The World I Imagine

I spent a lot of my day trying to figure out how to help young boys learn how to be their true selves and be nicer to each other, seeing that their natural tendency, for some reason, is to build a wall around themselves and act like assholes.


Making fun of those who are different or smaller or weaker or weirder than you is such typical pre-teen male behavior, but that doesn't make it any less a cop-out. As an educator I'm constantly reminding myself that these bullying kids are just young children too, who have their own issues- as I try to untangle the issue from the kid and the behavior from its damage, I can’t help but think of the same behavior I see in adults.


I have said it many times before- working with young boys to learn how to be open-minded, fearless, kind young men is some of the most crucial work that we do as educators.


I am not saying that there aren’t very similar pecking-order issues with the girls, and that they don’t have their own set of problems, but learning how to navigate the build-up of a testosterone fueled alpha-male world is a project I have been grappling with since I was picked on for being small and weird and different.

…

Saw this today on Twitter:


We have been instructed to disbelieve the news, the gov't, the scientists, and the academics. But we're supposed to believe in America?

…

The world I imagine, the world I have been working toward my whole life, feels so distant these days. It is getting smaller and farther away and harder to achieve, but I must have faith that this is the world that we have been promised.


I have not spent my entire life committed to education, I have not spent my entire life reading books about peace and justice and love and art, and watching films about diversity and race and class and poverty, I have not joined organizations and NGOs dedicated to peace, I did not join Peace Crop, teach in The Bronx, join The International Socialist Organization, and march in the streets, and teach for fifteen years, just to watch it all get pissed away by some two-bit snake-oil salesmen and his gang of thugs and billionaires.


Some nights, I need these little pep-talks- soft gentle wisps of breaths on the embers of the fire in my heart to get it going again. I have seen a few flames here and there. I know it has not gone out completely, because it keeps me warm and the glow shows me that I am not alone in the darkness, but the flames still need fanning.

This Luxury

Do this. Don’t do that.
Be happy. Be angry.
Be optimistic. Let it go. Normalize. Act. Fight


Every act is a political act.
Every inaction is a political act.


How long can political junkies sustain? Stay sane?
Watching from the sidelines, jumping into the game.


According to reports…everything is a swirling jumbled mess.
There are no signs of clarity.


I was at PD today, learning how to build trust and rapport.
We spoke of vulnerability and the five states of mind:


Flexilbity
Interconnectedness
Efficacy
Craftsmanship
Consciousness


Still learning about how these states of mind might help me in my professional career, but on a personal level- learning to navigate the online muck and cesspool of political understanding, it might behoove me to consider the five states of mind.


Currently I am exploring the consciousness field. Trying to find out where I stand and why I am standing there. How I got here and where I might move next. I am reading and weighing and thinking and reflecting nearly every second of the day.


But right now at this exact moment, on a Saturday night, after friends just left, I am rambling and scrabbling for some kind of meaning, when all I need is a novel and the warm embrace of fiction. A blanket of words and the safe bed of narratives. I need some calm and rest and the hopefulness and gratitude of tomorrow, Thankful that I am have enough privilege to even entertain this calculated approach.


Other people do not have this luxury, and I am aware enough to know that justice cannot wait too long for me to get my shit together.

So Many Passions

This is what Skyelar says to me this morning as we are brushing her teeth:

I have so many passions:

singing
being a student and learning about things like animals
caring about people and animals
art
and building things.

Thank you Gillian​

…

It’s three twenty pm. I’ve taught three classes today, with one prep which I used to plan a lesson with Paula​. I was on grade 8 pod duty during the first break, and I joined my mentor class to help support Tabitha Global Concern group by participating in their walk for water campaign during lunch time.

But that was earlier in the day, it is now three twenty and I am working with our amazing Off Tangent literary magazine group as we finalise the stories and move them into our design template and get ready to send it all to publishing in a few days. The room is buzzing and exhausted, but we are all functioning and determined to get this thing done.

I have yet to sit down all day.

In walks in Andrea and asks if it is okay for Kaia to stay late today and help MC the Epic Arts dance performance later tonight. “She can stay and rehearse from 4:30-6:00 and then be a part of the show.”

After a quick chat with Mairin we thought that giving Kaia a chance to get up on stage and play an active role as a Service Executive Committee member would be a good idea. But this would mean me going home, changing, getting her some dinner and making my way back to school.

Yes, back to school after the day I just described. (Still no sitting)

After I dropped off her dinner, I ran over to Burp and sucked down two Tofu tacos, some chips and salsa and an ice idol coke. It was a tiny slice of heaven. I got to sit down and breathe.

Back at school and I watched Kaia do a great job getting the show started, and what a show. I had no idea what to expect, but these Epic Arts dancers did an amazing job of teaching history and culture through the medium of dance and art. It was for lack of a better word- epic! Nice to sit chat and catch up with Andrea​, Steven​ and Catherine​.

Made me realise how lucky I am to not only wok in such an amazing school, but that my kids are able to attend it as well. We teachers often complain or whinge about the amount of “work” we have to do and at times it is draining and exhausting but days like today make it worth it.

It is now 9:06 and I am nearly panting as I wait for my glass of wine and a Twix bar I bought from the gas station on my way home.

The work we do is so damn rewarding. I mean, from the second I got to school today, until I got home, I was helping young people understand their roles as readers, writers, activists, peace-lovers and artists. We built empathy as we walked in the rain. We created community as we bonded on our walk. We marvelled at the beauty of life and the finality of death as we held a bag of bird bones in our hands with Jenn​. We learned to find, sort, use and cite evidence to build our arguments to make sure that we have rational and empowered voices as we head into the world. We worked together to create a work of art- editing, designing, and negotiating. We learned to understand history through art and take risks by standing on stages. We clapped for the deaf and wondered how they felt the beat as they spun on stage in their wheelchairs.

We wondered. We marvelled. We built. We learned. We walked. We held. We worked.

And yes, work can be exhausting, but god damn if I would rather be doing anything else. And it is just Tuesday! We are off to Kenya in three days and who knows what we will be doing there.

Thank you to UWCSEA and everyone who makes it such an amazing place. You know who you are.

….

Observations:

• Following your passion is tiring, but the good kind- that leaves you spent and ready for more. 
• For better or for worse my kids are absorbing our values. I think this is for the better. I am so proud of them both. 

1. What do you do that makes you tired, but you wouldn’t trade for the world? 
2. How are your kids making you proud? 

Never Blend In

As per usual this post was meant to be more than it will end up being, but I have left too much to do till the end, and I have run out of time. This post should be split into three parts, but I will try and scratch out at least a third now.

It is 9:20 pm and tomorrow morning, first thing, I fly to Kenya to see my best friend and do what I can to help him get his/our dream off the ground. I have not seen him in two years, and I have not been to Sub-Saharan Africa since I left Mozambique in 2002. My mind and heart are filled with so many emotions, that I have chosen to simply store them up and let them spill onto the paprika colored soil of Africa. I will sort it out there, or maybe even when I get back. Although, it probably should be, this is not the post where I extrapolate on the magic of Africa and the amazing people who live there. I hope to write that post in the coming days, on the ground, live so to speak.

I also promised Ari that I would write a first draft of a radio program we are working on about my first kite experience, and how that experience relates to my daughter’s first time clutching the strings of her kite. But my brain is too disjointed and amplified to be able to focus on that.

I am here to write tonight about the only thing I have been able to think about since I watched the movie Milk last night. This will not be a well thought-out or even proofread essay or movie review. It is too late and I am too tired for that. Let me say, however, that Gus Van Zant has made a nearly perfect film and Sean Penn has taken acting to a whole other level. I just want to close my eyes and let the images of that film and the messages that it exposed wash over me and see what comes dribbling out the other end of my fingers.

Although I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, before watching this film I had no idea about the story of Harvey Milk. I will shoulder some of the blame, but I am disappointed that all through my schooling not one teacher thought to teach me about this amazing man. What did I expect however? My public school education got about as revolutionary as the I Have a Dream Speech. I had to learn about Malcom X. Che Guevera, and Ho Chi Minh on my own, so how could I expect that I would be taught anything about this Gay Rights martyr.

As I watched the film, I repeatedly asked myself, what was it about Harvey Milk that set him apart from others, from me? How was this one man able to do so much for so many people, while I waste my time scratching out blog posts that maybe fifteen people read? The answer I came up with was that he was 100% committed to his cause, because his life and happiness depended on his success. There was no failure. No half way. It was an all or nothing game and he played to win. He had no other choice.

Yes he was brave, heroic, and dare I say Intrepid, but more than anything he was relentless and stubborn. He knew that his life was just a bridge toward justice and freedom. His life was not his main concern. The goal was the main concern. And the goal was nothing less than freedom. The freedom to be himself in a society, culture, and world that told him he was wrong. That his natural self was an abomination. He had to prove to the world that he had the right to simply be himself, that no one would ever again force him to be ashamed of who he was.

Never Blend In

…was one of the mottos I remember from the film. How many of us can say that we have enough courage to say fuck the establishment at every turn it tries to make us change ourselves to fit in? Shave that beard, cut that hair, wear the tie, it’s just for the job interview, just to get the loan. While most of us are more than willing to compromise who we are, Harvey Milk refused to be forced back into the closet.

I know this post is raw and needs work, but I wanted to get something up before I left for Kenya. The film Milk and Harvey’s story have changed some integral part in me. I have suddenly changed and grown. There is one scene in the movie where he stands on a wooden box with a bullhorn and says:

I am Harvey Milk and I am here to recruit you.

Well Harvey I am on recruited. I am embarrassed to admit that like most normal people who only play revolutionary, I have chosen to only participate half-heartedly. I do not have the courage to put my own life aside and work for the good of all mankind. I have not been pushed into my corner. But I will do my best to fuck with the machine at every chance I get. I will do my best to be myself at every turn and not allow the machine to dictate who I am. While I am not a homosexual, I want to come out of the any symbolic closets I may have forced myself into over the years. I know this is not even close to your vision, but a fire has been lit and we will have to wait and see where it goes.

I will not allow the forces of ignorance and hate force me to be anyone other than who I choose to be. I will not allow people to berate and vilify others for being themselves. I suggest that any readers of this blog do the same. I have ordered The Mayor of Castor Street and hope to write more on Harvey in the future. In the meantime, thanks for following this disjointed prose for as long as you have.

See this film. Take to the streets. Demand the freedom you so cherish.