The last Christmas at home

Among the things I packed into my suitcase for three days in Madison was the Christmas tie. my devoted readers (yes, you two in the front) will recall the stories I wrote inspired by my nephew John and his daughter Grace. Well a lot of the tangible Christmas  gifts I received were clothes. But one in particular stood out the most: a tie.

Now, peer support specialists aren’t usually called upon at work to wear ties. On the occasions when I wear my sport coats, people almost have orgasms. I figured that if I wore a tie, I would be wiping off santorum for days. And the dry cleaning costs would soar through the roof. Even on dates Ii only wore a sport coat once this year and the Christmas tie remained safely tucked away in the closet. When I went to the 19th Street coffeehouse for New Year’s Eve, I heard a wonderful song The First Christmas Away From Home. It seemed ironic thinking about that song at 60, many years away  from my family.

My wordpress links are going wild because they finally realized they have no idea what the hell I am talking about. The blog host sent me a message “we can’t send you any more articles to link to your blog because we’re afraid, actually, pretty well convinced, that you’re full of shit but we can’t admit that we do.” So they just suggested a bunch of random pictures of blacks and whites and said “click on one, asshole.” The host is so full of itself, tonight.

But meanwhile I had the problem of what to do with the tie that I had packed especially since I have the worst trouble tying one on. I even watched a youtube video about tying a tie. I always tied a tie by using a door handle. However, if you use cheap ties made out of synthetic material, it will still look like shit. That was why I handled the Christmas tie so delicately. It was a  decent brand and it needed the proper tie and place.

That turned out to be Monday and Tuesday at Empowerment Days. The tie made the outfits, kind of like Superman and his cape. I stood at the podium looking polished and cool and thinking “this is what I used to be like” and it was grand. Just imagine what might have happened if I had not gone home. I probably would have forgotten to wear my pants.

Brothers and sisters, please rise up

African Peoples Socialist Party office, Oakland, California (Photo credit: Curtis Cronn)

Malcolm X (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Official photographic portrait of US President Barack Obama (born 4 August 1961; assumed office 20 January 2009) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today I saw the inevitable. In a world filled with hateful people one hand rose out of the sewer to proclaim “niggers please die.” This was in response to a post regarding the murder of Trayvon Martin. But black people, African-Americans and Africans mixed or unmixed are not signing our lives away. In fact even as the hatred seeps across the internet it is clear more than ever that our survival depends upon one another.

It depends on the bus drivers, teachers, sanitation workers, electricians, peer specialists and others at work every day making a difference. It depends on our brothers  and sisters caring for their children. It depends on my nephews caring for their children and wives. It depends on President Obama becoming the President we voted for and not falling victim to war and fear. It depends on bloggers spreading the news and speaking truth to power. It depends on everyone of us writing and reading to be positive and and respond not by yelling back but calmly going about our daily tasks. Like so many leaders have encouraged us in word, deed and song that we must do.

No, dear hateful one, we are not going to kill ourselves for your benefit. In fact we grow stronger in courage and wisdom every day. Peace out.

 

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Respect Yourself

Trayvon Martin Protest - Sanford (Photo credit: werthmedia)

Malcolm X (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I ride the bus as my main means of getting around Milwaukee and all too often I heard through the earphones of young black passengers I hear people talking about “nigger this” and “nigger that” and then I hear on the other side of town about deaths. We have been focused in these last few weeks on 2 situations: that Trayvon Morris in Florida and Bo Morrison in Slinger, Wisconsin.

But what about the ordinary killers of African-Americans? Who is hunting them? Who is looking for the guy who killed his baby mama at 20th and Walnut after beating her with his bare fists? Will anyone find the foster children of Sara Ann, a young mother whose other children are in the foster care system? Will Sara Ann be reunited with her her children one more time? Will we learn about changes in the system after she is dead?

Who will indict and convict the sellers of candy band other killers of black people? Will we round up the grocery stores, gas stations, and crack heads who sell shit that winds up being sold for death in our communities? Will we wind up with over crowding the already full jails with even even more prisoners?

I blogged without end about George Zimmerman who should be facing life ion prison for murdering Trayvon Martin.  But the sad truth is that African-Americans, often friends or domestic partners of African-Americans are the ones who kill our brothers and sisters.

\The stories about murders by racists grab our attention because we have been so innoculated by the ordinary murders that take place around us that we have no idea that the guy upstairs putting his hands on that attractive young woman may end up killing her tonight. We need to stop murdering one another and start loving one another.

It begins with the Staples Singers and their song but it needs you to sing along. Pledge tonight that you will not kill anyone tonight.

African American members of ILGWU Local 222 picket outside. (Photo credit: Kheel Center, Cornell University)

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Trayvon Martin shot in Cold Blood and Geraldo said it’s the hoodie’s fault

Trayvon Martin Protest - Sanford (Photo credit: werthmedia)

Geraldo Rivera (Photo credit: Island Capture Photography)

It’s all so clear what Geraldo Rivera, former reporter means to say when he tells us that we have a totally one-sided view of the tragic killing of Trayvon Martin. For many of us, the word killing should be changed to murder. George Zimmerman, a  man armed with a gun and fueled by racist hatred stalked Trayvon as he walked down the street in his father’s neighborhood. Trayvon was considered dangerous and possibly on drugs, in Zimmerman’s eyes. Zimmerman was going to protect the community from this young boy wearing a hoodie.If black youths would just stop wearing those hoodies, things would be different and white men could see them differently.That’s what we are being told by an idiot with an audience. Like the commercial said, a mind is a terrible thing to waste and Geraldo  has wasted his. Geraldo’s son said it best when he declared he was ashamed of his father.

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Wikipedia: Y is the twenty-fifth letter in the ISO basic Latin alphabet and represents either a vowel or a consonant in English. →

Judge, Jury and Executioner

The news is filled with two cases is which white men killed young suspicious black boys who were unarmed under circumstances that have sparked outrage across the country. One case is in Wisconsin where a newly enacted “castle doctrine” is being used to justify shooting an unarmed youth on a homeowner’s porch. In the second, a teenage boy was gunned down by a neighborhood watch captain while walking through a gated community in Florida. This killing was carried out in the name of “self-defense” by a man who had driven down the street following the boy.

The Florida boy, Trayvon Martin, was on the telephone talking to a girl moments before he was killed.  The killer, George Zimmerman, has a past that should have raised a lot of red flags prohibiting him from participating in neighborhood watch. For one thing, there was the matter of his assaulting a police officer.

Here is an excerpt from Huffington Post by Josh Horwwitz Executive Director of the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence entitled Arming Zimmerman.

“Another disturbing aspect of this case is the fact that Zimmerman was issued a permit to carry a concealed handgun by the state of Florida in the first place. Zimmerman, of course, was arrested in 2005 for resisting arrest with violence and battery on a police officer. The case was dismissed, and Zimmerman’s record expunged after he agreed to attend a pre-trial diversion program. In addition, police have fielded complaints from members of Zimmerman’s gated community about his aggressive conduct in the neighborhood.”

Stories about the 911 call Zimmerman made to the police clearly show that he ignored their advice. They told him not to pursue  and the boy asked him, “why are you following me?” So, why was Zimmerman following him and why was he armed in clear violation of neighborhood watch guidelines? Who appointed him to judge Trayvon’s guilt and pronounce a death sentence upon him when there was no evidence of any criminal intent?

In the Northern Wisconsin town of Slinger we have a case of underage drinking. Bo Morrison, 20 was at a party where alcohol was being served. Police were called to investigate the party due to a noise complaint. Morrison ran next door and was standing on a porch to avoid a ticket when the homeowner shot him. Although some internet messages suggested he had been trying to break in, there was no evidence of any criminal intent on his part.

Yesterday’s article by Milwaukee Journal Sentinel columnist Eugene Kane drew a parallel between the two cases . “Given the circumstances, Morrison’s shooting had the potential to become as sensational as Trayvon Martin’s death. Authorities in Washington County will be looking at the recently enacted Wisconsin law known as the castle doctrine to determine whether charges will be filed…For those who loved Morrison most, the fact remains they believe his death could have been avoided, since he wasn’t trying to break into the home or harm anyone, which is what the castle doctrine was meant to address.”

Two black youths have been killed without mercy or consideration of alternate means of action. The elements that tie these cases together, the ready availability of weapons due to lenient gun laws and the perceived threat created in white men, will haunt their families for years to come. Will the tide of history turn toward justice? Will the cycle of violence be broken?

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My Mother was not The Help

Image via Wikipedia

Image via Wikipedia

My mother is a small dark complexioned  woman who grew up in the Great Depression. I have always admired my mother but only in the last few years have I realized how remarkable she is and how much I love her. She was raised in a small poor town near Buffalo. She was part of a large extended family. When I visited her and my  sister for the holidays, one of the presents my sister requested was a copy of the movie The Help.

Viola Davis, who portrayed a maid in the movie was nominated for an Academy Award for her performance. She was inspired by her mother who used to be a maid and assisted in raising white children. In the “Upper South“, as we call the North, my mother was a nurse. She worked in nursing homes, a cancer treatment center and a county hospital. My mother is enjoying a well earned retirement and is part of my older sister’s support system.

She also set up several different small businesses. But my point in writing this is that my mother taught me that we were born to work and by working we could take care of ourselves and our families. I can bet you that nursing was not glamorous but my mother did it with pride. She helped her younger sister get into the field, as well. The fact is, my my mother was her family’s nurse, to her mother, her sisters and brothers and to her children. In November, she may be driving you or your family to the polls because she most definitely believed in voting.

My mother was not The Help. But something different. She inspired, cared, crafted, and saw patients recover. She has lived long enough to see her children attend college and even took some courses herself. But we may never see movies portraying the struggle of African-American nurses from the 50′s to the 90′s. Hollywood has not decided our stories are marketable. However we can relive those stories everyday as we teach our children, nephews, nieces and on down the line the importance of work.

For those whose parents were maids or other types of domestic workers, I say, hold your heads up high. We all stand upon the shoulders of those who came before us. To me, it’s no coincidence that I have always entered helping professions. I do not call myself The Help but I am a helper and it’s probably because my mother helped so many before me.

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Star Wars Fanon Wiki: Am was the official language of the inner culture of Am’sz, though they spoke Galactic Basic to outsiders. →

That’s So Gay: Embracing Our Lesbian and Gay Brothers and Sisters

The first time I ever heard about anyone being gay or lesbian was one of my cousins, Jeffrey, who moved to Toronto in the 1960s. My younger sister Karin was closer to Jeffrey than me and must have had some sense of empathy. My immediate family, which included my other siblings and my mother, was not as understanding about gays and lesbians. Unfortunately Jeffrey was  an early victim of AIDS.

My older sister always spoke of certain entertainers like the Hines brothers as being “funny” but I didn’t know what she was talking about. Later on I learned that it meant  she thought they were gay. My mother, who I have grown to love, has always been uncomfortable discussing sexuality.

So like most red-blooded American male baby boomers I decided to explore for myself. I decided that women were often cute and interesting and good listeners. Men, including me, were not as good at listening. As it happened, I had a lesbian relative when I was growing up. I spoke with my older sister, whose ideas had evolved over the years, and found that one of my favorite female relatives was a lesbian. She had recently died, which prompted the discussion.

In my political life I was part of groups that whole-heartedly supported gay and lesbian rights. It was the most natural thing to do. Over the years life changed. I almost started a fight in the army with a guy who I saw a few years  after I got discharged and he had a pro gay rights button at the rally where I saw him. I learned about the struggles of gays and lesbians in the service. I watched movies about gays and lesbians adopting and raising children. And I have seen gays and lesbians in the media, as politicians and as fathers and mothers.

I was on twitter cheering as my old home state of New York adopted marriage equality. I teared up watching the first couples taking their vows. It has been a million miles, seemingly from the Stonewall Rebellion and the Mattachine Society. My straight marriage ended, primarily due to my own mistakes, but not due to gays and lesbians enjoying their rights. I have come to understand there is no radical gay or lesbian agenda as some bigots would have us believe, but the simple belief in equality under law. It’s in the constitution and it should be in our hearts

 

On Dr. King day, let’s strive for a world where people enjoy the freedom to love, bear and raise children, and marry without interference from bigotry. It’s the next great civil rights hurdle to overcome.

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Fatherhood

Image via Wikipedia

Image via Wikipedia

I met a strong black man on the bus Friday morning who I need to tell you about. Months ago I told a story about something ordinary. A poor black man with his daughter waiting at the bust stop. But Friday I was at the bus stop, got on and a black woman driver asked me, “where is your smile?” Mind you the black repugnant sheriff of Milwaukee keeps talking like the sky is falling and you are absolutely risking your life by riding the Milwaukee County bus system.

Despite a series of fare increases and service cutbacks, our buses still get people where they need to go. I have noticed there are many more African-American bus drivers than there were 20 or 30 years ago. Including the young woman driving the bus Friday who asked me where was my smile. My smile went from her to the tall, distinguished man sitting in the first seat. He was wearing alligator shoes and his bag indicated he was a veterans counselor at the state job service office. He was on the way to work.

As I spoke with him I learned that he had served in Vietnam a few years after I had left the military.  His job had been assisting diplomats evacuate the war ravaged country. He was wounded and was compensated by the government. War was very much on our minds. In this era of the all-volunteer army people have a choice whether to go to war. I thought about  the young man who died in Afghanistan at the end of last year a few days after re-enlisting. I thought about the family he left behind, his wife and children mourning his loss.

I also thought about the Obama administration updating the American military posture and Defense Secretary Leon Panetta reassuring war hawks that we will maintain our ability to fight two simultaneous wars. Only a few days after we closed out (but not really)  our disastrous involvement in Iraq, we’re reminded that we may still blunder around in search of enemies somewhere else in the world. I shared my concerns with my fellow rider, Mr. Jones. He told me that he had his wife had raised several adult children to be strong educated civilians. They had engineers, therapists and other accomplished children of whom they were very proud. And none of them are going into the military.

We talked about the military as an unofficial jobs program, especially in our present climate of high unemployment. And Uncle Sam will come calling offering young people an opportunity to come in a box. As Mr. Jones left the bus I thought about the lessons fathers teach their children regarding service to their country. He had done his job well, in instilling values that led them to succeed. You don’t need to join the military to serve your country. You can do just as well helping to build bridges, healing the sick and raising your children.  Thank you for your service, Mr. Jones.

Image via Wikipedia

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Look Out World, My Niece Grace Has Come to Read!

Image via Wikipedia

By this time on Thursday I will be back in my home town of Buffalo and seeing my family. As a Baby Boomer, I was a child of integration. Thanks to the United States Supreme Court decision in Brown v Board of Education, the Buffalo public school system was invalid because it maintained two separate and unequal education systems.

Flash forward to 2011 and my niece Grace and I was talking with my older sister about possible gifts for this young girl who is the daughter of my nephew John and his wife. Coincidentally, John was born in 1969, the year I graduated from high school. John’s mother Chris was telling me about the way that he had loved Dr. Seuss books. She had thought about getting a collection of those books and ended up buying them for her grandson Brandon. Unfortunately he is on the autism spectrum.

I recently wrote a blog entry declaring that I would rather write than have sex. So you can imagine how I felt listening to Chris tell me how Grace likes to sit there at the kitchen table and read the newspaper. She’s 2 and she’s requesting that the adults make room for her as a reader.

What better tradition to start in a family than having the father read to his daughter. I remember hearing some story on public radio about this. So my first appearance as a character in my niece’s life may be as the one who helps her to discover the same books that her father read, Dr. Seuss. And the Grinch better not say a bleeping word about it.

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“Seriously!?” Saturday: “Goooooooooooo Incest!”

“Seriously!?” Saturday: “Goooooooooooo Incest!”.

 

Reposted from a young woman Kimberly Back about a prank in which students were kissed and groped in an odd contest at school