bridges

I dreamt in chunks last night,
my exhausted body unable to move
each limb sawed off like a sad branch
laid in a pile of lifeless lumber.

My mind, however, was awake
and wild in dreams of wonder:
Does wood remember being a tree?
Paper of wood?
Books of memories before they were stories?

The dreams were intense and world blending:
Jason was there and we were in a fancy restaurant,
me agog over some nice wine and the cut
of an helium tomato, yellow in this case,
and he asking for his fifth glass of water.
It is known in our circles that he is seldom
impressed or aware of the subtilise of tomato flavours.
In my dream I wonder
if his disdain for fine dining
is still the case,
seeing that we haven’t eaten
in a restaurant together,
fancy or not,
in years.

In my other dream, my students are there.
We are in Italy and I have patched them together
as a quilt I hope will take.
I am hosting a parent event in a piazza.
The sun is bright and everyone is enjoying
tomatoes and wine.
The blanket of kids I have woven have found skateboards
and are doing alie-s and jumps on the ancient cobbled streets
wearing hats and sunglasses.
Looking cool and confident
as kids their age should be.
The parents are getting drunk and singing each other love songs.

I am a bridge that spans many worlds,
keeping it all together, unsure of the exact location of the center.
I am a web of spans held together by fragile wire.
The distances may vary,
but these connections are taut and made of steel.

I must confess I am awake now, at least I think I am.
Ready to face the conscious part of my consciousness.
I envision the day lived in chunks as well.
I am in my room at Daraja,
The pre-dawn sounds of howling dogs, chirping birds, and rooster crows
are a symphony unconducted music.

The room is dark, expect for the tunnel of
light cast from my laptop.
Outside the window,
the inky sky is fading into shades
of lavender like bruised human skin.

It is six am and I am sure I will not sleep more tonight.
My limbs have awoken and the pile of wood
has been reconstructed into a moving tree.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow are a jumbled mess.
Film scattered on the floor
waiting to be rewound and led through
a projector.

On the bus ride, Sarah and I talked about a persons
tolerance for discomfort
and the privilege of choice
that leads to freedom.

We watched as an old woman, perhaps fifty years old
back hunched over till her chin touched her knees,
carried a pile of soon to be fire wood, trudging
along the side of the highway.

This display of injustice and discomfort
is not new to me, but I wondered how many
of the kids behind me on the bus had ever
considered this woman and her place in the world.

How many of our kids and had wanted to
stop the bus and ask the woman if they could carry the wood
for a while, and help her stretch her back with the latest yoga moves
and perhaps offer her a glass of wine
and a yellow heirloom tomato covered in chunks of Himalayan sea salt
and maybe offer her a ride in an air conditioned car,
perhaps a Porsche SUV, to a warm safe bed with goose down pillows
and sheets with a thread count that screamed luxury.

How many of our kids considered
going back in time when this woman was twelve years old
and finding ways to get her into a classroom, with a book in her hand
and a teacher guiding her choices and removing her from a husband or even father
telling her what to do,
giving her sanitary pads and offering her a menu of choices
that are often only reserved for the educated and the privileged like us?

I wondered if any of our kids made the connection
between the girls they would meet in a few hours and the woman on the road.
Between their own privilege and the battle against poverty.
Between the world of dreams and reality.
Between the dark night and the dawn.
Between problems and solutions.

The day is about to begin.
I’m a first draft poem of mixed metaphors
unbound like an old film on the floor.
I was awoken in the night
by the urgency of this creation.

I wonder what I’ll do with it next.

What A Girl Is

Everyone says that learning from mistakes is the best way to learn, but it can be frustrating as hell, especially when you look back at the mistake and it feels idiotic and so obvious. I guess the key is not to repeat the mistake you learn from. Today was a pretty mellow day of putting out my first tiny fire, with success I might add, and making sure that our team is ready for tomorrow. There are only so many times you can check and double check the details and I am pretty sure we are good to go.


Whether as a kid or a teacher, I have always loved the first day of school. And now as a parent there is an added level of excitement. It is such a time of hope and positive energy. Seeing old friends, meeting new teachers, we all set such lofty goals. There is a buzz in the air throughout the day, and it is a buzz that fuels me.


…


Didn’t get up to much today. Took the girls to basketball and apparently after Skye lost control of the ball while dribbling in a scrimmage, some little boy made a comment about how she’s not strong enough to play basketball. What the hell right? Where does this masculinity come from that is so determined to put down girls?


Kaia and Skye fell in love with this show on the Disney channel called Liv and Maddie this summer. It is cute and funny and sends a pretty good message. The other day there was an episode about how boys rate girls at school and the main characters creates a song telling boys that girls aren’t a “number” and that they don’t need the boys’ unsolicited advice. So after today’s incident Skye was able to make the connection with what that boy said and the lyrics from What a Girl Is:


“On a scale from 1 to 10, I am perfect like I am.
I don't need your number, we don't need your number.
And the stupid magazines, want me to change my everything.
It don't even matter, they're not taking my power.
I'm so over all of these voices around,
They've said enough it's my turn let's get loud.
I'll show you what a girl is, 'cause all of me is perfect.”


We were putting together some Lego and listening to the song and she said, “Next time, I will just tell the boy that I don’t need your opinion, thank you. Please just leave me alone.” #thatsmygirl


In somewhat related news, I am reading Jon Krakauer’s late about rape culture on college campuses and Mairin and I decided that the girls need to go to an all girls' school. My god! What a world women need to navigate. Good thing Skye is starting early by taking control of her body.


…


After some work at school, basketball practice, and making Lego, we headed out to a quick dinner at Brewerkz and the girls were asleep by 7:30. Now it is time to relax a bit before the big day.


I was talking to my mom today about all the weird mojo in my universe right now and the pain and suffering so many people around me are experiencing and she said, “It can be hard to face, but this is it. This is life. No one says it is easy, but we live it and try to make our way as best we can. Have a good conversation with yourself and ground yourself so you can move on.”

I Would Be A Very Angry Woman

Both Kaia and Skyelar have been doing an hour of Fastbreak basketball every Saturday, and I won’t lie, it’s great to watch them develop their skills in such a short time. Skyelar sank four baskets in a row today and her smile was worth a million bucks. They’re learning how to handle the ball, dribble, shoot, pass, and finish lay-ups. It’s a non-competitive skills building thing so no real games, and that is perfect for where they are in their development.


Today, however, there was a bit of friendly competition for the older squad, when the coach divided them up into a group of five and seven and had a shoot-off. Each team stood in a line at separate hoops and the first team to sink ten shots won. Pretty straight forward. Now here is where it got interesting. She split them up between girls and boys, and yup, you guessed it- the girls had the smaller team. After some initial griping about the unfairness of having fewer players, they got down to business.


The girls won the first game 10-7. They were on fire. All business. They won the second game 10-8. Still not a word. No fists being pumped. Not even a smile, Just focus and “swish.” The third game they won 10-6. Keep in mind that each game was a different look at the rim. Then on the fourth game the boys won, and that is when I learned an important lesson about gender and the patriarchy.


As soon as they won, the boys erupted into cheers, hi-fives, hoots and hollers and a bit of smack talk. They had just gotten smoked three games in a row by a smaller team and as soon as they won 10-9 mind you, they acted as if they had won the NBA finals. I was shocked, but not really because it totally made sense.


This is how we do- us men. It’s all about the boast, the confidence, the brash alpha strut. It must be in our DNA. It has to be. Look at these little dudes today who felt the need to supplement their skills with bravado, even when it was clear they were being out played.


As men we are so often blind to the effect this kind of privileged assurance must have on women who do not always interact with the world this way. We men compensate for so much, by just pretending and bragging and acting as if we can do whatever it is that needs to be done. But as a dad, who wants my girls to just be themselves, and as a teacher who wants my students to have a fair shot at everything the world has to offer, I can’t help but notice how bone-numbingly frustrating it must be to be a little girl or a grown woman and have to live in a world where not only are you told that you are not good enough, but then to actually see that not only ARE you good enough, you are actually better than the people telling you to doubt yourself, and when you prove yourself you are met with silence, and when you trip up, even a tiny bit, you are reminded that you are not good enough again. And if you choose to speak up about it and vent your anger about the injustice of this double standard, you are branded as an uppity bitch or an overly emotional woman. That's a tough pill to swallow.


I would be a very angry woman.


Even though the girls had won three games in a row, as soon as the boys won one that first game and starting strutting around, you could see the girls become demoralized in their body language. Their slouches seemed to say, “I guess the boys are better. Like they say they are.” I wanted to jump up and yell bullshit, but I didn’t.


The fifth game was under way, and the cocky boys were playing sloppily and the girls we sinking shots. They won 10-7 and a few tiny fists were pumped. A smile was cracked here and there, but nothing else. The girls were all business and ready for the next drill. The boys made a few excuses and acted as if they won. Typical.


Raising and teaching girls has taught me more about being a man than anything else in my life. It’s a tough ride out there for women. They are not just being emotional or over reacting. I could feel that frustration just watching these nine year olds play basketball. There is a distinct difference between where boys and girls find confidence and build self-esteem. Boys gobble up it up undeserved, because they are the benefactors of a long maintained patriarchy, while girls have to fight for it every chance they get and even when they get a taste of confidence, they have to hold on tight, because there is some boy waiting to tell them that they haven’t earned it.


Final, note I was reminded that while parenting, teaching and talking with girls is super important, it is just as important that we have similar conversations with our boys about earned confidence and how to be humble and kind and empathetic. The future of our world depends on it.

….

I can do this. I will do this. I will do this. I can do this. I won’t stop. I won’t stop. I will do this. I will do this. I will do this. I will do this. I won’t stop. I will do this. I will do this. I will do this. I will do this. I can do this. I will do this. I can do this. I will do this. I won’t stop. I won’t stop. I won’t stop. I won’t stop. I will do this. I will do this. I will do this. I won’t stop. I will do this. I will do this. I will do this. I won’t stop. I will do this. I will do this. I will do this. I won’t stop. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. I won’t stop. I will do this.


Murakami mentioned that he has a mantra when he runs. I played around with this one for a few kilometres today. It was fun and effective until it wasn’t. Shuffled my way through a pretty effortless 10km today. Could have kept going but I was late for a movie date with Mairin.

Splintered

I had a lot to say this morning. Lots of thoughts running through my mind, hoping to be articulated, I shaped them as I walked across Tent Plaza toward lunch. A few more thoughts demanded attention on my run. I was gonna write about old friends and about the insecurities of men, but now it is almost midnight and I have forgotten the shape of what I was going to say.

I drank a bottle Champagne with Mairin​ and I am listening to Leather and Lace by Stevie Nicks and Don Henley at the moment.

Now I am in to Ball and Chain by Big Brother and Holding Company with Janis Joplin and oh man oh man that guitar. Are you kidding me?

What can I write now that matters more than these blues? More important than this live set from the Carousel Ballroom from 1968?

The Stevie Nicks was from the season premiere of Togetherness. They sang it as karaoke song in New Orleans and I tracked it down to Spotify. We watched Girls and Togetherness and Walking Dead and we rested and laughed and drank champagne. I was thankful that this is what we do alone and together.

The Joplin is inspired by The Season of Witch the book I am reading.

The great ideas I cultivated all day were erased by the ease of the champagne and the mindless yet necessary TV viewing with Mairin. And now this Holding Brothers’ guitar is not helping the writing process. How did this explosive sounds escape my ears for so many years?

…

Gonna call it a night now. The words are just too jammed up and they don’t seem to matter. There is no direction or focus or purpose. The ideas are blended together and broken into snippets. I cranked out 750 words earlier for the book and that was all I had in me I guess.

Maybe the brain needs a rest. Maybe the thoughts need to sleep. Maybe the words need to drift away and not be pinned down for you to examine or for me to curate.

Find your own words and share them with me.

Good night.