On race and racelessness

I just finished reading an article in which the only person assigned a race was the African-American flight attendant whose name was the only one not remembered, "it was something like Gazelle."

I'm immediately drawn back to graduate school and a Toni Morrison article and her challenging novel Paradise, where one of the opening lines is "They shot the white girl first." It's compelling to try to track the characters and determine which girl was white, but simultaneously almost impossible to track the characters to determine which girl was white. At the end, one question stood: does her race matter?

Why is race so important in character development? What does establishing a character's race tell us that helps us to better understand the character and/or author's purpose and/or theme?

Why was the personal essayist who was writing about meeting strangers in airports to gather and share people's stories so compelled to identify the African-American flight attendant's race in the story? Why couldn't she just be the female flight attendant, like Chad was the male attendant? Why was her name forgotten, yet Chad's remembered? Why and how did her name become similar to "gazelle?" Did her height and skin color and the modifier "stunning" make her exotic? Was her name so ethnic that it could be anything? Was her race identified to add imagery, color to the text? Why did her race matter?

On eating an elephant

I heard my father's voice last week when I went to shovel the 2-plus feet of snow in front of my car, with a heavy heart. He asked, "do you know how to eat an elephant?"
I forced a chuckle, "what?"
He repeated himself and I more appropriately responded, "no, how?"
"One bite at a time," he explained.
Eight or nine years ago, as I whined about being overwhelmed during my early graduate school days, he told me to take it one step at a time, that I couldn't take on the entire beast at one time. He helped me to calm down and not get so overanxious that I become unproductive, rather to move slowly, steadily through the process.

In the cold, as I looked at the snow mound, looked at the future and thought this is impossible, this will take forever, how can I do this, my father whispered, one bite, one shovel-full at a time. And I very slowly and steadily shoveled.

Then my 55+ year old snow angel came out with her shovel and said, "I thought she can't do this by herself," and she helped me two shovel-fulls at a time. We talked and laughed and shoveled. Her steadiness and willingness showed me that my strength is present, maybe a little buried under some flakes, but alive.

Then another snow angel appeared and helped me break through the ice around my car "to help [me] get the babies in the car safely." These women with lives of their own became my brother and my mother, my family, my strength, my help. They showed me my inner strength and helped remind me that I need people in order to be strong.

My daddy's whispers of one bite at a time, my family's ear, shoulder, support, my friends' shovels help me to eat every elephant placed in front of me.

On the weight

The thoughts, the feelings, the sadness form an anvil sitting comfortably on my chest, squarely on my heart. I try impossibly to catch my breath, to take in air. I fail miserably. I fall violently.

I hold my heart tightly, fearing it will crack wide open and become un-mendable.

I creep to a pillow, a friend's ear, my word catcher and only through exhaling the pain does the 2-ton weight lift slightly enough to let someone, something else keep me from being crushed.

On teaching what they want...

I sat down to make plans for finishing To Kill a Mockingbird with my freshmen and stared searching for Nollywood films to finish out my seniors' work on Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart. Yes, Nollywood. The Cinema of Nigeria. I found a few clips on you tube and realized my students would not appreciate the work. As I nixed the idea, I found myself thinking of what they would want to read and view, what would pique their interest.

I no longer thought of what they needed, as in something they had to put effort into (i.e. Things Fall Apart), but rather something they would enjoy and that I could still teach some of the basics of literature (symbolism, theme, characterization, author's purpose). Some of the best literature that I read in high school, college and grad school was that in which I could connect. I wanted to find something my students could relate with but still expand their literary circle as well; yet I wasn't willing to teach Urban Lit. and I still wanted to stay somewhat inside of the antiquated curriculum.

As we finished Things Fall Apart and I learned I was public enemy number one around the school, I asked the students how they felt about finishing the text. Many felt relieved that it was over. Some felt they learned about a different culture. Some felt they had accomplished something, either because they had never read anything like this before or because they had never read an entire novel before. Even though several students stopped reading altogether, and some whined through the entire process, at the very minimum together we had actually accomplished something.

Now, I was eager to continue talking about Nigeria and other African countries as they exist in present day. With the help of a friend, I was reminded of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I found a website, (and then her official site) and began searching for articles and stories that could transport my students out of turn-of-century colonialism and into the effects of colonialism and Westernization on this country.

We're going to finish the quarter with "Nigeria's immorality is about hypocrisy, not miniskirts," and a discussion on gender roles in Achebe's late 19th Century Nigeria and present-day Nigeria as well as in the U.S. Then we will read, "My Mother, the Crazy African" to continue our discussion about gender, but also to open up a conversation about immigration. We're also going to read "Cell One" from the new short story collection The Thing Around Your Neck (Thanks, Heather). I'm curious to see what my majority black students will have to say, and hopefully how their stereotypes and ideas will be transformed.
I'm excited about bringing Adichie into my classroom. I hope the students will be excited and feel like they are reading something they "want" to read.

On Elijah's 6th birthday

12-22-09

Dear Elijah,

It has been wonderful to witness your growth, curiosity and love this past year. I can’t believe you are six years old already. I remember when you were a baby, so happy and carefree.

Now, you’ve become a thoughtful, considerate, intelligent little person. You’ve gone from being frustrated by reading to loving it so much that you can’t get enough of words. You read anything you see. It’s fun to watch you ask questions and think about what is before you. It’s fun to watch you want more books or to take over reading when I’m reading to you. It’s a pure delight that you like all types of books. And it’s been one thing that I rarely say no to: if you want a new book, I’m so thrilled that you want it, that I have to buy it for you. I hope this love of books and stories just continues to grow and fill you up.

You’ve been very curious about the goings on in the world. Just last week, you came to me and said, “mama, how can the United States defeat Afghanistan, when the United States is so far away from Afghanistan? Look at my globe, see here is Afghanistan and here is the U.S. all the way over here. How can that be, mama?” You’re a thinking child. I know you will be an excellent critical thinker as you grow older. I’m curious to see what you will use your thinking skills and memory for. I just hope that we can continue to help nourish your strengths and excitement.

You’ve asked to watch the news on several occasions to see what Obama has to say. And when I was taking a picture of a sign advertising a fight party by way of a smiling Barack Obama picture, you asked “why are you taking a picture of that. “ I replied, “I don’t know why his picture is on this fight sign; what do you think about this?” You quickly responded, “maybe because he’s fighting for health care.” Just like most of your smart retorts, I shared this one too. Everyone loves hearing my Elijah stories and they too marvel at your intelligence.

The last amazing thing I’ve witnessed this year is your love for your baby brother. You insisted from the moment we told you we were going to have a baby that the baby was a girl. However, when you walked into the hospital room on February 13th, you eagerly asked, “what is it?” I said it’s a boy and you sulked, averted your eyes and walked away so disappointed. I was disappointed for you. Your daddy was able to give you a pep talk about the joys of having a brother and how you’d be like your cousin Stephen and very quickly you were over it. As soon as you held your brother your eyes lit up and you had this amazing smile on your face. We were all snapping away trying to preserve that moment through a perfect shot.

Ten months later, your face still lights up and now Ezra knows his big brother and his face lights up too, at the sound of your voice, when he hears running and especially when he sees you smile. This has been the greatest joy: seeing you two together. Once when your father and I were just glowing over Ezra’s smile, you chimed right in, “seeing him smile/laugh, makes me smile.” My heart was so full in that moment. Another moment was this summer when Ezra was in his bouncy chair and I was getting ready, you came running to me, “Mommy, when I say on Ezra, he just smiled.” I was able to find a laugh and tell you that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to sit on your brother. You have loved to hug him, kiss him, pick him up and make him laugh. I know as you both grow, your relationship won’t always be this easy. But I hope you two become the best friends and always remain loving to each other. I hope you continue to forgive and forget as easily as you do now. I’m excited to see how you continue to show love to Ezra and how your relationship will evolve.

Finally, I’ve loved when you want me to pray with you before bed. I’ll pray about something that is going on, safe travels for family or helping Elijah to be obedient, to sleep well, to be happy or sheer gratefulness at what we have. I pray in my heart, and sometimes aloud with you, that you will always be happy and loving. I pray that you will be a good man who loves, worships, and serves God. I simply want the best for you now and always. I love you when you eat your peas and when you don’t. You are my sweet, wonderful, smart, amazing child.

On your sixth birthday.

Love,

Mommy

On the Obama image

When I was in grad school, I had grandiose ideas of writing a dissertation on images in African-American literature. I was curious about actual images present alongside text and described images, i.e. a photograph described within the written text. And although there was definitely a space for such an idea, I simply had an idea with no way to come with an intelligent argument, let alone time, energy or stamina to attempt such a Herculean, impossible feat.

So when I (barely, though barely is still passing) passed my comprehensive exams, I took several months and thought about the decision I had made the moment I walked out of those horrendous exams hysterical: I was finished with this program. I didn't have it in me to continue; I quit pursuing a PhD as all of my friends stayed on.

Yet, I never quit my love of art and literature. And I'm still very curious about images. I use images with teaching as much as I can. I have the students search for images to symbolize themes and ideas within the text. As I become a better teacher, I will have them analyze their choices and write more about the images they choose. Right now, I'm not there yet, partly due to laziness/lack of energy and because my gorge rises at their writing. (It's probably time for me to move onto something else soon. again.)

Anyways, this is supposed to be about my attraction to images.

Several weeks ago, as I was driving, I saw this sign for a fight party with what looked like Barack Obama's picture in the middle. I couldn't understand what I thought I was seeing, so I convinced myself I wasn't seeing it. Until, a few days later, I scrutinized the sign more closely and vowed to bring my camera the next time I took this route, because no one would believe me. As I snapped away from my car, Elijah, my oldest son asked, "why are you taking a picture of that sign?"

I said, "that's a picture of Barack Obama on a sign for a fight."
He telepathically heard what I was thinking and spoke what I had kept silent, "What does Barack Obama have to do with the fight?"
I answered, "I don't know, that's why I'm taking the picture."

Has Obama's greatness and presence in our global scene taken on a new meaning in which we need to keep Obama in our day-to-day living, hold onto him tightly so he won't float away? Are we using his image to garner support for our trivialities? There is an image of brown-skinned woman with hair poofed a little in front like Michelle's and the ad says, "Obama wants moms to go back to school." At a quick glance, the woman looks like Michelle and the advertisers are using the name, the image to sell their product. As I searched for the image I found this one in which Obama's on face is used to sell this online education program.

The reason why I quit the PhD program is I can't come up with a good enough argument to sustain a long piece of writing on this subject. However, I'm intrigued by the use of the Obamas' images in American culture today. I visited a home where the children and grandchildren's pictures were framed and sitting along the mantel and the last picture in the sequence was a framed print of the Obama family. I recognize this as an outward expression of a beaming inner pride. It's a "they are ours," statement. Yet, they are human and I fear what will happen when we put Obama (and family) on this untouchable pedestal. What then does he become? In what ways will our expectations be unrealistic and how will disappointment creep in?

We've co-opted this man's face and used it to advertise small scale fight parties, education programs and to include in our own social and familial circles. And although, I'm proud and sometimes I look at him, at her and can't believe they are in that position or think wow she looks like me, of course she is beautiful and I am.. not ugly. Sometimes, I feel possessive too about this family, "they are mine," as you can see below; I'm thrilled that Michelle is pleased to be in my presence. I specifically chose to pose with her and not Obama, because she is more mine than he. But obviously, I'm not doing anything with this image other than having fun. However, I fear the use of the faces and name for promotion, for familial ties is taking a step down a dangerous path, in my opinion.

On church

Written in church service on 11-15-09

This morning my son ran into my room at 6:30 and said, "church." I had to tell him to go back to bed, it was too early and we had plenty of time to make it to church.
His eagerness came from the last few (many) Sundays I used the excuse of "mommy woke up too late." And other Sundays, the lame "I'm tired." And on Saturdays, the worst of all, "we'll see.." I'm not sure how he was able to set his internal clock to ensure that this Sunday mommy woke up on time. He was relentless and I wanted to go for him.
I've had a hard time with church for many years, boredom or severe feeling of lack, or not knowing where God was in my life, fatigue, wanting to stay at home with my family (my husband doesn't attend), congregation too conservative, not spirited enough, overly dramatic, Sunday a.m. club, no meat, just potatoes, "too real".....
It's quite silly, because I sound like my students excuse after excuse, needing to be entertained in order to receive education. We teachers complain we aren't "ring-masters" and don't want to put on a three-ringed circus. We want students to be serious, to value education, receive it and actively participate.
Church shouldn't be a three-ringed circus (and though I've been to some that are close to that exciting atmosphere--it's not what I'm looking for). A serious Christian doesn't need rockets blasting to have an encounter with Christ.
What is wrong with me that the rituals are annoying, the organ feels heavy, the hymns bland, the sermon paprika or garnish, not even veggies or comforting starches. I want meat, tender and juicy, a full plate and to feel chills when the liturgical dancers praise him and empowered to slay whatever comes my way. I want more.
I've searched and can't find...
There is one place that I thoroughly enjoyed, felt filled, worshiped and praised Him fully, but it's too far away. I've moved twice and both times further away from this place that I've felt like was right for me to worship, praise and receive a good word. Look, I've added another excuse to my roll.
I'm not sure what I'm going to do about this church thing..keep trying...finding other ways to have the encounters I need... I'm just not sure...