. They couldn't tell me anything else until later in the week. "Hang on," is what she said. So I was hanging.

Every day, my current principal would ask me if I'd heard anything. Every day I'd say, "Not yet..." Pins and needles, nerve-wracking, crazy unknowing, uncertainty-----> STRESS. It was a stressful 2 weeks before I heard anything. All that time I was going through an inner turmoil, weighing pros and cons. What if I stay? What if I go? If there is a job offer, what's it going to be for, anyway? I love what I do...will I love it there, too? So many questions.

Finally, right after I finished presenting at the IAAE State Conference, I received a job offer. All of my internal lists of pros and cons flashed by as the voice on the line said, "Do you need time to think about it?" and I realized that I'd thought about it enough: no more pink slips, no more white-knuckled winter driving, no more worries about the price of gas, and no more heartbreaking absences from my kids' after school events. All that soul-searching led to one possible answer: I accepted the job.

I am very, very sad to say goodbye to my current students. I still believe in each and every one of them and I want to see each of them walk across the stage at their graduation ceremonies. I will be available to them on Facebook, by cell phone, email, and will keep in touch just the same way I've kept in touch with almost all of my former students. I told them all of this on Monday in class, and I swear to you it was the hardest thing I've ever done as a teacher. I feel like I'm letting them down, but at the same time I know that I am doing what is right for my family.

I will continue to work with the same kinds of kids in my new position. I hope that they are as wonderful as the hundreds of kids I've taught over the past 14 years at New Directions. For sure, my new students will have a tough act to follow.

Some of the best #AltEd kids ever, at the state capitol in Des Moines

This Week's Challenge: #AltEd Conference Presentation

A news blog I write/edit for the IAAE as part of my duties as a board member.
Other duties include presenting at the annual conference.  

I finished comprehensive exams and moved on to the next professional challenge: preparing to present at the Iowa Association of Alternative Education's next state conference.  This will be the third year I've presented, and each time I do it gets a little easier to stand up in front of my peers; but it gets a little more intense to prepare.

I fully intended to write my usual post for today...but ran out of time because I've been working on two Google Presentations to use this week. I will be presenting two separate break-out sessions: one about Social Media in Education, and one about Blogging.  If you have time to look through my presentations and offer feedback, it would be much appreciated! My conference presentation skills are a work in progress...I can use all the help I can get.

To see my presentations, visit the Google Site I created for the conference  and click on either of the Subpages, "Beginner's Guide to Social Media for Educators"  or "Blogging 101."

Why these topics? Many of my colleagues in Alternative Education are very creative thinkers when it comes to differentiating instruction and finding new ways to motivate kids. They are passionate and caring people who spend a lot of time helping kids. As a result, many of them don't have much time to learn about new technology.  I'm hoping that my presentations will make it easier for them to sign up for Facebook, Twitter, and other social media sites so that they can connect with each other and find new ways to reach out to their students.

I'll let you know how it goes next week....

Tweenage Choices/Consequences, Casting Stones & Trayvon

My son is officially a hormonal tweenager. He is a year away from having the official -teen at the end of his age, but he's definitely there, and I know it because of last week.

On Saturday at bedtime when I told him it was time to put on his head gear, he hated me. I could see it in his eyes. He gave me that look. When I ignored it, and kept insisting on the head gear, he cried.

On Sunday when his dad was cleaning up he found old pizza crusts under the love seat. He informed our son that he could no longer eat in our downstairs family room (aka "the man cave.") In that moment, he hated his dad. We could see it in his eyes. And he cried so hard that he threw up.

On Monday after school, he happily played basketball with his friends, mocked his little sisters and had a great day...until I asked him to stop mocking his little sisters. Then he hated me. I could see it in his eyes. But he didn't stop the teasing, so I had to pull the "wait 'til your dad gets home" card. When his dad got home, then he hated him, too. Of course, he cried (and lost his video-gaming privileges for the next day.)

On Tuesday, he came home from school and laid on the couch because he wasn't allowed to play any games. He sulked. Thinking he was sick, I asked him if he was okay. "No," was all he said. After some prodding, he finally let loose one detail, "Papi looks at me like he hates me."  (Hard not to smile at the irony here... really...)

I comforted and consoled him, but also explained that when I ask him to stop making fun of his sisters I expect him to stop. When he doesn't clean up after himself, he will lose some privileges.  I also explained that neither of us hate him; we're just trying to get him ready to be a responsible adult. He's probably going to alternate between hating me and hating his dad for the next 5 years or so; but that's just part of being a teenager. He looked at me and said, "I don't hate you. I just hate wearing head gear. I love you."

Awww....that melted my heart. (But not enough to give him back his gaming privileges.)

Kids, especially tweens and teens, make some really poor decisions. Their brains aren't fully developed, they make impulsive choices, and have that extra added element of peer pressure working against them. My son is just embarking on this journey of hard choices and harder consequences known as the teenage years. I hope we all make it through okay...but I worry. I've seen my students make a lot of bad choices. Some choices are much worse than others and can lead to life or death situations. Others aren't so serious. I told my son, "All kids make stupid decisions at some point; I just hope the ones you make don't hurt you or anyone else too badly. Try to stop and think before you do anything. Think about the possible consequences."

Here's a laundry list of common poor choices made by teens: stealing booze from a parent's liquor cabinet, driving without a license, driving while drunk, sneaking out at night for a date with a boy/girl, cheating on a test, procrastinating a homework assignment, shoplifting, drawing/writing on a wall, calling a parent a name, staying out past curfew, saying you'll be with one friend when you're really with another, smoking cigarettes, taking money from mom/dad's wallet without permission, paying for one movie at the theater but watching three, illegally downloading music/movies from the 'net, talking back to a parent/teacher, making fun of a peer/bullying just to look cool in front of "friends",  speeding or driving erratically...

That list could go on and on and on...there is really no limit to the number of bad choices teens can make. Is there any adult who didn't make at least one of those bad choices when they were a teen? Really?

I've been sickened to read stories about people trying to prove Trayvon Martin was a thug by hacking into his email account and looking at his school records; they are looking for evidence that he "deserved it."  Here's the deal: just like I told my son--EVERYONE makes bad decisions as a teenager. I did. I'm betting you did. I know my kids will. It's a fact of life. Imagine if your bad teen decision came back to haunt you as a reason you deserved to die.

Imagine it.

Perhaps you lied to your parents once about your whereabouts in high school--that makes you a thug who had it coming. Or you caved in to peer pressure and hid someone else's evidence because they were worried about getting caught. Now you're a no-goodnik who deserved to be shot.

I admit it; I can't let the Trayvon Martin story go. It rained a couple of times this week and I watched my son go out the door in a hoodie. It just came to me again...a boy who is not much older than him is now dead. Trayvon may have made some bad choices in his teen years. We all do. But that night in Sanford, FL he didn't deserve to die.

I am still worried about my son. He is going to, like every teen, make some bad choices. I have no trouble at all making him face the consequences of those choices. But he didn't choose to be born with brown skin. He shouldn't have to face consequences for that.