Last week, Starbucks decided it was a good idea to encourage customers and baristas to engage in conversations about race. I am not convinced that is a venue I would be comfortable talking about a topic that has been so charged with passion and drama for centuries, and especially within the past few years here in America.
That being said, why not blog about it?? Each one of us has our own unique, personal account of how we grew up with other races, what our perceptions, beliefs and experiences are, etc. Here's mine.
When I was 3 or 4, growing up in Pasadena, CA, I asked my mom one day "why is Fred always dirty?" I was referring to our cleaning person, who was a middle-aged African-American man. I don't even remember what my mom said. I do know that he was a really kind, soft-spoken man who our family liked, trusted and employed for several years. I will simply blame that question on my youth . . . .
When I was in 6th grade, I was bused to a school on the north part of the city. This would have been during the early 70s, when integration was a pretty huge issue in Pasadena, as well as other parts of the nation. Many parents were pulling their children out of public schools right and left, in a movement called "white flight", and enrolling them in private schools. My parents did nothing of the sort, and I was glad they didn't. I enjoyed my 6th grade year at Washington. My teacher, a young Jewish man named Mr. Fine, read "The Hobbit" to us at the end of every day. I do remember being afraid one day that Cynthia, a large black girl, was going to kick my ass the next day. Somehow, I was able to negotiate a peace agreement, and that fight never materialized.
Middle school (McKinley) and high school (Blair) were fairly "uneventful". Most of my classmates were white, and the ones that weren't were, to me, just another classmate. I was to be the number one tennis player my junior year, but Lloyd Bourne transferred from a private school and bumped me to #2. This was around 1975, during the time Arthur Ashe was a professional player. Lloyd was nationally ranked, and one of the few ranked players of color during that time. We became fast friends, and when he was bored or couldn't find anyone good to practice with, he would hit with me. He came over to my house a few times, and I visited his apartment, as well. He went on to Stanford, played on the pro tour a few years, then started having back problems.
I do remember, while I was in high school, writing a letter to the editor of the Los Angeles Times in favor of forced school busing, for the purpose of racial integration. Highly controversial topic, and 40 years later, not exactly sure where I stand, or if this is even still an issue in certain parts of America (forced busing to achieve integration). I was thankful that I was able to experience people of another race in a school setting, as my neighborhood was pretty "non-mixed".
In college, at the University of Redlands, the one African-American student who stands out the most in my memory is the brother of Natalie Cole, the son of Nat King Cole, Kelly Cole. He later died of complications with HIV-AIDS.
Fast forward to today. I have spent the past two decades working for the San Bernardino City Unified School District. Our district is roughly 65% Latino, 10% caucasian, 15% African-American, and 10% "other". These statistics are fast becoming obsolete due, if for no other reason, to the steady rise of "mixed" race individuals. I remember teaching spades to African-American students during my 6th period conference while listening to Tupac Shakur. "What up my nigga?" would actually be a greeting I would receive every once in awhile. To me, it was a sign that I was respected, that I was "welcomed" into their world. And no, I would not return the same greeting . . .although I do remember saying something like "Oh, so now I'm your nigga?!?"
I tell people "I am mixed". When they ask with what, I tell them: 1/2 Italian, 1/2 Spanish. "That's not mixed!" they argue. Really? So the only way one can be mixed is if you're half black/half Spanish? Who came up with that rule?!? The stories I could tell over two decades of being a high school teacher, counselor and coach in a city so racially diverse would take us into the next decade. Perhaps during retirement, that book I have been threatening to write may actually become a reality . . . .
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Sunday, November 13, 2011
I Hit A Pedestrian
Back in my mid-late 20s, I hit a pedestrian. I was driving along Redlands Blvd. going west past the Redlands Mall, and a man started crossing the street. If he had kept going, he would have been fine. But he stopped, turned and looked straight at my car, and started walking back toward the sidewalk. I did not have time to react, and we met "head to windshield" at the curb. I thought I had just killed someone. He was pretty messed up--spent 3 months in the hospital. My insurance company "invited" me to a mediation hearing where I was found "zero" percent at fault, and the pedestrian was found "100" percent at fault. Prior to this incident, I had been eating frozen yogurt with my friend; the man I hit had been drinking beers all afternoon behind the carwash with his buddies after a long, hot day of work. His blood alcohol level was sky-high. Even with that verdict, I still felt terrible. I (my car) jacked the guy up pretty badly. My instinct in the days following the accident was to visit the guy in the hospital--at least send him a card. "Do not--under any circumstances--attempt to communicate in any way with the man you just hit" was the message from the insurance company, as my effort might be construed as an admission of guilt. So I didn't.
While coaching the women's tennis team for Cal State San Bernardino, I was called into the Athletic Director's office for comments I had made to one of my players. "Do you need some help with those?" Seven words--that's all it took. A player was attempting to take off her warm-ups after warming up in preparation for our match against UC San Diego. The head coach had taken the weekend off (she was pregnant) so it was Coach Smeby and a van full of female college players. If you have ever tried to take off your pants/warm-ups with your shoes on, sometimes you are hopping around, almost tipping over, in an attempt to balance yourself and remove the unwanted clothing. My question was in jest--the player was obviously having a difficult time with her warm-ups--it was comical to me. I was sitting on a bench one court away at the time. "Do you need some help with those?" We lost the match and headed home. The following week after practice, I was walking back to the office with the head coach and she said "Ok, I know you're not going to want to hear this--you'll probably just want to quit". "Ok, try me." She went on to say that my comment about asking if the player needed help taking off her warm-ups was taken in the wrong way. I was asked to write a statement about what happened. I was "invited" to attend a meeting with the Athletic Director for the college and the head coach. I was told to have no further contact with that player unless it related directly to the coaching of tennis ("follow through", "nice shot", etc.). I didn't quit. I wasn't fired. And, thankfully, a year or so after that, I had an opportunity to personally apologize to the player when I saw her at a tennis tournament.
Not the two proudest moments of my life, the ones I chronicled above. And, truth be told, yes--there are others! I am thankful for two things: one, that I am not "famous", and the press has not yet dispatched news vans to my home or place of employment, awaiting my every misstep and plastering the results all over the front page; and two, that I have friends and family that know me for more than my most famous mistakes, and love me in spite of them. When I am laid to rest, my hope would be that I would be remembered for more than just the negative things. It is human nature to think about, talk about, dwell on the negative things in life--whether it is about ourselves or other people.
This past week has been a difficult week for Penn State head football coach Joe Paterno (it is a given that the child abuse victims have had a much more difficult time--perhaps I will write a post about them one day; in the meantime, I will stay focused on Coach Paterno). Here is an 84-year-old man who, about a decade ago, made a fateful decision to not notify police, but instead the Penn State Athletic Director after being given information (it is till unclear as to exactly what information he was given) about an alleged child abuse incident. A major lapse in judgement? Yes, I believe the only thing to do is remove him from his coaching position. Done. At the same time, are we to completely discount the entire body of this man's life? That he has been one of the greatest college football coaches ever is a given. Far beyond "win-loss" records, however, people (current and former players, coaching staff, etc) are coming out of the woodwork saying things like "this man, over the decades, has been like a father figure to me--his influence has gone far beyond the football field in my life". I experienced much the same thing spending four years with Coach Verdieck on the University of Redlands tennis courts. Was he a perfect man who made all the right decisions? Of course not.
Final thought: if we, as onlookers to this tragic saga, end up characterizing Joe Paterno's life using a lens that sees and remembers nothing more than his failure in properly handling this one incident, a tragedy of another type will have occurred.
While coaching the women's tennis team for Cal State San Bernardino, I was called into the Athletic Director's office for comments I had made to one of my players. "Do you need some help with those?" Seven words--that's all it took. A player was attempting to take off her warm-ups after warming up in preparation for our match against UC San Diego. The head coach had taken the weekend off (she was pregnant) so it was Coach Smeby and a van full of female college players. If you have ever tried to take off your pants/warm-ups with your shoes on, sometimes you are hopping around, almost tipping over, in an attempt to balance yourself and remove the unwanted clothing. My question was in jest--the player was obviously having a difficult time with her warm-ups--it was comical to me. I was sitting on a bench one court away at the time. "Do you need some help with those?" We lost the match and headed home. The following week after practice, I was walking back to the office with the head coach and she said "Ok, I know you're not going to want to hear this--you'll probably just want to quit". "Ok, try me." She went on to say that my comment about asking if the player needed help taking off her warm-ups was taken in the wrong way. I was asked to write a statement about what happened. I was "invited" to attend a meeting with the Athletic Director for the college and the head coach. I was told to have no further contact with that player unless it related directly to the coaching of tennis ("follow through", "nice shot", etc.). I didn't quit. I wasn't fired. And, thankfully, a year or so after that, I had an opportunity to personally apologize to the player when I saw her at a tennis tournament.
Not the two proudest moments of my life, the ones I chronicled above. And, truth be told, yes--there are others! I am thankful for two things: one, that I am not "famous", and the press has not yet dispatched news vans to my home or place of employment, awaiting my every misstep and plastering the results all over the front page; and two, that I have friends and family that know me for more than my most famous mistakes, and love me in spite of them. When I am laid to rest, my hope would be that I would be remembered for more than just the negative things. It is human nature to think about, talk about, dwell on the negative things in life--whether it is about ourselves or other people.
This past week has been a difficult week for Penn State head football coach Joe Paterno (it is a given that the child abuse victims have had a much more difficult time--perhaps I will write a post about them one day; in the meantime, I will stay focused on Coach Paterno). Here is an 84-year-old man who, about a decade ago, made a fateful decision to not notify police, but instead the Penn State Athletic Director after being given information (it is till unclear as to exactly what information he was given) about an alleged child abuse incident. A major lapse in judgement? Yes, I believe the only thing to do is remove him from his coaching position. Done. At the same time, are we to completely discount the entire body of this man's life? That he has been one of the greatest college football coaches ever is a given. Far beyond "win-loss" records, however, people (current and former players, coaching staff, etc) are coming out of the woodwork saying things like "this man, over the decades, has been like a father figure to me--his influence has gone far beyond the football field in my life". I experienced much the same thing spending four years with Coach Verdieck on the University of Redlands tennis courts. Was he a perfect man who made all the right decisions? Of course not.
Final thought: if we, as onlookers to this tragic saga, end up characterizing Joe Paterno's life using a lens that sees and remembers nothing more than his failure in properly handling this one incident, a tragedy of another type will have occurred.
Friday, April 15, 2011
My Birthday
Yesterday I celebrated another birthday. It was the perfect day!
I arrived at school and waiting for me with a colorful bouquet of balloons and a cupcake were Arvonique and Arvon. At my school, we really don't do a lot of staff "celebrations" like we used to, so until 2:11, things were pretty much as usual at Golden Valley.
After school Arvon and I picked up Dre from the house and began our mission: get them a haircut. Arvon was first: pretty sure when he walked into Great Clips on University, the ladies on the other side of the counter were contemplating taking their break a little early. One brave soul stepped up and actually took the job. (not sure how many years it had been since his last cut)
After a brief stop at Farmer Boys (if you haven't tried the Oreo shake, I highly recommend it), we dropped Arvon off at the house, where Tolano asks if he can get in the action. Next stop--a hole-in-the-wall barber shop on Sierra Way. 6 barber chairs, one "stylist"--we waited for about 20 minutes watching "cage fighting" on the big screen, before walking out.
One of Tolano's friends who was along for the ride, Treshawn, suggested a place over by Bakers near Shandin Hills. Now THIS was a place right out of the movie ("Barbershop"). Didn't mind the wait, because the conversation was beyond entertaining. After about 30 minutes, Dre was in the chair. During Tolano's turn, two guys brought in these mouth-watering dinners from 3 shops down--fresh soul food. We decided to ditch Tolano (he doesn't like chicken, anyway) and check out what was cookin'. We ordered one 4-piece meal--$10.99. She started dippin the chicken pieces in the flour right before our eyes. We got to pick 2 sides: mac n cheese and spaghetti--and she threw in a large peach cobbler on the house (fairly certain it was because I kept commenting what a lovely smile she had). Unbelieveably delicious . . .and enough food for me, Dre, Tolano and his two friends.
On the ride home they spotted some ballers at the church around the corner, so dropped them off for some hoops action. Auntie texted me to see if I could pick Nemesia up from class (she gets out at 8:20 on Thursdays) so Arvonique and I took a road trip to Valley College. We arrived a bit early, opened the moonroof and listened to praise music until she came out. One last stop at the Carl's Jr. drive-thru before calling it a day (ok, night). Arrived back in Yucaipa about 10:00 pm, called my friends Brian and Elisa, and went to bed.
Tomorrow night, I will be celebrating at Andrew's house (his grandma and I will share a party) after a full day of tennis in the afternoon, and one week from tomorrow my family in Rancho Santa Fe will wrap-up this year's birthday celebration with dinner, and possibly a movie the night before Easter . . . .
Lately, I am feeling beyond blessed!
I arrived at school and waiting for me with a colorful bouquet of balloons and a cupcake were Arvonique and Arvon. At my school, we really don't do a lot of staff "celebrations" like we used to, so until 2:11, things were pretty much as usual at Golden Valley.
After school Arvon and I picked up Dre from the house and began our mission: get them a haircut. Arvon was first: pretty sure when he walked into Great Clips on University, the ladies on the other side of the counter were contemplating taking their break a little early. One brave soul stepped up and actually took the job. (not sure how many years it had been since his last cut)
After a brief stop at Farmer Boys (if you haven't tried the Oreo shake, I highly recommend it), we dropped Arvon off at the house, where Tolano asks if he can get in the action. Next stop--a hole-in-the-wall barber shop on Sierra Way. 6 barber chairs, one "stylist"--we waited for about 20 minutes watching "cage fighting" on the big screen, before walking out.
One of Tolano's friends who was along for the ride, Treshawn, suggested a place over by Bakers near Shandin Hills. Now THIS was a place right out of the movie ("Barbershop"). Didn't mind the wait, because the conversation was beyond entertaining. After about 30 minutes, Dre was in the chair. During Tolano's turn, two guys brought in these mouth-watering dinners from 3 shops down--fresh soul food. We decided to ditch Tolano (he doesn't like chicken, anyway) and check out what was cookin'. We ordered one 4-piece meal--$10.99. She started dippin the chicken pieces in the flour right before our eyes. We got to pick 2 sides: mac n cheese and spaghetti--and she threw in a large peach cobbler on the house (fairly certain it was because I kept commenting what a lovely smile she had). Unbelieveably delicious . . .and enough food for me, Dre, Tolano and his two friends.
On the ride home they spotted some ballers at the church around the corner, so dropped them off for some hoops action. Auntie texted me to see if I could pick Nemesia up from class (she gets out at 8:20 on Thursdays) so Arvonique and I took a road trip to Valley College. We arrived a bit early, opened the moonroof and listened to praise music until she came out. One last stop at the Carl's Jr. drive-thru before calling it a day (ok, night). Arrived back in Yucaipa about 10:00 pm, called my friends Brian and Elisa, and went to bed.
Tomorrow night, I will be celebrating at Andrew's house (his grandma and I will share a party) after a full day of tennis in the afternoon, and one week from tomorrow my family in Rancho Santa Fe will wrap-up this year's birthday celebration with dinner, and possibly a movie the night before Easter . . . .
Lately, I am feeling beyond blessed!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Paying it Forward
During breakfast yesterday with a good friend at McDuff's in Redlands (best omlettes west of the Mississippi), we arrived at this conclusion: yes, the economy is horrific; perhaps because of this fact, many people are stepping up and helping other people in amazing ways.
I shared about a few articles I have read recently: one, about a woman who owns a small business with about 8 employees. When it became apparent that this woman would need to lay someone off in order for the business to survive, she simply could not get herself to do it. She had come to love and respect too much the people who had helped her build the business. Her solution: she basically fired herself. "You are more than competent and capable to run this show, and you will. I will check in periodically when I can." She stepped into something part-time, earning a fraction of what she had made running the company. Most important to her was that those who had been so loyal to her--her employees--would not be affected by the economy.
This morning, I read of a woman who lost her only son in Iraq 7 years ago. She was so consummed with grief she didn't really think she could go on. While he was serving she would send him care packages on a monthly basis. She began to send care packages to some of his comrades--especially those who never received mail or support from home. People heard about her efforts and started donating goods, time, a truck, etc. A few years ago a philanthropist from Orange County pledged 1.5 million dollars to help support her efforts. She has been sending literally hundreds of boxes monthly overseas to servicemen in Iraq and Afghanistan who otherwise might not receive anything from "home". "You have become like a mom to us" one thank you note read. This doesn't really have much to do with the economy, but it is a great story.
Another article I read recently chronicled how often times when someone receives a donated kidney (giving them a new lease on life), someone in their family--or a close friend--ends up deciding that they want to "pay it forward" and donate a kidney. Hospitals report that when this happens, the "links in the chain" often times goes up to 7 after an initial kidney donation. This, to me, is amazing. I was in the Starbucks drive-thru a couple months ago, pulled forward to pay for my coffee, and the barista said "Not necessary--the person ahead of you paid for your drink". Here was this random person I didn't know who just decided they'd put a smile on someone's face. "Ok, that's pretty cool--can you do that for the person behind me?" Who knows how long that "chain" had been going--or how long it would last--but it was a very refreshing way to start the day. Sure, donating a cup of coffee is a far cry from donating a kidney--understood. But it really is the thought that counts.
I was an unwanted child. I was adopted--as an infant--by two people who wanted to have children. My parents had adopted my sister two years prior to "finding" me. If you know anything about the parents who found me, you know that I (and my sister) are two of the most blessed children in the world. Nearly two years ago, after losing both my mom and dad, I was "readopted" by my good friends the Reynolds, who live in Rancho Santa Fe. I spent Thanksgiving with my new family, and will--for the second year in a row--be in the family Christmas card photo. Again, how much more blessed can a guy become?!? Well, once again, it is time to "pay it forward". If you scroll down to the blog I wrote a few weeks ago about a family in San Bernardino, you will read about a Target gift card. Frankly, at this point, that doesn't even come close to where the story is leading. Let's just say that in the truest sense of adoption--beyond gift cards--it is now time for this adopted son to step up to the plate. 'Tis the season . . . .
I shared about a few articles I have read recently: one, about a woman who owns a small business with about 8 employees. When it became apparent that this woman would need to lay someone off in order for the business to survive, she simply could not get herself to do it. She had come to love and respect too much the people who had helped her build the business. Her solution: she basically fired herself. "You are more than competent and capable to run this show, and you will. I will check in periodically when I can." She stepped into something part-time, earning a fraction of what she had made running the company. Most important to her was that those who had been so loyal to her--her employees--would not be affected by the economy.
This morning, I read of a woman who lost her only son in Iraq 7 years ago. She was so consummed with grief she didn't really think she could go on. While he was serving she would send him care packages on a monthly basis. She began to send care packages to some of his comrades--especially those who never received mail or support from home. People heard about her efforts and started donating goods, time, a truck, etc. A few years ago a philanthropist from Orange County pledged 1.5 million dollars to help support her efforts. She has been sending literally hundreds of boxes monthly overseas to servicemen in Iraq and Afghanistan who otherwise might not receive anything from "home". "You have become like a mom to us" one thank you note read. This doesn't really have much to do with the economy, but it is a great story.
Another article I read recently chronicled how often times when someone receives a donated kidney (giving them a new lease on life), someone in their family--or a close friend--ends up deciding that they want to "pay it forward" and donate a kidney. Hospitals report that when this happens, the "links in the chain" often times goes up to 7 after an initial kidney donation. This, to me, is amazing. I was in the Starbucks drive-thru a couple months ago, pulled forward to pay for my coffee, and the barista said "Not necessary--the person ahead of you paid for your drink". Here was this random person I didn't know who just decided they'd put a smile on someone's face. "Ok, that's pretty cool--can you do that for the person behind me?" Who knows how long that "chain" had been going--or how long it would last--but it was a very refreshing way to start the day. Sure, donating a cup of coffee is a far cry from donating a kidney--understood. But it really is the thought that counts.
I was an unwanted child. I was adopted--as an infant--by two people who wanted to have children. My parents had adopted my sister two years prior to "finding" me. If you know anything about the parents who found me, you know that I (and my sister) are two of the most blessed children in the world. Nearly two years ago, after losing both my mom and dad, I was "readopted" by my good friends the Reynolds, who live in Rancho Santa Fe. I spent Thanksgiving with my new family, and will--for the second year in a row--be in the family Christmas card photo. Again, how much more blessed can a guy become?!? Well, once again, it is time to "pay it forward". If you scroll down to the blog I wrote a few weeks ago about a family in San Bernardino, you will read about a Target gift card. Frankly, at this point, that doesn't even come close to where the story is leading. Let's just say that in the truest sense of adoption--beyond gift cards--it is now time for this adopted son to step up to the plate. 'Tis the season . . . .
Monday, December 6, 2010
Adopting a Family for Christmas
I am adopting a family this Christmas, and this is their story.
The family is made up of one auntie and 6 of her neices and nephews (5th grade thru senior in high school). The 6 kids have 3 different fathers, all deceased. Their mother lives in Los Angeles, and is unfit to care for any of them (has been that way for the past 7 years, and may never change).
This auntie works at one of our San Bernardino city schools providing clerical support. For the past 7 years, she has been raising 6 kids in a 3 bedroom apartment a few blocks from the middle school where I work.
All are good students. The senior and the youngest are musicians; one is a cheerleader, two are basketball players (one plays varsity in high school) and one is a football player (Jr. All-American league--he gets a scholarship from the coach).
The auntie receives Section 8 housing assistance and food stamps. Through her work, she is able to provide health insurance for the kids. There is no phone or internet access at the apartment. She is a woman of faith, and her faith has not been broken.
I know her personally, and I know each of her neices and nephews. And, frankly, I have no clue how she has been able to do what she has done with these kids, day after day (one car), year after year. She is an unsung hero--an angel.
If you have ever watched Extreme Home Makeover, this is one family who could easily qualify to be on that program.
My "adoption" idea is a bit less ambitious. I would like to give the auntie a gift card from Target next week before we go on our holiday break. She could use it to buy food, clothing, linens, gifts for the kids--whatever.
I know we all have our financial obligations this time of the year. If you would like to help put a smile on 7 faces (let's include yours and mine--that makes 9), I am inviting my Facebook friends to join me in contributing to this Target gift card. I will be matching (up to $500) whatever amount is sent my way.
If you are moved in any way by the story of these 6 kids and their auntie, could you take 3-4 minutes to write a check (of any amount) and address an envelope?
John Smeby
985 Kendall Dr., #A256
San Bernardino, CA 92407
I will be purchasing the gift card this weekend. This is my mailing address (I still live in Yucaipa). Your gift won't be tax-deductible, and if you're like me, that's not why you give. This season, it's all about smiles . . . .
The family is made up of one auntie and 6 of her neices and nephews (5th grade thru senior in high school). The 6 kids have 3 different fathers, all deceased. Their mother lives in Los Angeles, and is unfit to care for any of them (has been that way for the past 7 years, and may never change).
This auntie works at one of our San Bernardino city schools providing clerical support. For the past 7 years, she has been raising 6 kids in a 3 bedroom apartment a few blocks from the middle school where I work.
All are good students. The senior and the youngest are musicians; one is a cheerleader, two are basketball players (one plays varsity in high school) and one is a football player (Jr. All-American league--he gets a scholarship from the coach).
The auntie receives Section 8 housing assistance and food stamps. Through her work, she is able to provide health insurance for the kids. There is no phone or internet access at the apartment. She is a woman of faith, and her faith has not been broken.
I know her personally, and I know each of her neices and nephews. And, frankly, I have no clue how she has been able to do what she has done with these kids, day after day (one car), year after year. She is an unsung hero--an angel.
If you have ever watched Extreme Home Makeover, this is one family who could easily qualify to be on that program.
My "adoption" idea is a bit less ambitious. I would like to give the auntie a gift card from Target next week before we go on our holiday break. She could use it to buy food, clothing, linens, gifts for the kids--whatever.
I know we all have our financial obligations this time of the year. If you would like to help put a smile on 7 faces (let's include yours and mine--that makes 9), I am inviting my Facebook friends to join me in contributing to this Target gift card. I will be matching (up to $500) whatever amount is sent my way.
If you are moved in any way by the story of these 6 kids and their auntie, could you take 3-4 minutes to write a check (of any amount) and address an envelope?
John Smeby
985 Kendall Dr., #A256
San Bernardino, CA 92407
I will be purchasing the gift card this weekend. This is my mailing address (I still live in Yucaipa). Your gift won't be tax-deductible, and if you're like me, that's not why you give. This season, it's all about smiles . . . .
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Middle school counseling in San Bernardino
I was at Subway for lunch today, and was talking with the girl making my sandwich. I told her there was no way I could do her job, and she agreed she probably couldn't do mine. When people ask where I work, I usually respond with something like "if you call sitting around talking with kids all day work, then fine", but this is actually a tounge-in-cheek response. It is that, but it is much more.
When I first left the English classroom at Cajon about 8 years ago to become a middle school counselor, I really had no idea what I was getting into. I remember the first week a 6th grade girl came into my office in tears (she was like, what, 11 years old?). I was thinking to myself her grandma must have just passed away or something. But no. "I thought I knew who my best friend was, but now I'm not really sure, because she has a different best friend". This hit me like a ton of bricks, because, like so many things I would (and continue to) encounter, I was not prepared for this in my counseling classes. So I had to "get into" the world of a 6th grader REALLY fast.
Since that first week, I can truly say that every day (unlike teaching high school English) has been different from the next. Many days are fairly non-eventful, and I am thankful for those. Because the ones that are "eventful"--they are not always pleasant. Like the year I had a 7th grade girl come in my office telling me that her mother just died from AIDS, and her father was in the hospital--with AIDS. Then later that year, she informed me that yes, her father, too, had joined her mother in death. And toward the end of last year, when an 8th grade boy attempted suicide. I found this out from a note a teacher confiscated. I called the boy in, and he nodded his head--yes, this was true, but apparently he did not take enough pills. When I was on the phone with his guardian (step-dad--mom had disappeared two years ago, and never did find out about biological dad), informing him that his stepson attempted to take his own life earlier that week, the best he could come up with was "Dammit, I am so sick and tired of that kid--he was caught with weed a couple weeks ago. I'm through with him--might as well send him back to his mom". And then a couple weeks ago a 7th grade girl was in tears on my couch because both parents have been out of work, they just sit at home drinking away their depression.
These (true) stories are often times balanced with remarkable students doing remarkable things both in and out of the classroom, or on the athletic field, etc. It is not all bad, and I am thankful that even in the desperate situations I shared above, there is often times a positive resolution, healing, etc. But often times, unfortunately, there is not.
This morning began with not one, but two teachers stopping by my office seeking assistance in filing a CPS report. I also placed a call to one of my students' parole officers. This 8th grade boy has been in juvy for about a week or so for breaking into a house to steal some video gaming equipment. I was inquiring about receiving clearance to visit him while he was locked up. I then met with a 7th grade girl and her parents who claimed a student had sexually harrassed their daughter. My day ended around 5:15 when our boys softball team lost in the championship game to Cesar Chavez MS by one run.
Tomorrow I will be visiting 3 7th grade science classrooms to show a 25 minute DVD about the Columbine shootings, and how bullying and harrassment can lead students to tragic measures. It is unfortunate I should even have to spend time going over this message with students--but it is real, and it is essential they are confronted with the concept of tolerance, acceptance and understanding those who are different.
Tomorrow is also Friday. Friday is a very special day . . . .
When I first left the English classroom at Cajon about 8 years ago to become a middle school counselor, I really had no idea what I was getting into. I remember the first week a 6th grade girl came into my office in tears (she was like, what, 11 years old?). I was thinking to myself her grandma must have just passed away or something. But no. "I thought I knew who my best friend was, but now I'm not really sure, because she has a different best friend". This hit me like a ton of bricks, because, like so many things I would (and continue to) encounter, I was not prepared for this in my counseling classes. So I had to "get into" the world of a 6th grader REALLY fast.
Since that first week, I can truly say that every day (unlike teaching high school English) has been different from the next. Many days are fairly non-eventful, and I am thankful for those. Because the ones that are "eventful"--they are not always pleasant. Like the year I had a 7th grade girl come in my office telling me that her mother just died from AIDS, and her father was in the hospital--with AIDS. Then later that year, she informed me that yes, her father, too, had joined her mother in death. And toward the end of last year, when an 8th grade boy attempted suicide. I found this out from a note a teacher confiscated. I called the boy in, and he nodded his head--yes, this was true, but apparently he did not take enough pills. When I was on the phone with his guardian (step-dad--mom had disappeared two years ago, and never did find out about biological dad), informing him that his stepson attempted to take his own life earlier that week, the best he could come up with was "Dammit, I am so sick and tired of that kid--he was caught with weed a couple weeks ago. I'm through with him--might as well send him back to his mom". And then a couple weeks ago a 7th grade girl was in tears on my couch because both parents have been out of work, they just sit at home drinking away their depression.
These (true) stories are often times balanced with remarkable students doing remarkable things both in and out of the classroom, or on the athletic field, etc. It is not all bad, and I am thankful that even in the desperate situations I shared above, there is often times a positive resolution, healing, etc. But often times, unfortunately, there is not.
This morning began with not one, but two teachers stopping by my office seeking assistance in filing a CPS report. I also placed a call to one of my students' parole officers. This 8th grade boy has been in juvy for about a week or so for breaking into a house to steal some video gaming equipment. I was inquiring about receiving clearance to visit him while he was locked up. I then met with a 7th grade girl and her parents who claimed a student had sexually harrassed their daughter. My day ended around 5:15 when our boys softball team lost in the championship game to Cesar Chavez MS by one run.
Tomorrow I will be visiting 3 7th grade science classrooms to show a 25 minute DVD about the Columbine shootings, and how bullying and harrassment can lead students to tragic measures. It is unfortunate I should even have to spend time going over this message with students--but it is real, and it is essential they are confronted with the concept of tolerance, acceptance and understanding those who are different.
Tomorrow is also Friday. Friday is a very special day . . . .
Friday, July 23, 2010
Cayucos
Bad news: my school district has shortened our summer vacation to 6 weeks--we go back Friday, July 30. Good news: winding down summer with some pretty cool excursions--just returned from spending a couple days with my youngest cousin Deb, husband Garth and their dog Mia in Cayucos. Next week, headed to Colorado with Andrew and his mom for regional ("zonal") tennis competition (a pretty big honor for Drew to be invited), which is being held on the grounds of the National Air Force Center in Colorado Springs.
Cayucos--at first glance, this might sound like some town one would find on the coast of Peru--but it is actually just north of Morro Bay--roughly half way up the coast between LA and SF. It is one of those small, lazy, stereotypical California beach towns full of local flavor. It is also where Debbie (a landscape architect) and Garth (an architect/builder) currently reside. A little over two years ago, they broke ground on a home on a hillside overlooking Morro Bay/Cayucos/the Pacific ocean. Three levels with huge picture windows to take in the scenery--from the living room or deck, a constant stream of activity--surfers, dive-bombing pelicans, dolphins, sailboats--just an unbelievably beautiful 180 degree view of God's creation at it's finest.
Thursday Deb took the day off and turned into tour guide. First we drove up to this look-out place where people can watch elephant seals lazing on the sand and playing in the water. Years ago there was free access down to the beach; apparently, humans (and dogs) didn't exactly respect these creatures as they should, so there is now a wooden railing between us and them. This is the season where the females were all out in the ocean hunting for food, so just the males were on display. Big, ugly creatures--but cool to watch.
Then she took me to this "town" called Harmony. Population: 18. Yup--has its own zip code/post office (which was closed), and boasts not one, but two stores: a pottery store, and a store where they have glass blowers in the back making really cool stuff they sell in the front part. There used to be other stores, but--who knows--the economy?!?
Headed back to downtown Cayucos, walked along the pier and then across the street to the Brown Butter Sea Salt Cookie shop. Opened by two sisters a couple years ago, it has become this huge success story. They are now shipping their cookies all over thru their web site, and after tasting those things, it's no surprise. Calling them "cookies" really doesn't do them justice--they cost $1 each, and come in 3 flavors: cocoa, espresso and plain. I had the plain and cocoa, and both were simply the best cookie I have ever tasted. Melt-in-your-mouth, sorta like a combination of candy/fudge/cookie dough. Go online and order some . . .take the taste test!
To round off the day we took Mia for a walk along the beach looking for sea glass. This was something new to me--Debbie explained that people collect pieces of glass that have come from old broken bottles left behind by beach goers who don't take care of their trash. Over time, the action from the tide, the sand and other natural occurrences polish these pieces, and not only do people collect them, but they also have sea glass Festivals all over the world. Deb is on the committee for the first annual Cayucos Sea Glass Festival March 5th, 2011!
Cayucos--at first glance, this might sound like some town one would find on the coast of Peru--but it is actually just north of Morro Bay--roughly half way up the coast between LA and SF. It is one of those small, lazy, stereotypical California beach towns full of local flavor. It is also where Debbie (a landscape architect) and Garth (an architect/builder) currently reside. A little over two years ago, they broke ground on a home on a hillside overlooking Morro Bay/Cayucos/the Pacific ocean. Three levels with huge picture windows to take in the scenery--from the living room or deck, a constant stream of activity--surfers, dive-bombing pelicans, dolphins, sailboats--just an unbelievably beautiful 180 degree view of God's creation at it's finest.
Thursday Deb took the day off and turned into tour guide. First we drove up to this look-out place where people can watch elephant seals lazing on the sand and playing in the water. Years ago there was free access down to the beach; apparently, humans (and dogs) didn't exactly respect these creatures as they should, so there is now a wooden railing between us and them. This is the season where the females were all out in the ocean hunting for food, so just the males were on display. Big, ugly creatures--but cool to watch.
Then she took me to this "town" called Harmony. Population: 18. Yup--has its own zip code/post office (which was closed), and boasts not one, but two stores: a pottery store, and a store where they have glass blowers in the back making really cool stuff they sell in the front part. There used to be other stores, but--who knows--the economy?!?
Headed back to downtown Cayucos, walked along the pier and then across the street to the Brown Butter Sea Salt Cookie shop. Opened by two sisters a couple years ago, it has become this huge success story. They are now shipping their cookies all over thru their web site, and after tasting those things, it's no surprise. Calling them "cookies" really doesn't do them justice--they cost $1 each, and come in 3 flavors: cocoa, espresso and plain. I had the plain and cocoa, and both were simply the best cookie I have ever tasted. Melt-in-your-mouth, sorta like a combination of candy/fudge/cookie dough. Go online and order some . . .take the taste test!
To round off the day we took Mia for a walk along the beach looking for sea glass. This was something new to me--Debbie explained that people collect pieces of glass that have come from old broken bottles left behind by beach goers who don't take care of their trash. Over time, the action from the tide, the sand and other natural occurrences polish these pieces, and not only do people collect them, but they also have sea glass Festivals all over the world. Deb is on the committee for the first annual Cayucos Sea Glass Festival March 5th, 2011!
Monday, July 19, 2010
What to do?
Pretty sure I still have the "ask the audience" lifeline in play, and I'm going to use it now. Looking for any guidance you can give me in a landlord/tenant situation. Usually stuff is either common sense, or it is covered by fairly clear legal guidelines. But this situation is new (for me), and I am frankly stumped. That's where you come in . . . .
For the past four years, I have been managing a rental cabin in Crestline. After 3 and 1/2 years, the current tenant will be moving out next week. Last weekend I received a call from a couple interested in leasing it, and gave them the address so they could drive by. They pulled over in front of the cabin, and the current renter happened to be in the front. She offered to show them inside, so they received a brief tour. They liked it. Linda (name changed) called me this morning to share this, to say she really liked them, and said, "the couple is black--is that a problem for you?" Anyone who knows me even remotely should figure out how I answered that question. But then she said, "You know my next door neighbor Bill (name changed)? The older retired gentleman? Well, after they left he came over and asked what they were doing there." Bottom line: Linda and I live in the real world, where everyone gets along. Bill, on the other hand, is old school, meaning . . .well, that's part of the problem. Not really sure "how" old school (racist) he is--nor do I really care. HOWEVER, the potential renters might care.
Here's where my confusion lies: do I disclose to this nice young couple that if they move in, they may have a neighbor who doesn't like them (possibly a lot)? By doing so, would they get the (wrong) impression that I am trying to get them not to rent the cabin? Or, should this issue just be left alone to work itself out, and not even bring it up--hoping that Bill will deal with it in a "civilized" manner, and that the couple won't know or won't care about his "attitude" towards people different from himself? Honestly, I really have no idea how to proceed here--audience--you have 60 seconds, and the clock . . .starts . . .now. Any thoughts, suggestions, opinions are welcome--thanks.
For the past four years, I have been managing a rental cabin in Crestline. After 3 and 1/2 years, the current tenant will be moving out next week. Last weekend I received a call from a couple interested in leasing it, and gave them the address so they could drive by. They pulled over in front of the cabin, and the current renter happened to be in the front. She offered to show them inside, so they received a brief tour. They liked it. Linda (name changed) called me this morning to share this, to say she really liked them, and said, "the couple is black--is that a problem for you?" Anyone who knows me even remotely should figure out how I answered that question. But then she said, "You know my next door neighbor Bill (name changed)? The older retired gentleman? Well, after they left he came over and asked what they were doing there." Bottom line: Linda and I live in the real world, where everyone gets along. Bill, on the other hand, is old school, meaning . . .well, that's part of the problem. Not really sure "how" old school (racist) he is--nor do I really care. HOWEVER, the potential renters might care.
Here's where my confusion lies: do I disclose to this nice young couple that if they move in, they may have a neighbor who doesn't like them (possibly a lot)? By doing so, would they get the (wrong) impression that I am trying to get them not to rent the cabin? Or, should this issue just be left alone to work itself out, and not even bring it up--hoping that Bill will deal with it in a "civilized" manner, and that the couple won't know or won't care about his "attitude" towards people different from himself? Honestly, I really have no idea how to proceed here--audience--you have 60 seconds, and the clock . . .starts . . .now. Any thoughts, suggestions, opinions are welcome--thanks.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Surf City
Last spring, I was in San Diego for one of Andrew's tennis tournaments (La Jolla, to be exact, which is where I spent summers as a kid visiting my maternal grandmother) and before heading back to the IE spent some time sitting on a rock watching a pod (would that be a proper use of the word??) of surfers. For the first time in my life, I was actually struck with a desire to surf. I have friends who surf, and for some of them, the activity takes on an almost spiritual quality. Why, after 5 decades on earth this urge suddenly kicked in, I cannot explain. Regardless, here it is.
So now that my 6-week summer break is here, I figure it's now or never. Bought a book about surfing and began reading it while spending a couple days on Catalina last week. About 50 pages into it, began to realize that grabbing a surfboard and paddling out into the ocean--as a virgin--would be sort of like saying "I want to become a race car driver", renting a race car, getting out on the track and immediately shifting into 200 mph. As I read, it became apparent there are some pretty important equipment, sea conditions, safety and surfer etiquette/protocol issues to consider--not to mention the actual skills and techniques one like myself will need to acquire. (This might seem extremely obvious to most people; however, as I sat on that rock above the La Jolla shore, what I saw was this group of surfers laying on their stomachs on their boards--not many waves--at one with the ocean--such a peaceful, alluring picture. Let's just say I'm glad I had enough sense to at least pick up a book before I ended up killing myself--or someone else!)
One of my surfer friends, Terry, told me he would show me the ropes, and I could join him next time he hits the waves. Earlier this week, another friend threw out the idea of a "surf camp", which had not even crossed my mind. About 30 minutes ago, I got off the phone with Souf from San Diego Surf School, located in Pacific Beach (just a few short blocks from where Gratia, my grandmother used to live). I am signed up for a week-long Adult Surf Camp which begins this Monday. He said sometimes the camp can have as many as 10 people, but next week there will be fewer than 5, so it will almost be like getting semi-private lessons--$250 purchases the lessons (two hours each day), wet suit and board rental. I am about as giddy with excitement as I was when I first started learning to play tennis in middle school--or when my first "live" radio broadcast on KUOR debuted during my junior year at the U of R. Perhaps needless to say, more to come as the summer races toward fall . . . .
So now that my 6-week summer break is here, I figure it's now or never. Bought a book about surfing and began reading it while spending a couple days on Catalina last week. About 50 pages into it, began to realize that grabbing a surfboard and paddling out into the ocean--as a virgin--would be sort of like saying "I want to become a race car driver", renting a race car, getting out on the track and immediately shifting into 200 mph. As I read, it became apparent there are some pretty important equipment, sea conditions, safety and surfer etiquette/protocol issues to consider--not to mention the actual skills and techniques one like myself will need to acquire. (This might seem extremely obvious to most people; however, as I sat on that rock above the La Jolla shore, what I saw was this group of surfers laying on their stomachs on their boards--not many waves--at one with the ocean--such a peaceful, alluring picture. Let's just say I'm glad I had enough sense to at least pick up a book before I ended up killing myself--or someone else!)
One of my surfer friends, Terry, told me he would show me the ropes, and I could join him next time he hits the waves. Earlier this week, another friend threw out the idea of a "surf camp", which had not even crossed my mind. About 30 minutes ago, I got off the phone with Souf from San Diego Surf School, located in Pacific Beach (just a few short blocks from where Gratia, my grandmother used to live). I am signed up for a week-long Adult Surf Camp which begins this Monday. He said sometimes the camp can have as many as 10 people, but next week there will be fewer than 5, so it will almost be like getting semi-private lessons--$250 purchases the lessons (two hours each day), wet suit and board rental. I am about as giddy with excitement as I was when I first started learning to play tennis in middle school--or when my first "live" radio broadcast on KUOR debuted during my junior year at the U of R. Perhaps needless to say, more to come as the summer races toward fall . . . .
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Conditional Acceptance
We live in a world where acceptance is almost always contingent upon performance.
Mike Dunleavy, the coach of the LA Clippers basketball team, was recently fired mid-season when his team continued to spiral downward season after season.
Students are accepted to colleges and universities not because they try hard, have nice smiles or really like how a campus looks; rather, they are accepted because they scored in a certain range on the SAT and/or maintained a high GPA in high school.
Salespeople who do not sell enough product will be looking for another job, regardless of how nice they dress, how dependable they are showing up for work or how many years they worked for the company.
A driver might love working on cars, playing racing games on a PSP and going to the speedway; but if he doesn't score high enough on the written and/or driving portion of the DMV exam, a driver's license will not be granted.
In just about every area of life, we are seemingly constantly being evaluated, measured, judged, tested and scored as we attempt to gain entry or acceptance in a particular area. I am not suggesting that this is unfair; I am simply pointing out how prevalent this constant "proving oneself" to society has become.
It should come as no surprise, then, when an individual attempts to "work" or earn his or her way to heaven, trying to gain acceptance by God through sheer human effort. When practically every other area of life demands a certain level of success/performance prior to being accepted, the idea of "unconditional acceptance"--or grace--is not a concept easily understood or received.
Our pride wants to earn the approval of our Creator just as it wants to earn the approval of our professor in college, our supervisor at work or--yes--even our spouse, our children or our parents.
At this time of the year, however, the Cross of Christ--and His resurrection--cry out to us with a message of love unconditional. Here, we are accepted not for that which we have done; rather, we are wholly accepted and loved--truly unconditionally--because God SO loved the world--and each person He created. By receiving His love and forgiveness, we enter into a relationship free of requirements, expectations and guilt.
How thankful I am that while in just about every other area of life I must prove myself worthy through my performance, but in the most important relationship of all, I am loved eternally not for what I have done or will do, but simply because Jesus chose, from the foundation of time, to open wide His arms and His heart to his sheep, his children. Love unconditional. Period.
Mike Dunleavy, the coach of the LA Clippers basketball team, was recently fired mid-season when his team continued to spiral downward season after season.
Students are accepted to colleges and universities not because they try hard, have nice smiles or really like how a campus looks; rather, they are accepted because they scored in a certain range on the SAT and/or maintained a high GPA in high school.
Salespeople who do not sell enough product will be looking for another job, regardless of how nice they dress, how dependable they are showing up for work or how many years they worked for the company.
A driver might love working on cars, playing racing games on a PSP and going to the speedway; but if he doesn't score high enough on the written and/or driving portion of the DMV exam, a driver's license will not be granted.
In just about every area of life, we are seemingly constantly being evaluated, measured, judged, tested and scored as we attempt to gain entry or acceptance in a particular area. I am not suggesting that this is unfair; I am simply pointing out how prevalent this constant "proving oneself" to society has become.
It should come as no surprise, then, when an individual attempts to "work" or earn his or her way to heaven, trying to gain acceptance by God through sheer human effort. When practically every other area of life demands a certain level of success/performance prior to being accepted, the idea of "unconditional acceptance"--or grace--is not a concept easily understood or received.
Our pride wants to earn the approval of our Creator just as it wants to earn the approval of our professor in college, our supervisor at work or--yes--even our spouse, our children or our parents.
At this time of the year, however, the Cross of Christ--and His resurrection--cry out to us with a message of love unconditional. Here, we are accepted not for that which we have done; rather, we are wholly accepted and loved--truly unconditionally--because God SO loved the world--and each person He created. By receiving His love and forgiveness, we enter into a relationship free of requirements, expectations and guilt.
How thankful I am that while in just about every other area of life I must prove myself worthy through my performance, but in the most important relationship of all, I am loved eternally not for what I have done or will do, but simply because Jesus chose, from the foundation of time, to open wide His arms and His heart to his sheep, his children. Love unconditional. Period.
Friday, February 26, 2010
T-shirts
Ok, I have no idea what I am doing. Normally I am carefully crafting my blog post, but this is pure stream of consciousness. Warning: there will be no paragraph breaks, little or no proofreading, etc. It was one week ago I posted the last blog about Corey and his passion for helping people in Haiti. Well we finally received approval Wednesday from the main school district office to sell the HELP HAITI shirts at school, so we scheduled four consecutive Thursdays during both lunches. Yesterday was the first day--pretty simple set-up--table with shirts on it, PAL students standing/walking around wearing their shirts, music blaring from behind our table. Since we had just found out the day before that we could begin selling, we weren't able to have any announcements leading up to Thursday that shirts would be available. So we sold like 9 that day, but a bunch of kids were like "man, if I had known, I would have brought money--can I get one tomorrow?" So as of this afternoon, we are up to about 30 shirts sold (combination of adult staff members and students). We ran out of smalls and XLs, so I placed an updated order this afternoon before leaving campus. Then tonight got a call from Coach Heather at Cal State wanting to help out by having the women's tennis team sell them at the men's basketball regional tournament all day Tuesday--looking for 50-100 shirts. . . .yesterday morning dropped a few off to the counselors at Serrano Middle School over by San Manuel casino, and they said when they return from being off track their campus will want to sell them in April. Then there is Cajon High, who currently has last year's GV Pals. Other ideas being thrown out: get a kiosk at a mall, create a website, section off neighborhoods and go door to door . . . .My 8th graders are really into this, but because they have limited mobility/freedom, a lot is falling on me right now . . .So I'm thinking, "Should I just quit my job and sell t-shirts for Haiti full time at this point?" Perhaps not. But anyone who knows me at all knows that I've done crazier things than that . . . .
Friday, February 19, 2010
HELP HAITI
Corey, one of my 8th grade students at Golden Valley MS, was in my office a few days after the earthquake in Haiti last month. He was with a handful of his classmates, and with just a few minutes before the bell would ring for the next period I asked them which country they would want to visit if they could go anywhere in the world. I heard typical responses at first like Hawaii, Italy, Japan, etc. When it was Corey's turn, he said "Haiti". I asked him why he would want to go there, and he said he wanted to help the people affected by the earthquake.
Corey's response made a lasting impression--it resonated in my heart for days. Corey is a naturally gifted leader--elected president of the Peer Assistance Leaders group on campus, captain of the basketball team, enrolled in high-achieving GATE classes, etc. He is also a deeply spiritual young man, and is known to be found in church 2 or 3 evenings a week--and more--not because his parents say he has to--but because he has an intense longing to be there whenever possible.
Within the last couple of weeks, he has been in my office much more than usual--not because he needs counseling or is in trouble, but because he is leading an effort on campus to sell t-shirts to students and staff that say "HELP HAITI" on the front, with all profits to be donated to Compassion International. Today we dealt with the usual district garbage about following correct accounting procedures, etc. Last weekend he went to Stater Brothers with his father to see about setting up a table in front to sell the shirts (the space is reserved through March for Girl Scout cookie sales), and was in my office this afternoon with a few other PALs composing a letter to be faxed to the Stater Bros headquarters. He is also talking about starting a website thru which these shirts (black fabric with either hot pink or teal graphics--very striking!) could be sold world-wide.
Yesterday, I prayed with Corey in my office. I pray for my students all the time while driving to work in the morning; but that was the first time I remember actually praying over a student while I've been a public school counselor (ok, go ahead, fire me), and I'm thinking it will not be the last. He and 3 of his closest friends began asking me more about Compassion International. They knew I sponsored a child from Ecuador, because I have Andres' picture on my desk. Before I knew it, they were hovered around my computer scouring through children in the Dominican Republic who were in need of a sponsor. (Their first choice was a Haitian child, but Compassion has suspended child sponsorships from that country until the situation has become stabilized). They realize that for $38 a month, they could pool a portion of their lunch money and begin a "joint" sponsorship.
As I sit at my computer at home on this Friday evening, I am exhausted. Along with working as the "advisor" for this effort, I have a full plate of the usual counseling duties. But, as it always has been, the zeal of youth is contagious. I feel so incredibly blessed to have been placed in the path of such a passionate individual. True, he is looking to me for leadership. But I am looking to him for inspiration. And I am truly inspired . . . .
Corey's response made a lasting impression--it resonated in my heart for days. Corey is a naturally gifted leader--elected president of the Peer Assistance Leaders group on campus, captain of the basketball team, enrolled in high-achieving GATE classes, etc. He is also a deeply spiritual young man, and is known to be found in church 2 or 3 evenings a week--and more--not because his parents say he has to--but because he has an intense longing to be there whenever possible.
Within the last couple of weeks, he has been in my office much more than usual--not because he needs counseling or is in trouble, but because he is leading an effort on campus to sell t-shirts to students and staff that say "HELP HAITI" on the front, with all profits to be donated to Compassion International. Today we dealt with the usual district garbage about following correct accounting procedures, etc. Last weekend he went to Stater Brothers with his father to see about setting up a table in front to sell the shirts (the space is reserved through March for Girl Scout cookie sales), and was in my office this afternoon with a few other PALs composing a letter to be faxed to the Stater Bros headquarters. He is also talking about starting a website thru which these shirts (black fabric with either hot pink or teal graphics--very striking!) could be sold world-wide.
Yesterday, I prayed with Corey in my office. I pray for my students all the time while driving to work in the morning; but that was the first time I remember actually praying over a student while I've been a public school counselor (ok, go ahead, fire me), and I'm thinking it will not be the last. He and 3 of his closest friends began asking me more about Compassion International. They knew I sponsored a child from Ecuador, because I have Andres' picture on my desk. Before I knew it, they were hovered around my computer scouring through children in the Dominican Republic who were in need of a sponsor. (Their first choice was a Haitian child, but Compassion has suspended child sponsorships from that country until the situation has become stabilized). They realize that for $38 a month, they could pool a portion of their lunch money and begin a "joint" sponsorship.
As I sit at my computer at home on this Friday evening, I am exhausted. Along with working as the "advisor" for this effort, I have a full plate of the usual counseling duties. But, as it always has been, the zeal of youth is contagious. I feel so incredibly blessed to have been placed in the path of such a passionate individual. True, he is looking to me for leadership. But I am looking to him for inspiration. And I am truly inspired . . . .
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
unexpected blessings
This past May a mom came into my office with her 12-year-old son. He was a GATE student who had just done a pretty dumb thing on campus and his mom was looking for some answers so it wouldn't happen again. I began asking some basic questions, and while we were talking Ana (the mom) looked over at some pictures of my past tennis teams sitting on a table and said "Oh, my son plays tennis". "Really", I replied, "that's great". "No, I mean, Andrew's really good--he plays tournaments." I said something like I'd love to see him play sometime, we finished our meeting, mom left campus and I gave Andrew a pass back to class.
Within a few weeks, Ana had emailed me the tournament schedule for the summer. I printed it out, checked my calendar and determined I would make a trip out to Lakewood the weekend following the close of Andrew's 7th grade year. Mom was right--the kid was good. I spotted him playing on the first court next to the bleachers, and there was mom up at the top watching intently. He dismantled his opponent easily. By that time it was about 1:00, and he was scheduled to play his next match around 3:30. So, I decided I would stick around. They had brought a couple blankets to throw onto a nearby grass area, I offered to go out and bring back some lunch so we hung out for a couple hours until his next match, which he also won.
Andrew is now 13 and is in 8th grade at Golden Valley Middle School in San Bernardino, where I am the 8th grade counselor this year. Since that weekend in June, I have spent nearly every weekend with Ana and Drew traveling to tournaments all over Southern California. She is a single parent, he is an only child. As the year has progressed, our time has expanded beyond the tennis court to include birthday parties, trips to Santa Monica pier, Big Bear Lake, and plans in the works for a Clipper game, Santana concert in Vegas and a trip out to the desert in March for the BNP Paribas Open tennis tournament at Indian Wells.
I am perhaps most excited about spending Christmas Eve at their house helping (learning as I go) to make tamales. I have decided that all blessings are good; but the unexpected kind--those are supreme . . . .
Within a few weeks, Ana had emailed me the tournament schedule for the summer. I printed it out, checked my calendar and determined I would make a trip out to Lakewood the weekend following the close of Andrew's 7th grade year. Mom was right--the kid was good. I spotted him playing on the first court next to the bleachers, and there was mom up at the top watching intently. He dismantled his opponent easily. By that time it was about 1:00, and he was scheduled to play his next match around 3:30. So, I decided I would stick around. They had brought a couple blankets to throw onto a nearby grass area, I offered to go out and bring back some lunch so we hung out for a couple hours until his next match, which he also won.
Andrew is now 13 and is in 8th grade at Golden Valley Middle School in San Bernardino, where I am the 8th grade counselor this year. Since that weekend in June, I have spent nearly every weekend with Ana and Drew traveling to tournaments all over Southern California. She is a single parent, he is an only child. As the year has progressed, our time has expanded beyond the tennis court to include birthday parties, trips to Santa Monica pier, Big Bear Lake, and plans in the works for a Clipper game, Santana concert in Vegas and a trip out to the desert in March for the BNP Paribas Open tennis tournament at Indian Wells.
I am perhaps most excited about spending Christmas Eve at their house helping (learning as I go) to make tamales. I have decided that all blessings are good; but the unexpected kind--those are supreme . . . .
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Soundtrack of Life, part IV: U2
The first time I saw U2 live was in 1983 on their "War" tour. They played the L.A. Sports arena, and the opening band was The Alarm. I went with a tennis playing friend from the University of Redlands, Rich Frederick, and until that night, we really had no idea who The Alarm was. At one point during their opening set, they were singing a song with lyrics that went "come on down and meet your maker, come on down and make the stand". At one point we looked at each other and were like "are they singing what I think they're singing?!?" Sure enough, we would later find out that The Alarm was the real deal, and would end up seeing them countless times, soaking up their songs, interviews and concerts like a sponge. As for the headlining band that night, because the "floor" of the arena had no chairs, the crowd up front was so out of control the concert had to be delayed about 30 minutes because of the pushing and shoving. It was nuts! Then, during the concert, midstream, Bono disappeared from the stage--right in the middle of a song--only to reappear in the upper deck across from where we were standing (no one sits at a U2 concert). He was then lowered--carefully--by fans back down to the lower level, and slowly made his way back to the front of the stage to finish the song.
In the decades that have followed, U2 has been the one musical constant in my life. I believe tonight at the Rose Bowl will be the 14th time I've seen them live--haven't missed a tour since that first show in '83. The last three times I have seen them have been in Las Vegas with my best friend from college, Brian Stomski. In the late '90s in a large outdoor venue for the Popmart tour (my least favorite of them all) when Rage Against the Machine opened. Then, in November of '01, they played the basketball arena on the UNLV campus. This was a couple months after 9/11, and was an intensely emotional evening. The band had changed up their show following the twin tower attacks, making the last encore song "Walk On" a memorial to those who lost their lives. Behind the band, as they were playing, a screen with the name of every victim scrolled down behind them. Pretty sure there was not a dry eye in the building. Then, four years ago, they played the arena inside the MGM (where they have all the big prize fights). I almost decided not to go--this was just a couple months after I had lost my mom to cancer. Lots of dry eyes in the crowd--but mine weren't cooperating.
Fast forward to tonight. Rose Bowl. Pasadena. My hometown. Spent the summer there clearing out the house my parents' lived in for 45 years following my father's death in January earlier this year. So, once again, U2 will be the backdrop for another chapter turn in my life, a soundtrack full of joy, full of pain, and once again, I will be joined by friends and strangers (although strangers at a U2 concert are a lot like friends) who might wonder why tears are streaming down my face. Funny thing is, I really don't care anymore. I am thankful those tear glands are in working order. Bring it on. Something very freeing, cleansing, even comforting about releasing one's emotions. I have never met Bono, The Edge, Larry and Adam (and probably never will)--but I count them as family, and always will.
In the decades that have followed, U2 has been the one musical constant in my life. I believe tonight at the Rose Bowl will be the 14th time I've seen them live--haven't missed a tour since that first show in '83. The last three times I have seen them have been in Las Vegas with my best friend from college, Brian Stomski. In the late '90s in a large outdoor venue for the Popmart tour (my least favorite of them all) when Rage Against the Machine opened. Then, in November of '01, they played the basketball arena on the UNLV campus. This was a couple months after 9/11, and was an intensely emotional evening. The band had changed up their show following the twin tower attacks, making the last encore song "Walk On" a memorial to those who lost their lives. Behind the band, as they were playing, a screen with the name of every victim scrolled down behind them. Pretty sure there was not a dry eye in the building. Then, four years ago, they played the arena inside the MGM (where they have all the big prize fights). I almost decided not to go--this was just a couple months after I had lost my mom to cancer. Lots of dry eyes in the crowd--but mine weren't cooperating.
Fast forward to tonight. Rose Bowl. Pasadena. My hometown. Spent the summer there clearing out the house my parents' lived in for 45 years following my father's death in January earlier this year. So, once again, U2 will be the backdrop for another chapter turn in my life, a soundtrack full of joy, full of pain, and once again, I will be joined by friends and strangers (although strangers at a U2 concert are a lot like friends) who might wonder why tears are streaming down my face. Funny thing is, I really don't care anymore. I am thankful those tear glands are in working order. Bring it on. Something very freeing, cleansing, even comforting about releasing one's emotions. I have never met Bono, The Edge, Larry and Adam (and probably never will)--but I count them as family, and always will.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Soundtrack of Life, part 3
After 15 years of Reality Rock radio programs, concerts, etc., I spent 7 years teaching 9th and 12th grade English at Cajon High School. Music continued to play a major role (although in unxpected ways) as I entered, for the first time, a public school classroom in which I was the "teacher". Forty--and sometimes more--against one--it is fair to say my students had perhaps just as much influence on me--or more--as I had on them. They schooled me in sports, fashion and, yes, music. Hip-hop was pretty much the prevalent art form at the time, and it didn't take long for my CD player to become loaded with mix CDs from some of my students. "Here, Mr. Smeby--this is dope--you'll like it!" More often than not, they were right. Tupac, Snoop, Puff Daddy, Mase, Warren G, Nas--these were just a few of the names of rappers who were rhyming about life on the streets--a life many of my students were familiar with first hand.
I began to incorporate some of these lyrics in a poetry unit. On some days, I would turn down the lights, have students get out a piece of paper and listen to a variety of instrumental selections. Their assignment: to write about (or sometimes draw) what the music made them see, feel or imagine. Listen, write, share. On more than just a few occasions, tears were shed as students would share about a song that reminded them of a loved one who had passed or a place they had to move away from. (Looking back on those times, it does not surprise me that teaching English led me into my current position as counselor--the English classroom was a great training ground in many respects.)
Now, in my 8th grade counseling office, my CD player is usually home to any number of mixed tapes, with a healthy dose of praise and worship songs. While it is true to say I work with a population of "high risk" students, it also true that a great deal of them attend church services/youth groups, and will instantly recognize many of the songs I listen to. And, of course, I play them not just so I can listen--but so they might, as well. I might not be in a position to read the Bible to my students. But through my actions and speech--as well as through my CD player--I trust that God continues to use my life for His glory--in whatever position in life (tennis coach, teacher, counselor) He chooses. As Bono sings in "Magnificent", "I have no choice but to lift You up."
I began to incorporate some of these lyrics in a poetry unit. On some days, I would turn down the lights, have students get out a piece of paper and listen to a variety of instrumental selections. Their assignment: to write about (or sometimes draw) what the music made them see, feel or imagine. Listen, write, share. On more than just a few occasions, tears were shed as students would share about a song that reminded them of a loved one who had passed or a place they had to move away from. (Looking back on those times, it does not surprise me that teaching English led me into my current position as counselor--the English classroom was a great training ground in many respects.)
Now, in my 8th grade counseling office, my CD player is usually home to any number of mixed tapes, with a healthy dose of praise and worship songs. While it is true to say I work with a population of "high risk" students, it also true that a great deal of them attend church services/youth groups, and will instantly recognize many of the songs I listen to. And, of course, I play them not just so I can listen--but so they might, as well. I might not be in a position to read the Bible to my students. But through my actions and speech--as well as through my CD player--I trust that God continues to use my life for His glory--in whatever position in life (tennis coach, teacher, counselor) He chooses. As Bono sings in "Magnificent", "I have no choice but to lift You up."
Friday, October 2, 2009
Musical transformation
During our junior year, my college roommate and I decided to enroll in a radio class, which led to landing a 4-hour slot Saturday mornings from 2 am until 6 am on 89.1 KUOR. That began my career in radio. Even though we realized we had like maybe 3 listeners, we thought we were the coolest thing since sliced bread. Pretty much played anything we wanted, and what we wanted was rock and roll.
The tennis player who had led me to Jesus the year before suggested I include a Christian artist named Phil Keaggy--specifically, a song called "Time". So I did! After awhile, I got "promoted" to the coveted Friday night shift from 10 pm - 2 am, and actually, along with another classmate--Bob Ricks (who also had a late night shift on KCAL at the time)--developed quite a listenership.
The fraternities and sororities on campus started asking if we did parties (DJ music). "Sure" was our initial response, and booked our first gig for $50. We did this Friday night frat party in the pouring rain using albums from the radio station, setting up equipment on a pool table that would cause the song to skip each time someone danced up against it. From there, we graduated to all-school dances, formals out in Palm Springs, and at the height of the disco craze became quite the campus celebrities.
After graduating in 1981 I landed a job in the development office of the University and pretty much the radio shows and parties disappeared. My faith began growing in leaps and bounds, and Contemporary Christian music began to be a force to be reckoned with. I was encouraged to ask KUOR if I could have a one-hour slot to play Christian rock--they said "yes", and the Reality show was born. At first, I didn't really have much music to play, and was VERY liberal with what could pass as "Christian". Bob Dylan's Slow Train Coming, Santana, some pretty questionable songs like the Doobie Brother's "Jesus is Just Alright" would occupy those 60 minutes right alongside Phil Keaggy, Randy Stonehill, Rez Band and Paul Clark.
All the while, I was still struggling with what to do with all my secular albums. I still liked listening to them, but felt a strong pull to get rid of them. It was either dump them in the trash or sell them; I chose the later, justifying my decision by reasoning that I could use the money to purchase more Christian music, which I did. After awhile, that one hour turned into a 4 hour (9 pm-1 am) program on Monday nights, and about that time bands like Undercover, Stryper, Altar Boys and The Choir were making quite a stir in Christian bookstores across Southern California, and beyond. Berean Christian Store in Colton became Reality Rock's first radio sponsor.
Interestingly enough, right about the same time (early/mid '80s) an amazing band called U2 burst onto the music scene. The big question of the day was "is U2 a Christian band?" Regardless of how one answered that, they were a force to be reckoned with--both inside and outside the church. They influenced a slew of bands who recorded on secular labels, played in secular places but whose lyrics were full of biblical/scriptural/spiritual references--The Alarm, Simple Minds, The Waterboys, The Call, Face to Face, and many others who in turn influenced countless other bands and artists--including ones recording in the Christian "industry", which had really become just that--new record labels and bands were popping up seemingly everywhere.
Reality Rock basically jumped on a surf board and rode this wave for most of the '80s and well into the '90s. It was quite a ride, to say the least.
This post is part two of a three part series! More to come . . .
The tennis player who had led me to Jesus the year before suggested I include a Christian artist named Phil Keaggy--specifically, a song called "Time". So I did! After awhile, I got "promoted" to the coveted Friday night shift from 10 pm - 2 am, and actually, along with another classmate--Bob Ricks (who also had a late night shift on KCAL at the time)--developed quite a listenership.
The fraternities and sororities on campus started asking if we did parties (DJ music). "Sure" was our initial response, and booked our first gig for $50. We did this Friday night frat party in the pouring rain using albums from the radio station, setting up equipment on a pool table that would cause the song to skip each time someone danced up against it. From there, we graduated to all-school dances, formals out in Palm Springs, and at the height of the disco craze became quite the campus celebrities.
After graduating in 1981 I landed a job in the development office of the University and pretty much the radio shows and parties disappeared. My faith began growing in leaps and bounds, and Contemporary Christian music began to be a force to be reckoned with. I was encouraged to ask KUOR if I could have a one-hour slot to play Christian rock--they said "yes", and the Reality show was born. At first, I didn't really have much music to play, and was VERY liberal with what could pass as "Christian". Bob Dylan's Slow Train Coming, Santana, some pretty questionable songs like the Doobie Brother's "Jesus is Just Alright" would occupy those 60 minutes right alongside Phil Keaggy, Randy Stonehill, Rez Band and Paul Clark.
All the while, I was still struggling with what to do with all my secular albums. I still liked listening to them, but felt a strong pull to get rid of them. It was either dump them in the trash or sell them; I chose the later, justifying my decision by reasoning that I could use the money to purchase more Christian music, which I did. After awhile, that one hour turned into a 4 hour (9 pm-1 am) program on Monday nights, and about that time bands like Undercover, Stryper, Altar Boys and The Choir were making quite a stir in Christian bookstores across Southern California, and beyond. Berean Christian Store in Colton became Reality Rock's first radio sponsor.
Interestingly enough, right about the same time (early/mid '80s) an amazing band called U2 burst onto the music scene. The big question of the day was "is U2 a Christian band?" Regardless of how one answered that, they were a force to be reckoned with--both inside and outside the church. They influenced a slew of bands who recorded on secular labels, played in secular places but whose lyrics were full of biblical/scriptural/spiritual references--The Alarm, Simple Minds, The Waterboys, The Call, Face to Face, and many others who in turn influenced countless other bands and artists--including ones recording in the Christian "industry", which had really become just that--new record labels and bands were popping up seemingly everywhere.
Reality Rock basically jumped on a surf board and rode this wave for most of the '80s and well into the '90s. It was quite a ride, to say the least.
This post is part two of a three part series! More to come . . .
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Soundtrack of Life
During my high school years in the mid 70s, aside from tennis, my passion was music. It seemed like I upgraded my stereo system every 6 months, and when I bought my first pair of Koss headphones, it was as if I was transported to a different dimension. Led Zepplin's "Houses of the Holy", The Who's "Quadrophenia" and
Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" would constantly fill my ears and led an exhaustive list of vinyl masterpieces that are now part of the "classic rock" genre.
I will never forget my first concert. I was a junior at Blair High in Pasadena, and Kevin Cherniss asked if I wanted to see Roxy Music at the Hollywood Palladium. Looking back, I am still a bit amazed that my parents said "yes". As we walked through the lobby doors and into the concert hall, the stench of marijuana smoke was overwhelming. Pretty sure everyone in that auditorium--including the band--was high, except for me. All my friends smoked weed--I abstained due to my other addiction--tennis.
As I made the transition from high school to college, my passion for music only grew stronger. In the early 80s, I added The Who, Springsteen and Genesis to my concert experiences, to name a few. And then in the dorm room of one of my teammates at the University of Redlands, I reluctantly began studying the book of John. Glenn Cunliffe had invited me to join him and his roommate, Joaquin Gonzales--also on the tennis team--to a weekly bible study. Most people have a date--a time--an event--where they answered the call, cried out to God, and became a Christian. Not so with me. All I know is, at the beginning of the study, I was not a believer. By the end, I was fully convinced that yes, Jesus was God, He came to redeem sinners, and the hole in my life I had been aware of for quite some time could only be filled by Him. (I would actually "go forward" to countless altar calls in the years that would follow--Easter sunrise services with Greg Laurie, Keith Green concerts, Harvest Sunday evening services--if someone were counting, I probably got saved about 17 times!)
Initially, my newfound faith affected my tennis. While in high school I was a whiny, racquet throwing brat on the court. As my faith matured, my demeanor on the court followed suit. I would begin (silently) praying during changeovers. I even remember going through a period where I questioned if competition was biblical. If God is love, is it okay to want to defeat an opponent (in any sport)? I was in college, and if I wasn't tackling the Big life issues in literature class, I was opening just about any Pandora's box placed in my path. Life became one question after another, and I wasn't about to "settle" for easy answers.
Music was the last frontier for my faith to conquer, and to cover that process in this blog would be overkill. Part two to follow . . .
Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" would constantly fill my ears and led an exhaustive list of vinyl masterpieces that are now part of the "classic rock" genre.
I will never forget my first concert. I was a junior at Blair High in Pasadena, and Kevin Cherniss asked if I wanted to see Roxy Music at the Hollywood Palladium. Looking back, I am still a bit amazed that my parents said "yes". As we walked through the lobby doors and into the concert hall, the stench of marijuana smoke was overwhelming. Pretty sure everyone in that auditorium--including the band--was high, except for me. All my friends smoked weed--I abstained due to my other addiction--tennis.
As I made the transition from high school to college, my passion for music only grew stronger. In the early 80s, I added The Who, Springsteen and Genesis to my concert experiences, to name a few. And then in the dorm room of one of my teammates at the University of Redlands, I reluctantly began studying the book of John. Glenn Cunliffe had invited me to join him and his roommate, Joaquin Gonzales--also on the tennis team--to a weekly bible study. Most people have a date--a time--an event--where they answered the call, cried out to God, and became a Christian. Not so with me. All I know is, at the beginning of the study, I was not a believer. By the end, I was fully convinced that yes, Jesus was God, He came to redeem sinners, and the hole in my life I had been aware of for quite some time could only be filled by Him. (I would actually "go forward" to countless altar calls in the years that would follow--Easter sunrise services with Greg Laurie, Keith Green concerts, Harvest Sunday evening services--if someone were counting, I probably got saved about 17 times!)
Initially, my newfound faith affected my tennis. While in high school I was a whiny, racquet throwing brat on the court. As my faith matured, my demeanor on the court followed suit. I would begin (silently) praying during changeovers. I even remember going through a period where I questioned if competition was biblical. If God is love, is it okay to want to defeat an opponent (in any sport)? I was in college, and if I wasn't tackling the Big life issues in literature class, I was opening just about any Pandora's box placed in my path. Life became one question after another, and I wasn't about to "settle" for easy answers.
Music was the last frontier for my faith to conquer, and to cover that process in this blog would be overkill. Part two to follow . . .
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Race Relations
A few weekends ago I was invited down to Westminster (next to Huntington Beach) for some tennis with a player I formerly coached in high school. Afterwards he treated me to Thai food at one of his local favorites. You could sort of tell how authentic the food was by not only the cooks in the kitchen, but also the people (wall to wall on this day) savoring the delectable cuisine. Can't wait for seconds . . .
Before heading back to the IE's triple digit temps, made a detour to Newport, strolled down the pier and along the beach and was struck by the complete mix of races along the sand--happy families young and old, brown, black, yellow and white seemingly without a care in the world. A refreshing reminder of how this country can really show its true "colors" . . .not sure which was more satisfying--the wet sand beneath my feet, or this vision of racial reality which the media so often doesn't report on the evening news.
Fast forward to later that evening as I headed into the sanctuary for Sunday evening church. They say that Sunday church is the most segregated hour of the week in America, and while this might not be true in all cities at all churches, this seems to be true where I worship. I was reminded of the time one of my freshmen in English class, Chuck, had shared that his father was a pastor at a church in San Bernardino. I decided to visit one Sunday morning well over a decade ago. As I walked through the parking lot and into the sanctuary, I was greeted by smiling, joyful women in their Sunday best hats, surely wondering who this visitor was, and why had he chosen to join them on this particular day. As I took my seat in middle of the pews, I couldn't help but notice that I was the only white person in the entire church. At that moment, I realized what it must feel like for a person of color to be in a setting where they realize that they are "alone". Of course, in the comfort of a church, it was a feeling which brought not tension or apprehension at all--just an acute awareness of my "differentness". At one point the pastor, Chuck's dad, asked if there were any visitors that morning, and if so, would they please stand and introduce themselves. Sure enough, I was the only one. When I explained that I was Chuck Jr.'s English teacher, I remember soft chuckles rippling through the building--almost a collective sigh of relief to understand that no, this was not some high-ranking official of the Aryan Nation infiltrating our worship. I thoroughly enjoyed the three (!) hours we spent singing, laughing and praising God together.
In a few weeks I will return to my office as the 8th grade counselor for Golden Valley Middle School in San Bernardino. There is a very good reason why educators are given 3 months of vacation, and it is because I am about to enter into 9 months where the collision of white, latino, asian and black families, teachers and students will not always be peaceful. Yes, even with a mixed president in the White House, I am bracing for plenty of "action" during the upcoming school year.
Last year during a student gathering at my school called "Unity Forum", we showed the "I Have a Dream" speech by Martin Luther King. Afterwards, a student asked if I felt we had finally realized that dream of racial equality in America. My answer was simple: "As long as we live in this country, and as long as this country welcomes people of all cultures into its arms, we as a people will always struggle with the issues that racial diversity bring. Racial harmony is not a destination; it is a journey." Ok, I am paraphrasing my own words here, but that was basically how I answered this student's question. And it is nothing more than my own opinion; surely many might disagree.
In the aftermath of Michael Jackson's passing, I have, more than ever, come to appreciate his song "Man in the Mirror". The sentiment of that song, I believe, is crucial to landing a seat along this journey of race. Not sure about you, but I'll start with a long hard look in the mirror . . . .
Before heading back to the IE's triple digit temps, made a detour to Newport, strolled down the pier and along the beach and was struck by the complete mix of races along the sand--happy families young and old, brown, black, yellow and white seemingly without a care in the world. A refreshing reminder of how this country can really show its true "colors" . . .not sure which was more satisfying--the wet sand beneath my feet, or this vision of racial reality which the media so often doesn't report on the evening news.
Fast forward to later that evening as I headed into the sanctuary for Sunday evening church. They say that Sunday church is the most segregated hour of the week in America, and while this might not be true in all cities at all churches, this seems to be true where I worship. I was reminded of the time one of my freshmen in English class, Chuck, had shared that his father was a pastor at a church in San Bernardino. I decided to visit one Sunday morning well over a decade ago. As I walked through the parking lot and into the sanctuary, I was greeted by smiling, joyful women in their Sunday best hats, surely wondering who this visitor was, and why had he chosen to join them on this particular day. As I took my seat in middle of the pews, I couldn't help but notice that I was the only white person in the entire church. At that moment, I realized what it must feel like for a person of color to be in a setting where they realize that they are "alone". Of course, in the comfort of a church, it was a feeling which brought not tension or apprehension at all--just an acute awareness of my "differentness". At one point the pastor, Chuck's dad, asked if there were any visitors that morning, and if so, would they please stand and introduce themselves. Sure enough, I was the only one. When I explained that I was Chuck Jr.'s English teacher, I remember soft chuckles rippling through the building--almost a collective sigh of relief to understand that no, this was not some high-ranking official of the Aryan Nation infiltrating our worship. I thoroughly enjoyed the three (!) hours we spent singing, laughing and praising God together.
In a few weeks I will return to my office as the 8th grade counselor for Golden Valley Middle School in San Bernardino. There is a very good reason why educators are given 3 months of vacation, and it is because I am about to enter into 9 months where the collision of white, latino, asian and black families, teachers and students will not always be peaceful. Yes, even with a mixed president in the White House, I am bracing for plenty of "action" during the upcoming school year.
Last year during a student gathering at my school called "Unity Forum", we showed the "I Have a Dream" speech by Martin Luther King. Afterwards, a student asked if I felt we had finally realized that dream of racial equality in America. My answer was simple: "As long as we live in this country, and as long as this country welcomes people of all cultures into its arms, we as a people will always struggle with the issues that racial diversity bring. Racial harmony is not a destination; it is a journey." Ok, I am paraphrasing my own words here, but that was basically how I answered this student's question. And it is nothing more than my own opinion; surely many might disagree.
In the aftermath of Michael Jackson's passing, I have, more than ever, come to appreciate his song "Man in the Mirror". The sentiment of that song, I believe, is crucial to landing a seat along this journey of race. Not sure about you, but I'll start with a long hard look in the mirror . . . .
Monday, July 20, 2009
The Magnet of Sin
Ever wonder why a one-hour newscast typically devotes about two-thirds coverage to murders, rapes, natural disasters and tragedies (the remaining third tends to be a mix of sports, weather and a little 3-minute "feel good" story at the end about some 9-year-old who raised money from a lemonade stand to help fight world hunger)? TV is all about ratings, and ratings are all about money, and negative things sell. Without realizing it often times, we are drawn to the negative.
"Breaking newsflash--this just in--high speed car chase through downtown Glendale--we will stay with this until its conclusion . . ." I have to believe I'm not the only one who has been drawn in--sucked in to this type of coverage. Not sure what my record is for duration of time glued to a chase, but instead of changing the channel to something else, before we know it--30, 45 minutes--or more--have been wasted hoping to get a glimpse how this thing will end. Will he/she be the first one to actually elude capture? Will there be a fiery crash or fatal shoot-out? And, c'mon now, work with me--what a total LET DOWN if the thing ends--as it usually does--with the fugitive peacefully surrendering to the authorities. How boring.
If we believe media coverage, most of what happens in the world is bad, negative, sinful. What if that same one-hour newscast was chock-full (wall to wall) of positive people doing positive things? What would the ratings look like then? Not good! I have no doubt that in the every day world of America (and other countries), there are countless, untold stories of bravery, heroism, people helping people, teachers making a difference, military personnel freeing the oppressed, pastors in small (or large) churches who are not abusing altar boys or who are not making huge salaries, doctors and nurses who are saving lives . . . I could go on and on, couldn't I?
It is difficult, sometimes, to escape what the media is trying to do here. In education, in teacher school, we are taught to "catch them being good". This is true with parenting, as well. We need to be taught, reminded of, reinforced about this because it is SO MUCH EASIER to "catch them being bad". There are two ways to modify the behavior of a child, or of a classroom--beat them over the head when they do wrong things until they conform to our standards, or kill them with love--whenever someone does something right (and this is 90% of the kids 90% of the time), make sure you give them praise. This is also true in coaching. Statistics will show that in any of these arenas, for every one negative comment made about someone's behavior, it takes 4 positive ones to make up for it. "Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me". WHAT A COMPLETE AND TOTAL LIE!!! Physical wounds will eventually heal (the cuts and scrapes, at least), but a wrong word said at the wrong time in the wrong way--that can leave a scar for life.
I am constantly attempting to counterbalance what society, the media, etc. throws at me. Not sure where I heard/read this, but whenever I do it, the rest of the day seems to fall into place as it should: I begin the day by thanking God for ten things in my life. Could be people, situations, things--but I start by not asking God to fix ten things that are wrong; rather, expressing thanks for how He has blessed me. A very simple thing, but often with a profound change in my attitude about life.
"Breaking newsflash--this just in--high speed car chase through downtown Glendale--we will stay with this until its conclusion . . ." I have to believe I'm not the only one who has been drawn in--sucked in to this type of coverage. Not sure what my record is for duration of time glued to a chase, but instead of changing the channel to something else, before we know it--30, 45 minutes--or more--have been wasted hoping to get a glimpse how this thing will end. Will he/she be the first one to actually elude capture? Will there be a fiery crash or fatal shoot-out? And, c'mon now, work with me--what a total LET DOWN if the thing ends--as it usually does--with the fugitive peacefully surrendering to the authorities. How boring.
If we believe media coverage, most of what happens in the world is bad, negative, sinful. What if that same one-hour newscast was chock-full (wall to wall) of positive people doing positive things? What would the ratings look like then? Not good! I have no doubt that in the every day world of America (and other countries), there are countless, untold stories of bravery, heroism, people helping people, teachers making a difference, military personnel freeing the oppressed, pastors in small (or large) churches who are not abusing altar boys or who are not making huge salaries, doctors and nurses who are saving lives . . . I could go on and on, couldn't I?
It is difficult, sometimes, to escape what the media is trying to do here. In education, in teacher school, we are taught to "catch them being good". This is true with parenting, as well. We need to be taught, reminded of, reinforced about this because it is SO MUCH EASIER to "catch them being bad". There are two ways to modify the behavior of a child, or of a classroom--beat them over the head when they do wrong things until they conform to our standards, or kill them with love--whenever someone does something right (and this is 90% of the kids 90% of the time), make sure you give them praise. This is also true in coaching. Statistics will show that in any of these arenas, for every one negative comment made about someone's behavior, it takes 4 positive ones to make up for it. "Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me". WHAT A COMPLETE AND TOTAL LIE!!! Physical wounds will eventually heal (the cuts and scrapes, at least), but a wrong word said at the wrong time in the wrong way--that can leave a scar for life.
I am constantly attempting to counterbalance what society, the media, etc. throws at me. Not sure where I heard/read this, but whenever I do it, the rest of the day seems to fall into place as it should: I begin the day by thanking God for ten things in my life. Could be people, situations, things--but I start by not asking God to fix ten things that are wrong; rather, expressing thanks for how He has blessed me. A very simple thing, but often with a profound change in my attitude about life.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Back to Basics
While at Starbucks for my usual venti drip and Sunday Times this morning, I was struck by a quote on the front page referring to President Obama's trip to Africa: "I didn't see anything fresh or new . . .It was the same things about good-governance and responsibility that we've been hearing since the 1980s". Words from Kenyan columnist Barrack Muluka. Upon reading this, I immediately thought of the preacher who ended up giving the exact same sermon for like 23 weeks in a row, each time realizing that his congregation had still not internalized the message. Perhaps Mr. Muluka does not understand that until ANY nation or continent can figure out the basic issues--like responsibility and good-governance--there will continue to be much turmoil.
We've heard messages so many times, we figure "yeah, that's outdated--heard it a thousand times--let's move on to something fresh and new and innovative". I'm guilty of that line of thinking--my guess is we all are at times. We reach for the "self help" books on the shelf at Barnes and Noble, hoping that the new young author has figured things out this time.
When all along, life really comes down to some very simple, age-old truths--that will never change!
If a family--or a city, state or country--spends more than it earns--it will begin compounding debt . . .
If we eat more calories than we burn, we will continue to gain weight . . .
If I want to be respected by those around me, perhaps I should start by respecting them . . .
And you have to love Jesus. Well, you don't have to--but seeing as how He gave His life for us . . .but really, you have to love how He would just cut right to the heart of things--the basics. Today, we have so much "static" and stuff--new technology throwing itself at us constantly--it is becoming much more difficult to see through all the mess and realize "ok, what is it that I really need to know and do?" In His day, it was the Pharisees and the Sadducees--the religious rulers--who would always be trying to "trip him up" with their rhetoric and questioning.
"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" Jesus replied, "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."
Wow. And people complain about the Bible being confusing, hard to understand. Love God, and love people. Period. Talk about basic--how much more simple can it get? Please understand here, though, that I fully realize the difference between the words simple and easy. Just because Jesus' words might be simple to understand, those two commandments are anything but easy to carry out. And yet, this illustrates all the more our need to spend some time on first base before trying to run to second.
Life doesn't have to be complicated. We allow it to be. Can't say that I know any Amish people--but I'm thinking they might be on to something . . .
We've heard messages so many times, we figure "yeah, that's outdated--heard it a thousand times--let's move on to something fresh and new and innovative". I'm guilty of that line of thinking--my guess is we all are at times. We reach for the "self help" books on the shelf at Barnes and Noble, hoping that the new young author has figured things out this time.
When all along, life really comes down to some very simple, age-old truths--that will never change!
If a family--or a city, state or country--spends more than it earns--it will begin compounding debt . . .
If we eat more calories than we burn, we will continue to gain weight . . .
If I want to be respected by those around me, perhaps I should start by respecting them . . .
And you have to love Jesus. Well, you don't have to--but seeing as how He gave His life for us . . .but really, you have to love how He would just cut right to the heart of things--the basics. Today, we have so much "static" and stuff--new technology throwing itself at us constantly--it is becoming much more difficult to see through all the mess and realize "ok, what is it that I really need to know and do?" In His day, it was the Pharisees and the Sadducees--the religious rulers--who would always be trying to "trip him up" with their rhetoric and questioning.
"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" Jesus replied, "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."
Wow. And people complain about the Bible being confusing, hard to understand. Love God, and love people. Period. Talk about basic--how much more simple can it get? Please understand here, though, that I fully realize the difference between the words simple and easy. Just because Jesus' words might be simple to understand, those two commandments are anything but easy to carry out. And yet, this illustrates all the more our need to spend some time on first base before trying to run to second.
Life doesn't have to be complicated. We allow it to be. Can't say that I know any Amish people--but I'm thinking they might be on to something . . .
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