a little advice on complaining about politics

Can we talk about something real quick? I would appreciate it. I know I’ve said it before, but cynicism is a cop out. It’s the easiest, laziest way to make yourself feel intellectually superior, and it’s amazingly effective considering how inaccurate a portrayal of actual ability to assess reality it is. And recently I’ve noticed an increase in cynicism around politics in America. I get where everyone is coming from. I experience it myself. However, it being understandable and fairly universal doesn't mean it is not, in essence, laziness. So here's a little advice (a little advice that I'm also trying to follow), on how we can change the political system. And no, maybe we can't change it all. And yes, it will still be screwed up and full of negative power structures. But in the words of Eleanor Roosevelt; it is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.


1)Don’t vote for the president: Lately, I have found that I have some disturbingly juvenile tendencies. One of these is the propensity to roll my eyes (like ALL the way around, which just looks ridiculous) when I hear people tell me they only vote in the president election. Here’s the thing- yes, voting for the president is important in some ways, but if you are only going to vote in one election, for heaven’s sake make it your local elections. Seriously. City governments are some of the most corrupt entities we have in the US. Why? Because a money-laundering, crony-supporting, lobbyist-kiss-ass who hates schools and loves to spend tax dollars on hair plugs can stay in office for 30 years because, statistically speaking, voters choose local politicians based largely on name recognition. This is slightly (slightly) less true on a state level. I would hope that by now most people can see that what stops things from happening in government has more to do with large numbers of unmonitored congresspersons running around spouting nonsense rather than one single position. Don’t complain about the fact that government can’t get anything done, they can’t get anything done because we so often vote by towing a party line that we have spent years teaching politicians to believe what will get them in office and keep them there is radical pigheadedness. Everyone wants job security, right?

So here’s the thing, if you only vote in one election, the one that is most useful in terms of that which will have the greatest effect on you personally, is your local elections. After that, it’s state elections. Know what your city and state politicians are up to, how they act, who is consistent in bringing peace and prosperity to your life and the lives of those around you. The political sector has the capacity for an amazing trickle up effect. I sort of get those people who say they don’t vote because it doesn’t matter, in some ways they are right (when it comes to presidents, it’s difficult to determine behavior in office based off of campaign promises or party affiliation). But that is not to say voting doesn’t matter. Leave the presidential elections aside if you must, but, by all means, vote local and vote state, and watch the political climate change.

Some good sites (there aren’t a lot for local politicians, so you’ll just have to keep abreast of news on them or research by name)

http://www.politifact.com: a non-partisan fact checking group that rates things politicians say on a scale from pants on fire to completely true. Also fun to just read and shake your head, feeling superior.
http://www.votesmart.org/: a site where you can look up voting records etc of politicians to see if they match what you want
http://www.followthemoney.org/database/state_overview.phtml: if you have some time on your hands, you can definitely look here. All campaign contributions are public information, but a lot of times it’s difficult (at least for me) to search through because it’s not clear just from a name who is supporting your politicians monetarily.
http://www.corporations.org/campaign$$/: just a list of other sites that are helpful. Full disclosure, I haven’t gone to that many of them.

2)Don’t support lobbies: Lobbies are really good at taking complex situations and making them seem really simple and obvious. On a similar note, let’s give politicians the benefit of the doubt and say that they, on some level, genuinely want to support the interests of their constituents. How can they support your interests unless they know your interests? If the only voice they hear is the seemingly unified and coherent one of the lobbies, guess who they are going to listen to. So if you feel upset about an issue, don’t support the lobby that promoted it. Studies show that the more we come in contact with an idea, the more comfortable we are with it, the more we like it and the more likely we are to believe it (it’s called “the effect effect” which is a) and awesome name and b) really interesting case studies). Studies also show that it is difficult for most people to feel the difference between hearing an idea many times from the same source or once from a variety of sources. This means that the loudest, most consistent voice can often changes our minds on things. For instance, most of us know that pizza is not a vegetable, even if we claim otherwise, but somehow through the magical power of lobbying, it was deemed a fantastic idea to name it a vegetable for nutritional (nutritional!) purposes in public school lunches- you know, the free and reduced lunches given to a demographic with the highest rates of obesity and health problems in the US, as a result of poverty. I’m sure the first time each politician heard this, it seemed absurd. But after hearing over and over how tomato paste counts as a vegetable (it doesn’t) and how there is enough in pizza to count as a serving (there isn’t) and how it will reduce costs (ok, short term costs maybe), and parents who disapprove can pay to pack their kids lunch (many can’t or won’t), all of a sudden it seemed perfectly logical.

The need to think for yourself and avoid supporting lobbies includes ones that are purportedly looking out for your best interests. Now, I may get myself in a bit of trouble here, but I’m going to use the recent example of Senate Bill 5 in Ohio as an example. I read it, and while I am neither a lawyer nor a politician, to the best of my understanding all of the arguments (both for and against it) were mostly straw man arguments, or at least severely exaggerated. Now, maybe you believe that, for instance, seniority is the best determinant of a past and future achievement in which case, great! By all means, veto it. But please, don’t believe that just because you belong to a union that it is looking out for you or giving you accurate, untainted information. Most unions, particularly large ones, are wealthy, powerful, hierarchical entities that are predominantly concerned with bringing greater amounts of profit and power. Please don’t take this as me being anti-union. It’s me being anti-power structures of any kind that work to further marginalize people.

3)If you are going to watch one news channel, watch two: This will take more time if you do it daily, but maybe instead you can alternate. I know they are telling you not to try other stations because they are all the balanced, real news you need. This is one of the most brilliant marketing techniques I’ve ever seen- convincing people that they should never support anything else but you, that you are what they need, that everyone else is lying to them. Then, when you have convinced them of that, you systematically mold all their information until they think exactly like you need them to in order to support not only you, but your share holder interests. Incidentally, working in community development I have seen this same technique used by gangs, drug dealers, and abusive spouses. Try to balance, so if you watch a typically left wing station, try to watch a right wing one (and visa versa). This doesn’t mean you have to listen to Rush Limbaugh or Michael Moore. In fact, I would personally suggest avoiding political commentators all together.

As much as this pains me to say, if you get all your news information from John Stewart, Saturday Night Lives Weekend Update or the Onion, you really need to look at something not satirical. For one, you’ll get the jokes a lot better. For another, those only pick on the really absurd and/or high profile. Set your home page to BBC world news or your local newspapers website. Then, if you are feeling really adventurous, click on an article every once in a while. You can even pick a topic (i.e. the economy, civil rights, Latin American political climates) and follow it through different sources. Find a buddy who will follow a different topic and *gasp* have an interesting conversation every once in a while that DOESN’T involve who is sleeping with whom (note: if that’s your only area of interest, consider choosing to follow politician scandals, you will still be talking about who is sleeping with whom. It’s like the freaking Real World: Capitol Hill)

So yes, it will take some work. But seriously, only like an hour once a month. That’s it. Look at the news, check in on your politicians once a month. Don’t believe everything you hear. It’s worth it. Really. If we, as a people, are really too lazy to spend the equivalent of one lunch, or two tv shows every 4 weeks to keep those making decisions for us accountable, then yes. I think maybe we deserve whatever we get. What we don’t deserve is the right to be cynical.

Successful

For work, once a quarter, we have to write a "great story." Normally I think it's stupid because it's generally used to parade our successes as though it's never hard. But I wrote this one today, about last night, and for the first time I felt like it was a great story worth telling. Maybe because it's not about my success, it's about the success of those who deserve to be noticed.

In order to understand the triumph of the young men in the leadership program, it’s important to understand their oppression.

I developed the young men’s leadership program in reaction to an understanding of the environment. My community is largely comprised of single mothers and young grandmothers raising their children. There are virtually no positive male role models to be seen. During one session, we began talking about childhood- I asked who they looked up to as a kid. Out of the five who were there that day, one boy (one!) said that he looked up to his father, a father who was no longer around due to the confusion surrounding refugees and immigration status. Of the rest, two said the person they looked up to as a child is currently serving life in prison. One said the person he looked up to as a kid is now a gang leader. One could not think of a single male in his life that encouraged him (until his high school coach). Then there were the parents. I can’t count the times that parents came up to me, not knowing what to do with their boys. Big Brothers, Big Sisters currently has a three year waiting list for boys (it’s about two months for a girl). And there was nowhere else to go. So I started the leadership program.

The idea was that maybe, instead of trying to find people to invest in our community, we could raise up people to actually create sustainable change. Originally we thought it would be a sports and leadership program- with the sports aspect as an incentive. However, within the first two weeks, the boys requested that we not play sports when the leadership activity was finished (they all were in sports) so that we could more time on the leadership part. And so we proceeded. It was a 10 week program, during which we had the honor of some amazing and prestigious speakers, without whom it would have been nothing. We also had a twenty-something guy that came consistently and connected incredibly well with the young men. I owe all my gratitude to them.

The first 7 weeks were comprised of various speakers presenting on the different forms of leadership, but the last three weeks were a chance for them to put their new found skills into practice. Going back a bit, I want you to get a glimpse of how I have seen them treated, and maybe that will help explain why this is such a big deal.

These are good boys. I mean genuinely good. Not good in comparison to the other boys around them. Not good in light of the violence and poverty and images they see compelling them to act another way. Not good, for young, black, urban males. They are good in and of themselves; relative to anyone I dare you to set them against. I know this, because in the past year I have watched each of them show honesty, consistency, and responsibility in every aspect of their lives in the midst of the kinds of circumstances that would have made me, for one, fly off the handle. I can say with confidence that anyone who knew them would agree.

And yet, in spite of this, I have watched people- people who should know better- claim that they are incapable of, for example, playing basketball without it ending in a gang fight. Something went missing once- something which, statistically, is highly unlikely that anyone in their demographic would have any interest in, let alone that they are not thieves- and yet we were told that “you have to really watch those people. They steal things.” “Those people,” of course, referring to any young black men. This happened. It was the closest I was to violence in my career. I was told that I need extra security because if left alone with them they would probably rape me- yes, specifically told this- when I can confidently tell you I am at more danger from the mothers in the community than these particular young men. Heck, I would even go as far to say I am more danger from my coworkers than these boys. This my personal experience of hearing them labeled over and over as bad, worthless, dangerous, uncontrollable. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have assumptions placed on you about your ability to deal with authority, your work ethic, your morality every time you apply for a job, or shop in a store, or walk down the street. I hope and pray that if I ever have children, they do not have to experience going through life with the automatic assumption that they are evil, an assumption that- even with actions proving them contrary- they can never fully shake.


As I said, the last three weeks involved the use of appreciative inquiry to talk about their lives, the issues facing the community, and their role in changing the world around them. Then we used these thoughts and ideas and created a program. They decided that many of the problems that are caused are as a result of boredom- when you have no access to entertainment or positive activities, you become destructive. Then, by themselves, they designed a game night for the final outcome of the program. They worked with a budget to decide what food they wanted. They talked about how they would keep it safe and peaceful. They decided what ages should be allowed, how they would get parent permission, and passed out the permission slips. They talked about how to handle any situations that might arise. They decided what games they would have and who would bring them and how to make sure the wii didn’t get broken. All this they did while I sat at the table next to them reading (and eavesdropping) so that they would be forced to do it on their own.

When the day came, the boys came early to set up. Since they had decided they wanted to have a family style meal, they set each place. Long before the program was scheduled to begin, kids were banging on the doors like zombies trying to somehow magically push their way through the glass. So one of the boys went outside, told them if they continued to bang on the door that the night would be cancelled and shut it.

When it came time to let them in, one of the young men- a young man who, I might add, did not say more than three words the entire first 4 weeks of the program- walked outside with more confidence than I had ever seen in him, proceeded to line up the kids, explain the rules, and let them in one by one by calling their name off their permission slips.

The night was perfect. Better than I could have done. The guys were fun, attentive, strong leaders. There was less yelling or misbehaving than I have ever, ever, seen at any of the many programs I did this year. If a problem began to arise, they took turns dealing with it calmly and respectfully. I had enormously high expectations of them, and they exceeded them all. But, as unbelievably proud of them as I was (and am) it was nothing compared to how proud of themselves they were. Having never had the experience of being trusted and encouraged, this was a break in a life of constant battling against prejudice to prove their inherent worth. I got the opportunity to take each of them aside that night to tell them how proud of them I am and to give them some of their rewards for having completed the program: a t-shirt, a framed certificate, and a personal recommendation letter (the savings bonds will come in shortly). One of the boys began to tear up when I told him about the letter of recommendation. He asked if he could make copies and use it for finding a job or if it was just for college. I told him to make as many copies as he wanted.

I think the really amazing thing about the night though, was watching how the other kids looked at the guys. At first they were shocked when they would ask me for another slice of pizza and I told them to ask the young men who were in charge. Less than 30 minutes into the game night, however, they started imitating them. This was especially true for the younger boys, who asked if they could help pass out food, wipe down tables, throw out trash or vacuum (the last of which would have been very inconvenient since the room was packed and games were being played).

Earlier that day I was worried if my year of service meant anything, if I had made any lasting impact at all. My impact was temporary, but the impact of these boys is incalculable. All of them are now talking about college, school work, careers. They see themselves as smart, capable role models. They know what it means to be a leader and they know that they are up to the challenge. I had the amazing opportunity to help them see themselves, maybe for the first time, as having vast potential. But all I really did was help them to see themselves for who they are.




tl;dr version: WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S TOO LONG?! READ IT FOOL.

curmudgeon

While I am a particular stickler for avoiding plagiarism at all costs, I am particularly fond of so many words that others have use.
Dear Kimi,
I found this thing that you said and I really liked:
Kimberly: hes a curmudgen
me: i find that word refreshing and adorable
Kimberly: except in his case its negative and smells of mothballs and pride
me: I imagine an ill-kept mustache and condescending eyebrowns
Kimberly: how about an ill kept beard, 5'4" and bald, and a disapproving head shake on constant repeat

job hunt and gather

It’s about that time again. Yes, that time when I must embark on the world’s single most frustrating experience. Job hunting.
Hyperbole?
Potentially. Because I mean, yes, I can think of several more frustrating experiences, such as having to get up every day and go to work in a place where you believed you would be in a challenging and rewarding position only to discover that your company possesses the same high-powered soul vacuum as any other. Or if you had a pet that tried to suffocate you in your sleep despite you having long, heart-felt talks about how that hurts your feelings and your lungs, or someone tapping you on the forehead when you mess up. Or something.
Maybe, but all I know is job hunting sucks. It sucks like a vortex, like a black hole. And here I am having to do it. Again.

For those of you who have not recently embarked on the task of job hunting, the following are the stages one in its midst is likely to experience:

Procrastination (part one): In which the applicant finds numerous reasons to not begin the job hunting process, including (but not limited to), I’ll wait until the economy turns around, I’m still needed here, It’s too early to start, I really want to get my teeth flossing under control before I commit to something new, My internet mysteriously went out when I hit the box with a baseball bat, I suddenly have the urge to start theater and need a financially stable day job to support my passion, and (most commonly) I’ll start just as soon as I am not cowering in the corner out of fear.

Excitement: In which the applicant sees the world as full of possibilities. Move across the world? Why, yes, I can! Use all the skills and education I have ever gained in an integrated way? Oh definitely! Find a high-paying, stimulating, socially just job with incredible benefits, ideal coworkers, and perfect hours? Yes! I can have that too!
Incidentally, it is at this stage that everything wrong with the current place comes into harsh contrast. Thoughts such as how bad the hours are, how much paperwork there is, or how your coworkers refuse to call you Sir Awesometon are more and more apparent as you drudge through you work day.

Note: no actually job searching or applying occurs in this phase.

Over-Confidence: This is the stage that I, personally, get stuck in for a large portion of the search. The longer this lasts, the harder the fall (see Rejection: parts one and two). This is the stage in which the applicant becomes convinced that they are capable of all things, and that the employer will recognize the massive untapped potential within the applicant. This stage has led me to apply for things such as –and again, not limited to- UN Secretary General, Senior Economic Analyst, CEO positions, various positions requiring advanced degrees in economics, physics, history, psychology, social work or upwards of 15 years experience and (most recently) Senior Multi-Function Financial Analyst for Lockheed Martin. This is not a joke. I have a real problem

Procrastination (part two): This occurs because the applicant has convinced themselves that they are fully qualified for all the ridiculous jobs that any rational person could see that they are not. As a result, the applicants see no validity in continuing to apply for “lesser” and “nonideal” jobs because, obviously, they are going to get that one incredible job that they-they and nobody else- applied for.

Rejection (part one):
Dear Applicant;
Thank you for your interest in our company. After reviewing your application it is clear that you are either delusional or on drugs to have applied to a position so out of your league. For your sake we hope you applied on accident or because you lost a bet. Although we generally would not even dignify something this ludicrous with a response, in this case we are obligated to notify you that your application has been used in our company newsletter in the “Laughs” section as a way to boost morale. Please do not contact us with any further questions,

Thank you and best of luck,
Management


Under Confidence: A reaction to Rejection in which the applicant feels convinced they are nothing, have no education, experience, or ability to perform at a level above a two year old child. Applicants model this emotion by, in turn, acting like a two year old child. Indicative of this phase is the tendency to cry, pout, complain loudly to anyone who can hear, complain quietly to pets and/or stuffed animals, call parents to complain and demand sympathy, lie on the floor in a melodramatic heap.
Note: No actually job searching or applying occurs in this phase.

Desperation: In which the applicant applies to everything they can find, including those jobs not in their field, or for which they are vastly overqualified.

Procrastination (part three): During which all endeavors seem equally interesting, that is to say all are equally more interesting than job searching. This includes catching up on emails and phone calls, deep cleaning, cooking elaborate dinners, exercising, and friendship bracelet making.

Interviewing: As a result of the Desperation phase, the applicant has managed to apply for and receive an interview in various placements. The goal of this phase is to flirt enough that the interviewers like you, but not so much that they feel you will be a competitive force in the cut-throat office flirting sector.

Rejection (part two): In which the applicant discovers someone has better interview flirting skills.

Dear Applicant,
We loved you. You were perfect and amazing. It’s not you, really, it’s us. We’re just looking for something a little different right now, you know? And, well, we met someone and just hit it off really well
I’ll always have you in my heart,
The Management

The Tease:“We will keep your application on file”

Victory (?): Finally, too exhausted and jaded to enjoy it, the applicant receives an offer, decides that nothing better is likely to come along, and accepts. Subsequently, applicant blows entire first pay check on things they have promised themselves they would buy when they “finally had money.” As a result, the newly employed job searcher cannot afford to feed themselves and live off rice for the following two weeks.

a trivia game

(played with 9 year olds)

What country do we live in?
-Ohio!
No, what country
-(different kid) Ohio!
That's still not the answer.
-(yet a third kid) Ohio!
That's a state. What country do we live in?
-Alabama?
Noooo
-(smug kid, waiting as he sees his peers be wrong, says with condescension) Columbus
What? No. That's a city
South America!
That's a continent. What country do we live in?
Ohio?

this is a true story.

Absurd

I just want to throw this out there:
Someone got stabbed in my community over a fight about a firefly
yeah, a firefly. as in lightening bug

I mean, a firefly?

A FIREFLY for goodness sake

how does catching lightening bugs escalate to a stabbing?
I do not know.

absurd.

there was a shooting while I was at work

gang wars. maybe twenty shots fired between three guys as they ran all the way across the complex, including the playground which, by a miracle of God, was clear of the 40-50 kids that are normally swarming it at that time. Nobody was hurt.

But I don't want to talk it. I want to talk about something else.

I want to make it clear that I get all the arguments for capitalism and the capitalist-like mentality that is applied to social issues- if you cannot change on your own, why should the government intervene. I really, really do.

It's probably the hardest part of my job, balancing these voices in my mind saying that people have personal responsibility with the ones that say they are also victims of a very real, very flawed system; a system I can help undermine a little if I love people enough. Maybe I can help a few people, or one neighbourhood, change for the better. Maybe I can't, or I can but it's not worth the cost. Maybe I can if I can just believe that it's worth it, that there is a point.

Perhaps it's true that capitalism, like chaos, is the natural way of things, that to which all things fall in the absence of socially constructed order. Maybe, like death and disease, it is inevitable that people suffer because of a fallen system.

I do not believe, however, that this means we shouldn't fight against them, or that it's right.

I am not an idealist by naiveté. I am an idealist by choice.

And I believe that in the end the greatest argument for hope is that without it, we don't stand a chance.

tl;dr version: this got a little political, I'm sorry

I have like 4 posts half finished. Instead I'm doing this.

"I figured out what I want to make a poster about nonviolence say: 'real men don't fight or sag'"
"I don't care if you sag. I just don't want you to fight."
"Really? because in my school there are signs all around that have that slogan."
"Yeah, I really don't care, as long as you can walk or run without them falling down and I can't see your underwear."
"It doesn't make me bad?"
"As far as I'm concerned, your choices and actions make you bad, not what you wear."
*stunned silence, then:
"I have to tell... everybody."

secondary trauma

There’s a term for it, apparently. It’s called secondary trauma.
The trauma experienced by working around and hearing about trauma to those you are emotionally invested in.

I’ve had some hard weeks.

Made harder by the fact that the superiors in my organization have a distinctive tendency to respond in unhelpful ways. There’s another term for that too. It’s called condescension. Implying that I don’t know what I’m talking about, not listening to what I’m saying anyway, verbally patting me on the head to say “I know this must be hard for you sweetie, you look like a super emotional type. You must not understand your limits or know how or when to refer to others”. I’d say they can shove it, but it actually really gets to me, particularly when all I ever do is ask for help.

If I quit. It is because the second makes it impossible to feel supported when dealing with the first.

I experienced a lot of secondary trauma, particularly in a packed into a single week a few weeks back. The stress made it so I couldn’t really eat but now I can mostly keep food down which is awesome because it’s a preferred hobby of mine. I mean, it’s just that it’s all so sad-making. And very overwhelming. And very much like a flood. And, seriously, what on earth makes people think I am qualified to come to and tell all their saddest and serious-est and wisdom seeking things? I don’t just still like dinosaurs and dragons, I sort of wish I was a dragon. I bite shoulders to show my affection. As a child I thought that humming bird cake might actually contain humming bird… and I still ate it. Shouldn’t this tip you off to the fact that I am not the type of person who is all with it?

I was going to write about it, but then I looked through my recent posts and they are all SO SERIOUS and besides what if that’s exposing you to, I don’t know, tertiary trauma or something. Why keep spreading the sad? It’s not fair to you. It’s not really helpful for me, at least not in this forum. And there’s something weird and voyeuristic about it, no? Because there is nothing redemptive about that week. So it would never come around, there would never be a point. I feel like writing about it in detail would just be feeding into cynicism and, like I’ve said before, I feel like cynicism is a cop out. It takes no energy, no imagination. It also leaves no hope, and without hope we have nothing.

So in lieu of that, I am going to write the ideas for dealing with “trauma”

Unfortunately, after 3 weeks of working on this trying to make it funny all I came up with was this pathetic attempt at a post, which is not funny at all and more a list of what I actually do:

1) put the word “trauma” in quotes, mostly because I still think it’s weird and unfair that I get to claim trauma by being surrounded by other people experiencing legitimate trauma and I have yet to come to terms with the fact that I can’t necessarily handle everything with which I am faced.
I like this method because it delegitimizes the whole situation and amuses me into making it easier to deal with. I have decided to start using air quotes in more situations where they may not necessarily belong to add excitement and amusement to otherwise dull situations.

why yes officer this is my “valid” drivers license
That dress looks “great” on you
I think you two make a “great” couple, “of course” you should ask her to marry you.

2) Totally deflect : I’ve said it before, but my fight or flight mechanism is heavily weighted towards flight, and as such I tend to distract myself. This means that my days are filled with finding ways to avoid thinking about what is actually happening in my life. I have started looking at jobs in Australia because I figure as soon as the rest of my friends/siblings get married there will be nothing left for me here. I’ve also started learning to play soccer because there are some awesome people let me hang out with them sometimes. What up. Because if I can’t be sane, at least I can be awesome.

3) I think I’m going to start lying about my work. When I leave, I just don’t want to think about work anymore, In fact, I’m fairly certain it would be more healthy for me if I could somehow rest from work a little better by not having to think and talk about it for more than the 50 hours a week I do already. However, that’s often what people want to talk about. Why is that? I don’t know. I’m going to pick something insufferably dull so that they will not ask follow up questions.



` Ideas of insufferably boring jobs that do not lend themselves to follow up questions:
Private Middle School Librarian
Nighttime file alphabetizer
Spell Check Quality Assurance Specialist
Safety Card Artist

4) Cling to the good things. Say them out loud, as if they are real, as if I am real, more real than this feeling of falling. And hope to God there’s a point.



tl;dr verson: "Les temps sont durs pour les rêveurs." (times are hard for dreamers)
-amelie

a genuine question

There was a girl today that I was trying to get to read. She wouldn't, and I wouldn't let her have snack until she did. Finally, after much teeth pulling (of the metaphorical kind) she relented and together we read about the Civil Rights Movement, something she- as an 8 year old- is very interested in.

The torrents of cold water kept most of the people away today, allowing me to sit with her alone for a bit while she ate her snack after finishing reading. She was quiet, presumably because she was eating, but actually because she was pondering this question. She looked up:

"Miss Kirsten, I've been meaning to ask you. Did you used to do those things to black people?"


Hilarious. Adorable. Hilarious.

I just want to repeat that so the magnitude of how awesome and hilarious a question it is to be asked out of the blue will sink in. Here I am, expecting something along the lines of "Do I have to read everyday?" or "Can we make necklaces" or "I like oranges" or "Have you seen that Sundrop commercial?" and this is what follows
"Miss Kirsten, I've been meaning to ask you." I've been meaning to ask you Brilliant. This is something she's thought about. Wondered. Looked for the appropriate moment. Felt comfortable bringing up.

"Did you used to do those things to black people?" Yes, yes I did. I was a raging racist who perpetrated both intentional and passive hate crimes decades before my birth and protested the change of establishment towards a more just and free society. And now I work with inner city youth. She wanted to know. It seemed like a reasonable question to ask, and I seemed like a reasonable person to ask it to, probably being the only white person she knows. Or at least the only one she can approach informally.


I love everything about this moment. No sarcasm.




As a separate thought, it's kind of a profound understanding of racism and social pressures. She likes me, so she thought that even good people were capable of great evil. I explained that I had not, nor had my parents. Then I asked her if she used to do those things to white people. I thought she would take it as a joke.
She paused and then answered seriously "No. I try not to be mean to white people just because they are white. I don't like it when I see people do that."

We talked about why things like that happen. She said it's just like bullying. Then, she gave a real life example at school, where SHE IS THE BULLY and doesn't stand up for the nose pickers because everyone else would think they are gross.
She idolizes Rosa Parks, not like most kids do (because she started a movement) but because she grasps the weight of Rosa's actions as being something so brave because Rosa had every reason to believe that the whole world disagreed with her and yet still chose to do what she thought was right. The craziest thing is that this girl gets it all from inside her own head. I mean, I know her family and see her homework and hear what they teach. She's not repeating rhetoric. She is just interested in civil rights and thinks these thoughts on her own.

Sundrop it.

For about a month, I was asked daily "Have you seen that sundrop commercial..."

this was inevitably followed by being told that I look EXACTLY like the girl in the commercial or that the commercial reminded them SO MUCH of me.

I have also noticed an increase in Sundrop consumption. Compliment? you decide.

Broken Record.

I'm only putting this back up because of Leslie.

I won’t let me kids use hurtful words to cut each other down.
I get the hypocrisy since outside of work I have a bit of a sarcastic sense of humor.
There's kind of a lot of hypocrisy between who I am outside of work. I like violent video games, play fighting, driving over the speed limit.
I don't mind the dichotomy.
Do me a favor and don’t let them know.

This is a poem of explanation for why I don't let them break each others spirits, about how words are violent too, about how much I have to repeat it. It needs editing still.



You get so angry
so irritated
when I won’t let you use those words
those angry words
hate filled words
even playing around
bad words
so called because they serve no other purpose but to cut each other down

“That’s how we talk at home. That’s how we communicate.”
You argue.
But not here.
Not here
Not in here,
not like this
not those words
not us
we are not going to be that repetitive
that predictable
not going to continue those cycles of tearing each other down with words full of hate
hate and fricatives
fricatives and stops like k and g and t and f and s and j
making them fun to say,
but not so fun to hear
and horrific to watch as you laugh
lifting the words casually over your shoulder like a sledge hammer
saying check this out
watch this
and then you take that sledge hammer you made and
swing them down as they crash down against your five year old brother’s head
crush him with just one hit.
Are you proud?

And when you are young
Taking the words
trying them for the first time
with your friends, at night, behind the building
in the cover of darkness
you shred them and put them in paper
roll them
run your tongue along the edge,
secretly worried about paper cut
not sure if you’re supposed to spit out the bits that end up on your tongue
light them on fire
suck the burning shards into you
and the words make you crazy
but you use them to numb you out to the rest of the world
no one comes near you now
because they burn from your tongue every time you open your mouth


Man,
I wish I could tell you
Teach you
Explain that there are better highs
Better words
Good words
Not bad words
Don’t tear you down
Won’t numb you out
Enhance
Explain
Connect you to life and others and experience

And I’m not just talking about the maddening rush
of a perfectly formed piece of literature
the swirling high
of manipulating and controlling and
hunting down and grabbing hold of words
in such a way
that you have created art and significance
and then by juxtaposing incompatible images you have somehow managed to make yourself perfectly clear. To name your demons.
Sucked down and buoyed up, transported away.
No.
I’m talking about
bigger highs
better words
words with depth and meaning
words like
I love you

And you sat back there so your mother wouldn’t catch you
the thing is
Your mother wouldn’t care.
She uses them too
shaped into a knife
slitting her wrists every night with them
just so the worthlessness gets directly into her blood
remember crying when you were little
as she held your wrists
over the bathtub
less clean up
and slit them too
drops of blood on the floor
same knife you use to cut the chicken and vegetables
same knife you use to fight
and why not?
it’s the sharpest thing you own.

So that’s why I won’t let you use those words
bad words
Not here
Don’t bring them in here
We’ll learn new words
Words that we can stack
build on
stand on
build each other up with
Words we can plant in the ground
grow into trees
use like bricks
build a tower so tall
Stand on top,
Yell our words
God himself
Looks to see what you have done.


and then we will climb down set it on fire
not the kind that burns out tongues
or burns our lungs,
but the kind that burns like a signal
see us
we will choose words that create more
make be more
they are our tools, not our captors
and we will use them to create not destroy
and so when I tell you that those words,
those words
have no place here

it is not my method of control
it is not a plea

it is a statement of fact.

Those words have no place here



tl;dr version: I'm not particularly fond of this.

The little one's story.

While I was sitting outside today, a six year old sat next to me on the bench facing me with his knees tucked up under his chin. He pulled his coat over his head and put his forehead against my arm until he was a tiny green ball.
Then from inside the tiny green ball a tiny green voice started telling this story, poking his head out to verify the details. This is as true to exactly what he said, as best as I can remember it:

There once was a red jacket with white stripes.
and there were jeans
and grey shoes.

There was the ground
and the bench
And a the red jacket was soft and I am leaning against it
Inside was a teacher
She has green eyes
blue eyes
grey eyes
Miss Kirsten, what color are your eyes?
and there was a shirt with whales
and hearts
and the hearts had colors
like a rainbow
I like rainbows
I like Miss Kirsten
I've never seen a whale

there are lots of colors on the shirt
and the grass is green.
those shoes are cool.
I like it here.
It's almost my turn to play curb ball
Do you ever get cold in just that red jacket?
Is this a jacket or a sweatshirt?

Did your eyes used to be brown?

baby gangsta

Happy St. Patricks Day!

I should mention that if I am ever working in a similar environment to this one, in the future I am making St Patty's a yearly vacation/mental health day. What sick person decided to tell kids to pinch each other? Do you have any idea what happens when kids who are taught they must unequivocally hit anytime they are touched by another human, whether on purpose or on accident, feel justified in pinching each other? Mayhem. Mayhem is what happens.

Onward!

There have been several surreal moments for me recently. Times when I think, really? I mean, SERIOUSLY? This is probably not happening.

I realize that this should happen to me almost every night because, and this may sound like I'm bragging so I hope you don't get too jealous but, I may be one of the world's awesomest dreamers. I'm just saying. Some of you have the unbelievable privileged of getting messages in the morning describing my dreams. Most of them tend to follow complex and fancy-filled story lines with a definitive beginning, middle, end plot. Last night I solved a murder mystery in my dream. That's a true story.
Occasionally they just involve things like me spending the better part of an hour holding onto the string of a blue helium-filled balloon, floating around kroger holding my legs up so I was about two feet off the ground, giggling uncontrollably. Also a true story.

I know it sounds odd or petty or like an exaggeration, but I would be legitimately heartbroken if this ever stopped. Maybe this is why instead of dreaming being difficult for me to believe, almost every morning I think "Where am I? What is happening? Wait...Seriously? Really? AGAIN? WHY IS IT MORNING AGAIN?"

and then I say NO real loud and thrown the covers over my head and stick out my arm and sort of feel around for my cell phone until I find it, then I bring it under the covers and hold it like I'm a squirrel while I look at it and I turn it on snooze and try to go back to sleep but because I pulled the covers up so fast my feet are in the air and they have decided to start wiggling. Silly feet.

But there have been other, much more surreal moments. Ones that cause me to pause and not believe for a moment what I heard or saw, and walk away not sure if I should tell someone because I feel I cannot be entirely certain that I did not make it up. Like if you've ever seen a UFO. Here are five surreal moments from the past two weeks during which I thought "Yeah, this is probably not real" in reverse order:

5) This conversation:
"Lady, you are always getting in people's business"
"You punched him"
"Yeah, and that's not your business."

4) My roommate said something about her housemate to someone who had met me once, the person said "Oh, the housemate with freckles and punk red hair?"
I mean, this can only refer to me but... punk red hair? Is the color punk red or is the cut punk and the color regular red or is it an overall impression of punk red hair? Also, this is awesome and I think I should feed into this image of me. I'm going punk. Unfortunately the only think I know about punk is the couple of people I was friends with in high school with gaged ears and safety pinned clothes and from watching the movie SLC punk and listening to the Sex Pistols and from my brief obsession with googling Steampunk. Since I don't have a lot of time to do more research, I'm going to have to combine my current knowledge and assume it's all an accurate depiction of punk culture. Anarchy. Safety Pins. Time Machines. Got it. That plus my punk red hair and I'm going to be queen of the punks. God save me.


3)Once, when I thought the kids were out of the building after a particularly stressful day, my coworker and I were cleaning up. She said "ARRRRRRGGGGGGGGG. Why are all these kids so demanding and entitled?" and I shrugged, laughed and responded "I guess they feel they deserve everything based solely on the fact that they were pushed out of their mother's vagina." Unfortunately, some of the older kids had snuck back inside the building (we have a problem with kids sneaking back in while we are locking up) and heard. Was it an ok thing to say? No, probably not. But they weren't concerned with the fact that I was complaining they were entitled. They go "OOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh SHE SAID THE V WORD" So I explained (and apologized) that while I used it in an inappropriate context, there is nothing wrong with the actual word blah blah blah they weren't listening. About a week later, in the sociology class I teach one of the girls asked me if I ever cussed. "Not here" I answered. And the girl who had been there a week before said, very seriously, in a whisper "Once, she said the word vagina" A cuss word? A CUSS WORD? This from a girl who drops the f bomb like it's crumbs to find her way home. I tilted my head and looked at her. Huh, because, I mean, here's the thing:

Vagina is not a cuss word.

And I understand a little better why they have friends their age getting pregnant

2)I was talking to some young teenagers and they started talking about domestic violence (they changed the subject, I went with it). And the conversation went something like this"
"Miss Kirsten, you ever been hit by a man?"
"No, have you?"
"Yeah, I had a boyfriend that hit me." They are 13 or 14 year olds.
"I've only had two boyfriend that hit me." Yeah, that's right only two.
"I watched my mom beat my dad with a hammer in the backyard, so I guess that's backwards from how it works most of the time." She said proudly.
"My mom beats me sometimes, but only when I'm bad."
"My mom beats me for no reason, that's why I live with my grandma."

So we talked about why do you think men hit women? Why do you think women hit men? What other kinds of abuse and violence are there? What can you do to help people who are in it? How can you stay out of them? Why do people stay in abusive relationships?

Then, why do you think people, particularly women, go back to partners even after being severely beaten or hospitalized?
"I don't know, why do you think Miss Kirsten?"
"I think it's probably because the other types of abuse run deeper, they've probably been emotionally abused for a lot longer. The person told them that they aren't worth anything, and they believed him, so they go back."

And then in the middle of our loud conversation one of the girls looked into the distance and got really sad and the others got quiet and she said softly "I just had a vision. I can see that. That is going to be me someday. I can see it happening just like that. Some guy is going to tell me I'm not worth shit, and I'm going to believe him, so he'll beat me and I'll just end up going back." And my heart broke, because she was being truthful about what she saw as her future. She could perceive and feel and imagine how it would all fit together. So we talked about supportive community networks.

Seriously? Really?
This. Is. Not. Real.



1)How do I describe this last occurrence in a way which will accurately depict it's surreality to me? I mean, it was the whole purpose of this blog post. I called like... 8 people to tell them. That is an exaggeration, I called like three. I may exaggerate a lot here because I get so excited and overwhelmed by what happened that my imagination keeps kicking in and taking over and make me tell it so that you get it how I FELT it, even if it wasn't strictly how it was. I'll try to stay honest if you promise to have some imagination and agree that this was SO crazy and SO hilarious and SO absurd. I cannot account for the overuse of superlatives.

I was getting into my car after work. It was a nice day outside and so a lot of people were out. As I looked out the front window of my car, I noticed a tiny boychild walking. I mean tiny. This kid was two, maybe three years old. Tiny. I think two because he didn't look old enough to form sentences yet. And he was completely alone. Ignoring for the rest of this post the calling child services aspect of that statement and consider my shock to see a tiny child walking around alone anyway, then imagine him dressed, as he was, as a gangsta. The baby was dressed like a straight up gangsta! Walking in his little baby hiphip toddle/gangsta walk. He was sagging his pants and had his tiny chain and a big coat over his long shirts. All clean and pressed with shiny white shoes, just like a real gangsta. Obviously someone had put a lot of effort and care into dressing baby gangsta, but the effect was that he was the worlds smallest hood. So he was swaggering towards me as I watched in shock. He walked his two foot self all the way up to my car and stopped. I rolled down my window and smiled "Hi! How are you?" He did a chin tilt. A. Chin. TILT. Wud up. "How old are you?" He stared. "Where do you live?" He pulled his pants up by the crotch, flicked me off and scurried away.

He didn't really flick me off.

But he did start scurrying across the street. I got out of the car to, I don't know, catch him or something? Make sure he doesn't pop a tiny cap in someone's ass? You can't have babies walking around unsupervised even if they are dressed surprisingly enough to have me in stunned silence for what was easily the first 5 minutes as I watch them walk towards me. Then react by hitting my window and waiving my arms like a mad woman to get my coworker's attention. She was texting in her car before leaving and did't hear or see me "LOOK AT THE BABY LOOK AT THE BABY HE'S GOT SWAG."

I don't know what I thought I would do with him when I got to him. Clearly he wasn't going to talk to me. And apparently you can't just grab children and take them with you. There's a name for that. Arson or something. Learned that lesson the hard way. Regardless I paused because a kid on a bike cut me off and when I looked up baby gangsta had dissipated into the mist.

There was no mist.

But there were cars in the parking lot and I couldn't see him.

It is my wish that all of you pick a stereotype and meticulously dress your children as them on alternating days. Make sure you teach them the appropriate matching walks and gestures. Thank you.


tl;dr version:
The truth lies in man's dreams... perhaps, in this unhappy world of ours where madness is better than foolish sanity.

-cervantes

acts of worth

We had a dance party. After the Thai food that left us full to the brink (Kim, how did you make that food taste so good? Was it sorcery?), we put on music and did the dishes. Warm sake and good music turned the laughter that shook our shoulders into dancing that shook our hips and we belly danced with scarves on our waists and bangles on our ankles for hours, twirling into exhaustion. When we finally collapsed onto the couches, we talked of our great hopes and our great convictions. And as the night wore on we asked things the things that you ask in the cover of darkness: where did you come from and who are you?
And, in whispered tones, do you think- if there is no heaven and no hell- if you died today, has your life been worthwhile?

I answered this question in light of that first psychotic and overwhelming work week.

So that night, after the dancing, after the collapse onto the couches, when they turned to me, for my answer- have I been worthwhile- this is what I said:

I don’t know. Maybe I have, in the butterfly effect sense. I mean, I haven’t had any great achievements. I haven’t done anything that I think anyone will remember. I don’t think my death will cause anyone or anything to collapse inward on his or her or itself. But Mother Theresa has this quote “Every time we smile at someone, it’s an act of love, a gift we give to that person.” This week at work I just kept repeating that to myself over and over and over, trying to convince myself that even if I wasn’t doing anything else I was making it better just by smiling at people. Just to have someone who smiled instead of bitched, to have someone at least tried to appear like they wanted to be there, wanted to see them, that it was making it just a little bit better. So no, I don’t think I’ve made a huge difference, but at the same time I guess… I’ve tried to smile at people. So, yeah.


Yeah.

I really really hope so.

the first truly crazy week of my job

This was a couple of weeks ago. It is pretty indicative of how things go these days.


We have had what I thought was escalating fighting, but may in fact be merely escalating awareness of fighting. Either way, we have two related issues which create difficulty. The first is that we have to talk daily with kids in the After School Program who have-truly, genuinely- never been taught a single other tool for dealing with any type of life trouble other than violence. The second, greater, difficulty is that in circumstances where we have dealt with it the kids who fought, and then the parents come. Often the kids calm down quickly, listen, talk openly and honestly (not a problem) but the parents continue to rant, attack each other, lie, and insist on feeling victimized even when they or their child used a weapon to jump another parent or child. Then the parents bring up things that happened months ago or keep bringing up the fight long after the kids have made up.

Somehow-and I have no idea how because, as I often mention, I never ever know what I’m talking about when I talk at work and just sort of hope that what I’m saying turns out to be the right thing- but somehow it has been decided at the rental office that I am the best person for dealing with fights. I think this might be because I am the person who never yells and just calmly repeats the same thing over and over, like how we wanted to make this a safe place and what that means and the importance of positive reinforcement and consequences for negative action and that Traci (my boss/the case worker at my job) would talk with them and how if we don’t do these things and take it seriously the kids will end up in jail. Definitively.

So when mom’s and grandma’s come in screaming about wanting to murder someone else common practice has become to walk into the office and grab me (and keep in mind that since we have a few fatalities per year, not to mention non fatal stabbings, shootings and assaults, these are not necessarily empty threats- murder probably is an exaggeration, but assault is definitely on the agenda). Yes they come get me. Me. The twenty four year old with no counseling, social work, or mediation training outside her one week of RA training for Miami University- where the running joke was that there were more girls named Lauren than minorities, and the fact I was an annoying know-it-all punk of a middle child who couldn’t mind my own business when other people were fighting. This means most of my using conflict resolution skills resulted my siblings turning around and saying “Butt out, Kirsten”.

And yet, this has become a core facet of my job; a daily reminder that people have the capacity to believe and expect more of me than I am necessarily prepared for or capable of; and while at the beginning of the week I may have laughed to myself thinking “I have no idea what I’m doing, what to say, if any of this works.” By Thursday morning I was crying in the shower before work, thinking to myself
I have no idea what I’m doing
What to say
If any of this works

Additionally we had about two emails containing about 7 regulations that we are legally supposed to be following. Nobody told either of us. This meant that there were numerous people being held up by and noting our inability to proficiently perform the tasks to which we are assigned. It resulted in a lot of feeling incompetent, no matter how many times our bosses assure us they don’t consider it a reflection of us, we didn’t know, how could we be responsible. It’s just a lot of feeling overwhelmed.

What happened Wednesday was a tipping point.
What we tell young people, every day (I mean every. single. day.), when they ask why, why can’t they fight, why can’t they cuss at each other, why can’t they say hurtful things, why can’t they bring each other down, is always the same answer: We are trying to make this a safe place. It can’t be safe for you if you are always being torn down or afraid of being hit, and it can’t be safe for others if you are tearing them down or afraid of being hit. That’s why if there is a problem you should come to Ashley (my coworker) and I first. Tell us.
It’s ok, we tell them
You can come to us
We will protect you.
We will keep you safe.

A woman gave a presentation for black history month. She gave away beanie babies (and tee shirts and buttons).

There was a boy and a girl. They are nine years old. The girl had a beanie baby. The boy did not, but he wanted one. While they were chasing each other around outside, he trying to grab at her toy, she trying to keep it away, disaster struck. From what we can piece together from those who were watching, and what we know of the kids, and from physics and charts and tracing the trajectories of flying objects, is this: she put the animal behind her back and turned towards him. He reached around to grab it, in the process accidentally touching her butt. Like she had always, always been instructed to do by her mother she promptly punched him in the face. And just like he had been taught all his life by all the influences available to him of instinct and culture and peers, defended himself from attack and struck back by throwing a beanie baby full force at her face and raised his fist to hit again.

At this point Ashley saw and rushed over to stop deal with the situation, just like when similar situations happen multiple times a day. The difference being that the girl ran to the office and called her mom crying

Mom a boy threw a beanie baby at me
Why did he do that?
I punched him
Why did you punch him?
He hit my butt
OH NO HE DIDN’T

And then, before her daughter had even hung up the phone, before I knew what was going on or Ashley had managed to ask the boy why he was raising his fist to hit a girl, the mom had come over like an elephant, screaming that she was going to tear the boy into pieces. JENNY BABY WHERE IS HE? WHERE IS HE? I’M GONNA KILL HIM. I AM GOING TO RIP OFF HIS PENIS. HE GONNA BE DEAD. NO BOY TOUCHES MY DAUGHTER. NO BOY MOLESTS MY GIRL. Hearing the yelling, I ran over- partially aided by kids grabbing my hands pulling me begging
Please, Miss Kirsten, Please
Stop her, make her stop
Do something
Partially impaired by the littlest ones, like six year old Philip, who hid behind me crying telling me he was scared, grabbing my legs, asking me to protect him, asking only that I would do what I had promised.

When I came to the entry way I saw that Ashley had shoved the boy into the corner and was using her body as a shield- knees bent, arms outstretched so that you could barely see his tiny body behind her while Dia, the mother, was trying get past, screaming that we should not be protecting him but join her in beating him into a pulp- as long as she was allowed to be the one to mutilate his genitals. This image is burned into my eyes. It’s such a tiny space, the entry way, and every corner of it was filled with the presence of Dia and her shouting, like her words and her anger were gargoyles flying around her head attacking at Ashley and the boy. He’s such a tiny boy, in that corner- not cowering, because they are taught not to cower- but tiny because he is just so little. He is nine but when we met him, Ashley and I thought he was six or seven. And Ashley, like a knight shielding against a dragon, no telling if she would be hit, effectively stopping the physical violence, but helpless against the gargoyles that everyone could hear.

She called the cops. Dia. Dia called the cops.
On a nine year old boy who accidentally touched her daughter’s butt,
she wanted to press charges and have him permanently listed as a sex
offender.
And while she called the cops we pushed the boy out the door and told him to
run home.

She came at me with her fists raised because I asked her to please, Miss Dia calm down. “Don’t you touch me Miss Kirsten.” Yeah… Here’s the thing. I was standing at least 6 feet away from her when she said this. I’m not sure what part of that made her think I was going to touch her. Later one of our older boys told us this is where he was most scared he said, and I quote “I thought she was going to hit you. I hoped you were going to hit her back.”

Then she started calling her friends.

And while her daughter stood sobbing, she stood screaming and yelling, and if people ever started getting bored and moving away, she ran around and moved with them so that she would again be the center of attention. This made me so angry, you know? It was all for the spectacle. All about her. Grrrrrrrrr.

At one point, after the police officer explained that you cannot press sexual assault charges on a nine year old who touched another nine year old’s rear end because it does not fall under the legal definition of sexual assault (he would have had to touch her breasts or genitals), she started acting out scenarios “So my daughter should just bend over and ‘hey baby slap me. Oh that’s nice yes! Yes!’” then it escalated until, by the end she had convinced herself (and was calling friends on her cellphone to inform them and waving at people passing by to say hey and stop and talk to tell them) that we- Ashley and I- were encouraging pedophiles to come in and rape her daughter. Yes. Pedophiles raping her daughter. I warned you my job was psychotic this week.

Where were her children through all of this? Excellent question. They were ignored, often lost her, left in the cold (including her two year old child who was left alone and unsupervised for the first hour until a neighbor got him from the house). They kept coming back to us. And in the most heartbreaking part of all, we had to keep whispering to them, no honey, go stand with your mom. When Ashley and I were debriefing on Wednesday, by which I mean trying to become calm enough to be able to drive home safely, I was saying that I was so angry because if Dia had any respect in the community she could have single handedly ruined everything we had been working for- We said our building was a safe place, she said it was not. We said we would protect them, she said we were trying to hurt them, and she tried to hurt them. We say you should respect authority and be kind to each other, she mocked and yelled at us and the police officer and her children and everyone who did not 100% agree with her and some of those who did.

This is what I hate. I hate how her neighbors know she abuses her children and won’t report her. I hate that now her daughter, if she ever is sexually abused, will have the association that if she tells anyone, the entire community will come out and laugh at her and her family while they scream about what happened. I hate that it was all a show, all for attention, and that it was done in the name of protecting her children. I hate that she was the victim of the same thing as a kid, and I hate, I mean I really really hate, that her sweet, wonderful daughter will grow up to be like her and her sweet, wonderful sons will grow up to fully develop the horrific anger issues they are already beginning to display. But what I hate the most, I think, is what happened next.

Friday.

The next day I went into work, exhausted and still angry. It was like we had gone back a month. Since we’ve been there, Ashley and I have seen incredible improvement, especially in the after school program. The kids come in, say hi and talk to us for a while. Then, without arguing and maybe only a little bit of well meaning cheek from the older ones, they sit down to do homework and read. We have a group activity- like a game, or poetry slam, or talent show or presentation. We eat and they all help clean up. While we still have arguments, they aren’t as vicious or hurtful, they rarely dissolve into physical fights, and they can be worked out shortly afterwards. It’s not perfect. It’s still pretty crazy. But it’s a lot better than it was. There’s structure now and everyone knows it and we can work with it. But MAN, when we came in on Thursday it was like something inside everyone’s brain had snapped. I think what happened was that, even though everyone stared at it like the spectacle it was, subconsciously it reaffirmed that the best way to get attention was to act that way. So her actions were imitated in the other people’s actions. I don’t know, or maybe it’s just that tension and danger spread like wildfire. Maybe it was just that, exhausted and sick and angry and overwhelmed, our lack of confidence made us unable to preemptively create an atmosphere of calm. I don’t know, but whatever it was, it was madness.

Because we didn’t want to sweep it under the rug, we decided to separate the kids by age and talk about what happened. This became a sticky situation because we thought that Dia would keep her kids out of the program for at least a few days to make a point until her selfishness at wanting to not deal with them overwhelmed her, but the next day she dropped them off saying loudly “Don’t let any of the boys touch you and don’t let the adults be mean to you.” Ashley took the younger ones, including her kids, and talked more generally about nonviolence.

I took the older kids, asked them how they felt about it. Told them this wasn’t a time to gossip, just a time to decompress. So I asked them questions.
What kinds of emotions did you feel? Fear. Embarrassment. I don’t know, Miss Kirsten, what’s that feeling you feel when you know somebody is doing something wrong but it’s because they think somebody did something they didn’t do?
And what kinds of violence where there? Well, it wasn’t just hitting, it was emotional violence. Words- That’s right, words are a form of violence. Let’s call that verbal violence. Sexual violence-He didn’t really touch her on purpose- Yeah but if he had it would have been. Physical violence.
Did any of these types of violence help the situation, did they make it better at all? No.
Does violence solve problems? Yes.
So I tried again, what about when one of the little kids reacts and shouts or hits because something makes them mad in the after school program. Does this make the situation better or worse? Worse.
So does violence help situations? Yes.
I tried in four or five different ways and somehow they could not make the connection between what they saw and what they believed in their lives to be true. While they were able to analyze brilliantly real situations and see no redemption in violence, every time when asked the answer was the same. We have to use violence in our lives. It’s like they have no other tools. No other option. They saw no other future.

We talked about safe places, and the result was amazing. They told me how they felt safe when they were there, here, at the community center, at the after school program.
We talked about what it means to be safe. I asked them questions.
What is safety? Peace of mind. Not worrying about what will happen. Not having to watch your back.
Where are you safe? Here. Only, when you and Ashley are here. I feel safe at home. I don’t. Me either.
How can you create safety? Silence.
How do you help make this a safe place? We don’t fight. We don’t yell. We don’t put each other down.
That’s exactly right, so doing those same things when you leave, and encouraging others to do those same things, that creates safety wherever you go. You guys are leaders. People, especially the younger kids, look up to you. They imitate how you act. When you start creating safe places others will follow.

Then this is what they told me. They told me that they can’t do it when we’re gone. They don’t know how. It’s like they perceive us as glowing orbs of light that carry the safety with us, and that when we leave, all the light is gone from Marsh Run and they can’t control their own actions anymore. No fighting happens while we’re there- except for the Dia thing(s)- but once we leave it’s like a switch flips and the world changes and everything is different and they can’t be held responsible for their actions. One of the girls asked if she could chase my car if she was scared as I was leaving, if I would stop and come back, protect her, bring back the safety. Another asked if they could call me, have my phone number, so I could come at night when things were happening. No, I can’t come out here at 3am when 10 kids jump one (this happened, happens, is indicative of what it’s like when I leave). You have to create your own safety. I can’t always be here, and I won’t always be here. We are going to find ways and work together to make it so all of Marsh Run can become a safe place, not just the hours I’m here, not just the places I am. They looked at me doubtfully.

And I think about it, because they have a point. It’s like, when we leave, they have no influences- not a single one- telling them to choose safety. Not their family. Not their peers. Not their community. Not their media. And so they become these different people. How do they choose anything different? How could they? How do you choose something new-even if it’s something that will create a place you know you prefer- when you are young and everyone is telling you that you have to be a certain way, and it’s the only way you have ever seen or know, it’s your instinct and your taught behavior, and on top of that it very much feels like life or death that you choose what they tell you to choose? How?

I’ve said this before, about Paisley, but the amazing thing to me isn’t that kids in these situations start drinking and sleeping around and doing drugs and fighting at an age where I was still running around in the woods pretending that I was a Native American, or watching war movies with my brother in a fort we made of cushions we had pulled off the couch. It’s not surprising that kids get sucked into unhealthy behaviors. It’s amazing that anyone, ever, gets out.


tl;dr version: A woman attacked a nine year old at my work.

slap boxing

I think I may handled something right! Well, maybe? Yeah. I have no idea if it will come back to bite me in the derriere, but it seems to have worked out ok so far... here's hoping for long term results.

I think I’ve told most of you that every day that passes at my job, I realize more that I never have any idea what I’m doing. Not a damn clue. Like, one time I pulled a yelling kid into my office who described to me in vivid detail, when I asked why he wanted to fight so badly, that he wanted to watch the blood run down the other boy’s face. Just in case you didn’t catch that: he wanted to fight because he likes watching other boys (particularly those smaller than him) bleed. WHAT DO YOU SAY TO THAT?
So every day I say and do things, all the while thinking to myself “welp… hope this works.” Like when I send kids home I have a talk with them about how I’m not sending them home, they are choosing to go home with their actions and I make them explain to me what they did and why they have to go home and how they can behave the next day not to be sent home. Do I know if it works? Haven’t the foggiest. Blowing smoke out my ass is an appropriate phrase to use here. And by appropriate, I mean apt or fitting, not proper.

Now the weather is warming up and people want to be outside more, and the new thing here in my community (apparently) with the kids/teens is something called slap boxing. Imagine a bunch of kids and teenagers standing outside watching two kids circling each other with their fists raised and swinging at each other. The idea (I think) is you swing your fist and if the person doesn't dodge in time you change your fist to an open palm and slap them to prove that you were quick.

On the one hand, it's kind of funny and an alternative to fighting. It’s active and outdoors and social and allows multiple ages to interact together. On the other hand, and this is a big hand, here are my problems with it:

1) It looks like fighting. This is a problem for a bunch of reasons. First, they like to do it on our property since we have open spaces that can accommodate all the onlookers. That makes it look like we are letting them fight on our property. We're working really hard to reinforce the idea that this is a safe space. We have a lot of issues with violence in our community and we want there to be a place, here in the center, that can be thought of as a safe place. A space that you can come and leave behind the violence and danger and feel calm and safe and protected physically and emotionally and mentally. Safe. Ideally this would spread. Fist fighting, or the appearance of it, just doesn't really reinforce this idea.
The second big problem is, especially if the ones slap boxing are high school boys, if a cop drives by when they are doing it and sees, there is a real danger that they will be taken in. At first I thought it was an overreaction when people kept saying this consistently when we have to deal with the fighting junior high boys (even in the cases where weapons weren't involved). I mean, boys fight right?
But even people like the social worker at my job, who is one of the most ration and least likely people to to exaggerate or use scare tactics that I know, would mention it both in meetings with the parents, "What if a cop had driven by?" or "If he keeps fighting he will end up in jail in the next year or two" (he's twelve) at which point everyone- the parents, the kid, my coworker who grew up in this area nods as if this is a true and accepted fact- and in debriefing, "I hope he doesn't keep fighting near big roads where he can be seen." "At least there wasn't a weapon involved" and "It's important to deal with this behavior before he ends up in jail. It's much more diffifult to change after that point."
Then I realised they were right. My cultural framework was based on the idea of if two suburban boys get into it and a cop drives by, most likely the fight will be broken up, a warning given and the parents called. In poor urban areas going to jail is a real possibility in these circumstances.

2) It can dissolve into real fighting. They are already in the fighting mindset. They are surrounded by friends. And I would imagine that getting slapped is a really embarrassing thing that could get you riled up, especially considering I have to stop kids from wailing on each other constantly because of something that they think another kid might have been going to say bad or about them. I swear I’m not exaggerating here. This happens almost daily.

3) It promotes violence. There’s already a culture of violence as a pastime in our community. This week we had a second grader come in and tell us how she “dropped” a kindergartener because she was annoying her. We talked about how else she could have handled it, and if that was an appropriate way to react (tripping a child 3 years younger than you and punching her in the face for tapping your head). She said her mother told her it was ok to do things like that, otherwise people would have thought her family was the kind that let people annoy them or put their hands on them.

Anyway, so here’s what I did:

I went out there and said hi, asked how they were. Then I explained that I needed them to move into the backyards of the houses instead of on our property and out of the view of the street (but I directed them to where I could still see them from the window). I said I knew that they weren’t really fighting, which is why I wasn’t going to break it up, but explained that it looks like fighting and since we’re trying to make the community center a safe space, we don’t want people to think we’re promoting or allowing fighting to happen. I told them to if they could keep it clean and fun it was ok, but if it became mean or real fighting we would have problems. Just as evidence of how these kids are used to being dealt with though, one of the girls asked if it turned into fist fighting I was going to evict them all from their houses. I stared at her in shocked silence for a few seconds until I could stammer out “Uh… no. I’ll call your parents and we’ll have talk together and deal with the situation.” I then walked up to the oldest kid, a guy probably 2 years older and a good foot taller than anyone else there and asked him if I could trust him to watch them and make sure it didn’t dissolve into real fighting. I explained that if it did he wouldn’t be in trouble I just wanted him to come grab me so we could calm everyone down and make sure it didn’t get bad.
He said “Yeah, they’ll be fine.”
“But you’ll come get me if that changes”
“I promise.”
“Cool. Have fun.”


I walked away totally unsure of if I had done the right thing, because of the mixed feelings about slap boxing and the generally never knowing what I’m doing. But here’s what happened yesterday that makes me think it may have been the right thing. The older kid (the one I put in charge) came in to say hi to me. None of the kids were slap boxing and instead asked if I would throw the football with them. The girls who were slap boxing waved at me across the street, and a parent mentioned something about how our community center is “supposed to be a safe place.” In the spirit of full disclosure and fairness the last one is probably related more to the fact that I'm constantly telling that to her son and not to this incident, however I'm greatly pleased to have this spread as a reputation. Nonetheless: Win?

tl;dr: what sounds like a crippling insecurity is actually a form of freedom that I am learning to love.

dream boss

Michael Indiana,
Last week you left me a message on my phone. I haven't called you back yet, but I thought you would like to know that you appeared in my dream that night. And also I was in your dream, or at least I think I was. I dreamt that I was in your dream. You didn't know you were dreaming, and I was explaining to you all the awesome things that you can do in dreams that you can't do in real life. I don't remember all of it, but I remember at one point we were walking on the hills in Paisley (the really steep, beautiful grassy ones near the quarry) with the kids from my after school program and I was showing you how we can jump off and do flips down them without getting hurt. I told you how we could do things like that. We could do anything we wanted. And then we left the little kids so that we could find bigger cliffs to flips off of and maybe animals to talk to or a great quest or costume or something.

Was I in your dream telling you what to do too? Do you remember me? I think that would awesome. I don't even feel sorry for being bossy because it seems like you were pretty boring with your dream before. Plus you got to see Scotland and the kids I work with, so that's cool. Try to have more interesting dreams.

Other friends, let's meet in dreams more.

love,
Kirsten

tl;dr version: My dreams are totally boss.

Gaslight

I ran out of gas a few days ago. Not so much in the metaphorical sense and more in the embarrassing car sputtering, pull of the nearest exit, late for a meeting with the boss, try to explain to the coworker in the car with me that this has NEVER HAPPENED TO ME BEFORE. It’s a new car. I didn’t know how serious it was when the gas light went on... two days previously. But we pulled off the exit and rolled down the hill in neutral, and managed to make it all the way to a gas station. A gas station which had, as it turns out, had closed.
With another stroke of luck, there was this cop right next to us when I pulled off. He was talking to a drunk guy who was leaning on his window slurring insults at him ("Heh heh heh, You're an idiot. You know that? You're so dumb. Cops are stupid. Man I'm trashed.").
We rolled down the window and asked where the nearest gas station was. He told us that if we walked (in subzero windchill along a highway) for about a mile we could get to one, then continued to be insulted by the drunken man for a few more minutes before driving away. My coworker and I sat in stunned silence for a while longer before she called her boyfriend to help.

The police officer the pulled back around. “It’s cold out and that’s a busy highway, maybe I should give you a ride.”
Oh. Yeah, maybe.
“Oh my gosh, thank you. That’s SUCH a huge help.”
“Oh it’s not a problem, I’m not doing anything.”
No kidding.
“No, I really appreciate it. Thanks SO much”

The thing is, it WAS helpful. But then the other thing is, what else did he have to do?

But I finally did get to that meeting (late) with my boss and client. It was all very embarrassing.

flu

fun fact! I was sick recently and it proved what I’ve suspected for a while: my body has a favorite coping mechanism, which is to reset to Glasgow time when sick or under stress.
Dear Body,
I think it’s really cute that you think you have a system restore setting, but you don’t. Please stop waking up at 230 am and going to bed at 6 when you are sick or stressed. That is when it is least helpful. If I could take you back to Glasgow I would.
Love Kirsten

I also learned that it is, in fact, not only possible but easy to dehydrate yourself when you have the flu (just like your mother warned you) and that if your nose magically stops running, it is not a miracle it is a warning of impending doom.

tl;dr version: http://videos.nymag.com/video/Parks-and-Recreation-Stop-Poopi;TV-Clips

getting lost?

So it’s been a while.
And a thousand starts have come into my head, flitting through, because I want to do this again (I do) but at the same time I worry all these things. Like, what if I’m just boring? Or what if I suck at writing? What if I have nothing to say? What if I type so fast that my hands catch on fire and then after that my computer catches on fire and I lose all my pictures and papers and then my university calls and is like “uh.. we had a tragic and strange mishap, we need to see all your papers again or we’re going to revoke your degree.” And I’m like “I can’t I was blogging and my hands caught on fire and I lost all my stuff and all my backups got eaten by a wildebeest” and they are like “You blog? Minus 10 points for Gryffindor.” Or whatever they say to let you know that they think you are a nerd and also that you are about to lose something you value. Except by something, I mean pretty much everything. Because then I lose my degree and therefore my job and also because I lost my pictures and music nobody remembers they are friends with me and I have nothing to comfort me as I go slowly crazy and end up alone until I am befriended by a kind but smelly wall named Mike until they put up a NO LOITERING sign and then I’m really all alone in the world.

Well here I am, months later, trying again because I think this new job will provide the opportunity for many amusing stories. As for catching up, suffice to say, after leaving the glory of the twenty third year of my existence, I hit a rough patch. It was one of those times where my weaknesses followed me around wherever I went. Creepy crawly ones would climb in places and I would have to turn over my shoes and knock them out before putting them on. Large, heavy ones would sit in my chair and laugh as I would grunt and heave them out of the way so I could sit down. Small, impish ones carved little thrones for themselves out of the erasers in my pencils where they would sit leaning wildly left and right and would compose operas which they would sing for me all day long at the very top of their tiny voices that were so clever that I found myself listening to them. Soft, furry ones would replace my pillows with themselves and whisper to me in my sleep. Every surface, every room, every silence. There. Mustached and tweed hatted, they opened the doors for me until I found myself thanking them. Thank you. Thank you being here. Thank you for reminding me of my faults. Thank you. And then, as I walked away, they would tsk “look at her, thanking us. So insecure, that one. Never used to be like that. What happened? Doesn’t appreciate what she has. No sir.” And in this state of mind I moved to one of the only cities I never wanted to live. Columbus.

There was a moment, a day, when my friend Tommy almost had me that Columbus was a decent city by showing me a fantastic time. In the words of the immortal Sam DeLong, sometimes it’s difficult to distinguish between a place you like and people you liked and times you enjoyed. Guess what, Tommy? My first week in Columbus defeated even your awesome day.

(side note: having to compare itself to Scotland may have helped)

The first week of working in Columbus I got lost every single day. Every. Single. Day. Mostly the kind of lost where I knew where I was and where I wanted to be but I would go around in circles because the on and off ramps aren’t intuitive (like you can’t get right back on where you got off)… and also because I had already turned into the Incredible Hulk. Now, I like to think that, in general, I’m not a super uptight person. Getting lost is one of the things that grates on my every nerve and causes me to scream cuss words and bite chunks out of the steering wheel and spit them at passing drivers. I remember one time when I had my temporary permit. We were lost, I think in Kansas City, at night, and I was doing something wrong so my mother (whose Achilles heel was definitively teaching children, particularly me, to drive) was yelling and grabbing the steering wheel. My younger brother, who at this moment was as punk ass a thirteen year old as ever existed, was in the back making gross accusations about my total incompetence as a human in general based on the fact that we were not where we were meant to be yet. I don’t know where my dad was at this point. What I do remember is what happened next. Right then, right when I am on the very brink of hyperventilating and mental collapse. My sister, sitting directly behind me, started giggling. And then, she started tapping my head. For no reason other than to join in the fun. And that’s how she lost her finger.

Do I begrudge them? No. They are hilarious, and probably the reason I can say that I'm not super uptight. They tapped it out of me. At the time, it was traumatic.

However when I get lost while driving, my subconscious, I think, takes me back to this moment and I just start raging. Which is why all the one way streets in Columbus make my eyes turn red and my foot turns to lead and I forget the whole “middle of the lane” principle and hit every mailbox. To clarify, I don’t find one way streets confusing, merely frustrating, since at this point I'm usually at a state of anger where I've eaten the directions I printed out earlier that day by way of punishment to them.

Now of course things are a little easier. I can get to work and home and I know that I live west of the city but work east of it and that the Hilltop (where I live) and Franklinton are separate places. I like my job, and I’m good at it. I want to stay creative and positive, and if I were to venture a guess it’s not the big things that I think are going to wear me down. I think it’s slowly raising my voice more and more until I become a person that yells. I don’t want to be a person that yells. I have opinions about yelling at kids, you know? And I think it’s those things, the things where you slack off on the things that are actually important (loving people) in lieu of the things that feel important (programming).

So yeah. I guess in the end, it’s all about priorities. Meaning that I really want to get a good set of friends here, because I miss Scotland, just like I once missed Ohio, but someone really awesome and smart once told me that it’s difficult to distinguish between a place you like and people you liked and times you enjoyed. Last Saturday I had some fabulous people come up and regale me with their words and smiles and it reminded me of this good truth in the best way. And I think if I can borrow more words, that I can get by with a little help from my friends. Or, if you prefer: I am going to make it through this year if it kills me.


tl;dr version: references to me turning into the Incredible Hulk when I get lost. what should contain an apology for being a pity party of one the past few months.

Why it's been so long.

as excerpted from an instant message conversation with the lovely lauren

Lauren: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MojZ6Ew0Vas&feature=related
song im listening to on repeat :)
brad loves me right now
also i love the commercial

me: hahaha, I sort of do, but it also sort of creeps me out. I'm in the middle of trying to write a blog post and I'm surprised at how scary it is

Lauren: lol i just picture myself as a baby and having that kind of adventure

me: I didn't realize how worried I am that I can't write anymore

Lauren: eh i can imagine. why is writing so scary

me: since the headaches DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNNN

Lauren: i hate that i feel that way too
lol or just the time has passed
i feel that same way
i avoid it

me: I'm trying, but it's hard when I can't remember why I think I should

Lauren: i know! i wish i could tell you why
it used to be fun?

me: no... that can't be it
something about feeling superior
or not owning a television
and not knowing about hulu

Lauren: HA
the first time back to writing is always the worst i remember...like working out after a long time
of not working out*
see i can't even write sentences that make sense in casual conversation
writing ego at all time low
haha

me: hahahaha that is my experience exactly

me too

or as my 14 year old who wants to be a journalist spelled it the other day "tew"

Lauren: HAHA


me: I feel sad for public education

Lauren: for real...public education is not going to exist in 50 years i think

like only for poor kids

me: it legit sucks

Lauren: everyone else will be home schooled or go to private

me: or live in the burbs

Lauren: okkkk i'll let you write. sorry if im distracting. brad is on his game and im bored of the computer.

me: hahahahahaha

Lauren: now im listening to lady gaga cause he banned me from the other song
hehe take that brad
maybe i'll write something...
eh