In My Head at the Park

Today I took the boys to New Rochelle. First we went to the park, then we went to the children's library. What a magnificent space. It was homey, comfortable and cozy with a little hearth, sofas and lounge chairs-all that was missing was a stove, pot and kettle. It was the perfect nurturing environment.

It was hot today. My kids and I (apart from one nanny, a grandfather pushing his beautiful bi-racial daughter on the swing) were the only black people in the park. It's not that I'm not used to it; it's just that for some reason, here and today-I felt...black.  But that could be me. I'm overly sensitive about these things, especially when the huge disparity between race and class practically screams for one's attention in such a glorious, lush, green, and white park such  as this.

Nobody was overtly obnoxious; there were subtle nuances...of course the boys didn't notice a thing. It's what's so remarkable about children.  They are wonderfully oblivious and shameless. Innocent and pure in their intentions. They just do what their hearts tell them to do without fear or inhibition.  They will insert themselves into any body's game if they want to play, and if they aren't feeling particularly cooperative, they have no qualms about letting you know. Not like adults who have to pretend to be tolerant, read: politically correct), letting their children play nicely with your little black boys even though the icy frozen smiles they greet you with when these little black boys (who are a bit tall for their age )  get a bit too close to their golden-haired, flaxen skin, blue eyed beauty, express certain sentiments that need not be spoken.

And, as a mother who wants to spare her child any and every heartbreak, you want to tell your boys to back off, but since golden beauties people don't say or  do anything-except stand there, like statues, the frozen smiles plastered upon their rock hard faces, neither do you. You let them  run after one another, push each other on the slide, laughing and playing while you can feel your heart, your poor, mother's heart begin to crumble at the thought of how you'll have to explain the cruelty they will undoubtedly face as black men in America. And it will be worse then because their hearts will be broken too.

Of course New Rochelle is an affluent suburb, and affluent suburbs tend to have snooty residents.Well...I can be a bit snooty too, without the zip code to back it up-but, since it is the norm in this society to lord whatever you have to set you apart from your fellow man, woman  or even animal to do so, (forgive me-I just watched Dawn of Planet of the Apes) that's what you do. Well, it's what I do. I'm not proud of it but I do it. I have an advanced degree. I am an intellectual. My cultured upbringing in indicative of the kind of person I am-I represents diversity and tolerance. I am the antidote to prejudice. When I open my mouth to talk, I don't sound the way " they" might expect someone like me to sound.  I find myself perhaps trying a bit too hard to speak so they can see that I'm not at all what they think I am, or what I think they think I am--a "mammy"  nanny fresh off the boat.

http://www.thestar.com/news/gta/2015/05/25/midtowners-battle-the-rise-of-the-midrise.html

 I find when it's too hot I think too much.  I know better than to be paranoid or over sensitive about these things. Things are what they are. I am who I am. I can't be responsible for every ignorant idiot on the planet-I can't do anything about the way they think.  It should provide me with some comfort  that my good  friend, who happens to be a nanny and a white woman, and the beautiful little girl (also white)  she cares for, is a great playmate for them right now.. Everything else is irrelevant.  Seriously, All of the other stuff  shouldn't matter right now, Why should I be upset that the black grandfather pushing his gorgeous bi-racial granddaughter on the swings, refused to acknowledge me or my kids? Why should him ignoring us, yet giving my white friend and her little girl  a warm and hearty hello have any effect on me?  I don't know. But it does. It just tells me that maybe he's a bit like me in the sense that he elevated himself above the "black help" in the park by having a bi-racial granddaughter. Like he was now a part of some exclusive club. He had arrived and he  belonged.
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My tall, dark-skinned black boys and their black mother were an affront to him in some way--like our presence may bring down the property value of the park or something and probably, more important some of his self-pride as a black man who had arrived.

I don't share these thoughts with everyone. Only you guys. Maybe it is all in my head, Maybe I am overly "sensitive." A young trainer, who also happened to be playing with her kids in the park gave me and my white nanny friend a couple of passes to Equinox Gym in Scarsdale. She said they have great programs there for the kids. Me? At a gym where the discount monthly fee is $225 a month?  Scarsdale is much whiter than New Rochelle-and richer too. Hey! Maybe she recognizes I belong there! Then again, I was with my white friend after all...I wonder if the other black nanny got a pass. Whatever. I'm flattered. I hate myself for that.

Thanks for checking out these links.Each of them, in their own way-get at the heart of the issues I'm trying to resolve, Thanks for listening.


http://www.buzzfeed.com/christophermassie/watch-this-rare-recently-surfaced-speech-old-obama-speech-fr?utm_term=.bqL0AvEb8&sub=3788034_5812380

Beautiful Sky

God. It's been a crazy few days. Back and forth between Brooklyn and the Bronx, PMS,...the twins. I've had no time to write. I feel bad about that because I made a promise to myself to at least write something every day but it's been difficult.  I was also doing better about exercising every morning until recently, I've just been too tired to devote to the routine I started.  I was able to do at least 15 minutes a day of strength training so that's not nothing.

Also, the house is filthy. I can't work when I feel like there are all of these other things that need to be done. By the time the kids get up, groomed, dressed and fed, the day is practically over. I don't want to write.  But I know I must. So, today, I committed to it-but the thing that pisses me off is that it's almost 10:30 and I wanted to have been done this portion of writing already but the bathroom wouldn't let me wait. It had to be taken care of, which actually is not so bad considering that I was able to take care of the bathroom while the kids were eating. But I wanted to read them a book while they were eating because they pay better attention when they are preoccupied with food-but of course, I missed that boat too. So, they were cranky and wanted out of their high chairs;  ( I can't blame them for that-and I was anticipating them watching a little Cat in the Hat while I worked) but they didn't want to watch t.v. they wanted to run a muck in the living room,which I'll be honest, sometimes I allow them to do because I'm just too physically exhausted to fight but today I knew I would get nothing done, beat myself up about all the time I wasted so I had to throw them back in the bedroom behind the gate whether they liked it or not. Of course, they did not. As we speak, it's like the two of them are competing for ear-bleed scream of the day award. It's brutal. But, here I am doing my best to ignore them.

I realize that I am being a bit too hard on myself. I have to do things as I have time to do them, it's just that well with the little time I have, I don't want to do anything. Hence my perpetual conundrum.
Anyway, I've also not been writing because I've been taking the kids out to the park so they can run around which is all they want to do anyway, and that's fine because by the time I get them home they are crashed out. But after the effort that it takes to get them out there...by the time I come home and get them fed and they are in bed...well...you know how it goes.  So, I try to take some pictures and get my creative juices flowing while I'm out there and I took this picture that I'm sharing today. I'm going to go because I have some other business I must attend to before I take them upstairs to wreak unholy havoc on grandma's house.

Here ends today's morning pages...

All Lives Matter

 A Thug Is A Thug Is A Thug. How anybody could have the audacity to politicize a perfectly good word because of its “racial” implications is ridiculous. One man speaking to reporters claimed that when he fought for his country he was considered a patriot, but now that he fights for "his people," he is considered a “thug.”

Merriam-Webster's Dictionary's definition of the word thug is as follows: " a violent criminal, or a brutal ruffian or assassin, Deliberately cutting fire hoses, burning down a drugstore,  pelting police and causing them bodily harm, looting and acting without regard for the lives and safety of others-lashing out-is the behavior of brutal ruffians. A thug is as a thug does, irrespective of race, creed or socio-economic background.

Freddy Gray's unnecessary and as we have now come to learn, illegal arrest which caused his fatal injuries are inexcusable. Yet I experience conflicting emotions while listening to pundits intellectualize, politicize and proselytize the cause of the Baltimore riots.

Rebellion, political protests and clashes between the haves and have not's is not a new phenomenon. Thomas Jefferson said that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing....The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.”   Of course he was writing from the safe distance of Paris, much like I am writing this from the comfort of my living room far away from the chaos that engulfs West Baltimore.

Gentrification is slow to reach West Baltimore. Residents of West Baltimore have had to endure the burned out, vacant row-houses that have discouraged investment in the neighborhood for decades.  In marginalized communities across the United States predatory lending is rampant; credit is king and debt is a way of life creating a culture of poverty, which ensures that the cycle of poverty continues for generations. In 1968 after the assassination of Martin Luther King, Baltimore rioted in protest of the same conditions that plague Baltimore today:  subpar housing, distrust of law-enforcement, unemployment, inadequate schooling, social and economic injustice.

We have learned that Baltimore spends the third highest per capita on its public schools. According to the Baltimore Sun, Baltimore ranked second among the nation’s 100 largest school districts in per pupil spending.

Of course it’s easier to get angry, burn buildings down and lay blame everywhere but where it belongs than it is to be pro-active about  doing the work that will create positive and long term change such as finding after-school or community based programs that offer support to low-income families so that their children are given an opportunity to escape the conditions that keep them trapped. Naturally, in a capitalist economy there will always be barriers that can impede progress such as race, class and gender but these are facts of life. I doubt you will find any successful person who came from humble beginnings that can say their journey was a simple one. There is no quick fix to achieving success; one has to want it and earn it. 

 

Today, unlike 1968 Baltimore's top brass is black. The mayor and State's Attorney are black. Three of the six indicted officers are black. Stephanie Rawlings Blake has already come under fire for the language she used to describe the lawlessness that erupted in Baltimore. She has since back tracked and said she shouldn’t have used such language.  Of course, I disagree: a thug by any other name is still a thug.  Criminal behavior should never be condoned or justified. But, she is a politician and she can’t alienate her constituents or the police department she must rely on. A house divided against itself cannot stand.   In the meantime, while we await the outcome of the Freddy Gray investigation with baited breath, I can’t help but wonder if the protestors chanting black lives matter in response to the recent deaths of black men at the hands of law enforcement might take to the streets to voice their outrage over the death of an innocent NYPD officer. Officer Brian Moore was doing his job; attempting to protect the community he served from thugs like Demetrius Blackwell, who shot him in the face and killed him. The irony is heartbreaking. Enough is enough.  All lives matter.