'Tis the Season.

You all know what time it is.

Mom? Is That You?!

My mom is on Facebook. See previous post for relevance.

Yeah. Some of you understand my dilemma. Sis friended Mom. Sis and I are friends, both relatively new Facebookers. Sis and I are both friends with Atheist Uncle, Mom's estranged elder brother by 11 months, and his heathen, albeit hilariously witty, wife and kids. Yeah. I'm sure that's already caused some family drama under the surface, which will assuredly be masked by LOLs and :-)'s. Mom refused to attend cousin's wedding because it was performed by a Wiccan priestess in a deconsecrated Catholic church. Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. That whole atheist-evangelical dynamic? The proverbial oil and water.

So, I'm a horrible daughter if I don't friend my own mom, and I risk letting myself and possibly the Freedom School kids in for some hurtful comments if I do. And truth is, I would love to be friended up with Mom to share pics, small life details, and overcome that blasted time-zone + work hours communication differential. I just don't want it used as a platform to force my ass to see those political/racial/religious emails that I delete without reading.

In fairness, I don't know that my mom would do that. Maybe I'm just being a bitch. She misses us, she feels out of contact with me and the kids. And I'm the first to admit that I suck ass big time at keeping in touch. I'm really shitty in that department. I should do better. My mom is sporting major stretch marks because of my ass. Well, more specifically my head, but you get my gist. Facebook would make it much easier for me not to suck at that.

I friended her. Yeah. I think she's already got her privacy ettings up though, because neither I nor Sis can write on her wall. And Sis is a religious Repub, although a very cool open-minded one.

I have adjusted my privacy settings accordingly until I can ascertain her intent. I hope I'm just being a pessimistic bitch of a horrible daughter. I really do.

Dear Mom, Yeah, It's Racist.

Recently I opened an email from my mom. And felt so sick I couldn't sleep.

It was titled What Every White Person Needs to Hear. I knew I shouldn't open it. I never open them. But we'd recently had an okay conversation about race, and I thought maybe I could use it as a jumping off point for another conversation. Get an idea of where she's coming from.

I shouldn't have opened it.

And now, I can't erase from my brain what my mother, my children's grandmother, really thinks. What she thinks I should think. It was pretty awful. A video, a Black guy, a pastor at some Harlem church. J@mes D@vid M@nning. I won't link to him.

Think Rush Limbaugh + internalized oppression, and imagine how that might look. Makes Clarence Thomas look like a progressive Panther. The things this guy was saying, the words he used, the way he stirred White people to action, to knock the chips right off those Black folks' shoulders! Knock 'em OFF!! To hear this man telling White people they didn't need to put up with the attitudes and arrogance of Black people, that they're justified in stepping up to do whatever needs to be done in order to feel comfortable around Black people, to stop walking on eggshells ... I don't even want to write more about what he said.

 It was sickening, in a literal way.  It made me wonder, what has happened in that man's life?

When something like that floats around the Interwebs, you can click it closed, shake your head, and move on. When something like that comes from your mother ... what do you do with that?

I know my mom would say it's not racist, it's someone's opinion. She'd say we're all the same, all given the same opportunities, that race shouldn't be a factor. In fact, how can it be racist, if a Black man said it? How could I possibly find fault with it?

It's weird how people are willing to listen to Black man's point of view, even use the speaker's race to validate his words, IF it's supporting what they already think. There could be 1,000 other people of color with studies and evidence and data, with researched, logical, statistically supported points saying the opposite, and the Right will come back with that doesn't count; they're just saying that because they're Black. They're biased. But let one Black man come along and echo their bootstrapping, assimilation, racism-is-over, the-system-is-fine rhetoric, let one Black man come along and say that you don't have to change anything, that it's Black people who need to do the changing, and watch how quick they now laud that Black man's point of view.

Yes, I've let her know how offensive the religopolitical email stream is to me. I've let her know it doesn't help to "bring me back to the Light", and if anything, pushes me irreconcilably farther from it. I've let her know that the racial "jokes" and commentaries are hurtful and damaging. That I don't want to see them. I've said to her, Mom, your grandchildren are Black ... they are not exceptions, they are the people targeted in these emails. I've written her long and heartfelt letters on more than one occasion asking her to stop forwarding things to my work email. She finally did, but I think it was more about inappropriate use of state resources threatening my job rather than the fact that it was hurtful to me. When I wrote to her I did not tit for tat. I've never sent her anti-conservative, anti-religion emails in return. Not once. I've asked her to please respect my values and beliefs as I have respected hers. I've done unto others, and I'm not the Christian here.

And still, she sends these things to my home email. Why? Seriously, Mom ... why?

My mom used to be a left-wing, war-protesting agnostic. Then she was a mainstream caring Christian. Now ... somehow my parents have come to be of similar thoughts as the Birthers and Tea Baggers. It's taken me some time to admit that to myself. How do I reconcile that?

She's my mother. I love her. I miss her. A lot. She was a fantastic mom, I had a good childhood. If you've got some image of a crochety, mean old lady stewing with hate in her housedress, you'd be wrong. Someone knowing nothing other than The Emails, wouldn't know the whole of her. My mom is lovely, young-looking, with a radiant smile and laughing eyes. My mom is hilariously funny. She's kind and smart. And yeah, she was a big reason why I came up believing racial prejudice was a bunch of bullshit. How does that change so drastically?

And it's more complicated: my mom was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis years ago. Stress can easily present in the form of physical exacerbations, causing the MS to hit her body harder, even to the point of hospitalization. I can not be a cause of additional stress for my mom. So a big lay-it-on-the-line discussion is not happening here.

I don't have the $ to fly me and the kids out for regular visits. My mom can not travel. She's an early-to-bed person, I'm always out late for work or community meetings or kids' sports, plus I'm on the wrong end of the time zones. So we do weekend morning phone calls. Not even every weekend.  Not even every month.

It's hard to discuss things like race on weekend morning phone calls from opposite ends of the country. From opposite ends of the political, religious, and ideological spectrums. Without causing stress that could affect her.

But it is so deeply hurtful. It hurts me to my core. I look at my children, I think of the things they have experienced, that they will experience, and it just kills me to know what my mom thinks White people need to know. And I don't know that there's much that can be done. Which makes me incredibly, broken-heartedly, sad.

Adventures in Spanish Class

So I'm taking two classes this quarter, including Spanish. Given the work I'm doing with the school district and the commissioner position with the city, I figured I need to get off my ass and hablar. My German and Hungarian aren't doing me much good these days.

Please. Look at me, acting like I ever could ever actually speak Hungarian.

This is the first time I've tried to learn a language without living in a country where that language is spoken. Immersion is the way to go, folks. Also, having learned other languages is an advantage because concepts are familiar, but it's a disadvantage when the teacher calls on you, and you  pop out with something like, "Igen, tengo harom Kinderek," or some other fucked-up linguistic amalgam.

The instructor is excelente. He's a native Spanish speaker who doesn't baby you or move at a snail's pace. Thankgawd. My kids' high school Spanish teacher was this white lady with the absolute worst gringa accent ever. Like when you jam pencils in your ears to make it stop. School districts won't hire qualified native speakers but will hire less-proficient people to teach a language. The only native speaker in my district is the Chinese teacher, and I bet you $10 that's only because they couldn't find a non-Chinese person who speaks passable Chinese. Sounds kind of like affirmative action for white folks.

But I digress. So, my class. It's amazing, the comments that fall out of people's mouths. The instructor sometimes mutters under his breath that he only has X number of years before he can retire. He gives "cultural points" for extra credit. You have to write about one of his recommended books, films, restaurants or dance places.

I wish he'd never assigned that shit.

Classmate 1 (raising hand): So, for the cultural points ... does Azteca count?

No. Not even kidding. But that was fine compared to what came later.

Classmate 2 (to me): Well, for my cultural points, I had a coffee date with a Spanish man!

Me: (ohmyfuckinggod) I ... didn't realize you had a friend from Spain.

Classmate 2: Oh, he's not from Spain! I wish!

Me: (here we go) So, he's not Spanish.  He speaks Spanish.

Classmate 2: (blank stare) Um ...

Me: If he's not from Spain, he's not Spanish.

Classmate 2: Well, he's ... where is he from? Oh! Brazil! He's from Brazil.

Me: Brazil? And he speaks Spanish? That's interesting ...

Classmate 2: Well, not really, seeing as he's from Brazil!

Me: They speak Portuguese in Brazil.

Classmate 2: (blank stare) Well ... I don't know about all that, but a date with a Spanish man should work for cultural points! And, he was muy caliente!

Then there was the time she slipped me a note about our instructor that said, "He's such a Latin macho! But I like him!!" Yeah, I'm sure the professor will be thrilled that he meets with your approval in spite of his alleged machismo. The reason he has been pegged as such is that he insists on proper grammar and pronunciation, and doesn't do a lot of hand-holding.

 I'm thinking that makes him a "good instructor" rather than a "Latin macho", but what do I know.

So I go to this study group the other day. I was invited by a woman who speaks English fluently after only two and a half years in-country. Spanish will be her fourth language. I figure she knows how the hell to learn a language, I'm studying with her. Another woman in the group, a self-professed conservative Republican proceeded to trash President Obama, informing the younger students that the President is a socialist who's gotten the country into debt. Yeah, honey, I think the last eight years had something to do with that, actually. Anyway, she had these gems to offer:

Classmate 3: Well, my introduction to this culture was dating a Spanish man for five years. I was practically a member of his family! But I never learned the language.

Me: (Again with the Spanish man.) So ... he was from Spain?

Classmate 3: Well, he was half Mexican and half Apache on his father's side, so you know ... [waves hand, dismissively] but his mother, she was born in Spain, so ...

Me: So he was Mexican as well.

Classmate 3: Well ... anyway, you know how most Mexicans have, you know, Aztec or Maya background? Well, he had Apache, so he had the very defined cheekbones. He never cut his hair; his father told him never to cut it because he was a warrior, you know. I got in touch with him some time later, and asked if his hair was still long, and he was all [mimes annoyance] "Yeeesss...", and I was like, dude, you're 55 years old now!

Me: That's his culture, it doesn't have an expiration date.

Classmate 3: Oh, totally! I know! He was just beautiful! So exotic! Anyway, the reason I'm taking this class is so I can move somewhere and teach English as a Second Language. I want to get certified to teach Spanish too.

Another classmate: Really? Where?

Classmate 3: Well, I lived in Arizona for years, but never even crossed the border, because you know, [dismissive wave] Mexico, I just didn't care. But Spain or Argentina ... I'd love to go there! Yep, much more interested in Spain or South America than Central America or Mexico. But I wouldn't say that to my friend!

Everyone else: ...

Classmate 3: In fact, another friend -- he's a very wealthy Argentinian -- actually said to me [mimes snootyassedness] "You're speaking with a Mexican accent!"  But I wouldn't say that to my friend, the one I was telling you about!

Me: What friend? (wondering how this chick is picking up a Mexican accent when our instructor is Puerto Rican)

Classmate 3: Oh, my friend who helps me with my assignments. She checks all my homework for me. She's Mexican.

Are you fucking kidding me? So ... your friend is good enough to check your homework, work on your assignments with you, and basically help you get an A in the class, but you don't want to pick up her accent or visit her country? In fact, you want to learn her language in order to move to one of the countries with a higher population of what you consider white people, and get paid to teach -- probably in a position where your friend, the native speaker who helped your ass pass this class, wouldn't be hired.

 What the hell, people?

Needless to say, she clammed up when I started up about how great it is that our instructor is a native speaker, because some schools pass over the native speakers to hire gringos, and then you don't get good instruction, because they're, you know, [dismissive wave] not as qualified.

I'm going to go off before I hit Spanish III, I just know it.