Our Media, Sanitized for Your Ignorance

So the Radical Bohemian is home, safe, if not quite sound. She had to leave her new bike, Spirit the Unicorn, chained up on G Street. She's worried, because her last bike, Trigger, got stolen when she left it chained at the metro station once last spring.

She said when they passed the anti-protesters earlier in the day, it was really something. The pro-war camp threw cups, food, and trash at the protesters, hurled obscenities at them, screamed that the traitorous protesters should be deported. One of the protesters ended up with a broken jaw at the hands of the red crowd. I never understand the rationale with that, as a goodly portion of that crowd are at the extreme end of the Christian scale. I can't really see Jesus pulling that crap on some folks who are trying to end a war, but hey, that's just me.
(Not saying that crowd represents all Christians, or even mainstream Christians, but as a former Follower, it upsets me to see that faith used as a way to spread that kind of hatefulness in any way -- that's not what it's supposed to be about.)

Last night I flipped and flipped through channels and found NOTHING on the 11pm news. I was in a meeting yesterday from about 3, and didn't get home until after 10, so I'm sure there was some form of coverage over the afternoon, but I was looking before and after my meeting/dinner, and there wasn't much.

The Radical Bohemian told me last night that they were to be the front page story in the NY Times this morning. I was in the grocery store this morning, and it was nowhere on that front page. She got interviewed by some newspaper out of Rhode Island, but can't remember which one.


So I'm really disappointed in what our media chooses to show and not show.

I think it's part of the reason for the perceived apathy in this country. We're lacking that sense of shared purpose, it seems like no one is doing anything. People were doing something in a big way in DC this weekend, but the media controlled how much and what we know about it. My daughter read on the internet last night, before she finally hit the bed, that "at least 2 people were sprayed with a chemical spray". She was outraged.

"What? 'At least two'? There were at least 20, and those were just the ones who got it directly in the face!"

From what my daughter said about how the ANSWER Coalition folks were treated just over hanging the signs -- huge fines, arrests, harassment, their signs being torn down while ads for concerts and other events stayed up -- I can't help but think that our right to freedom of speech is being purposely and methodically squashed here.

And the conservatives have the nerve to bitch about the liberal media.

Whatever.

What March on Washington?

(Live UPDATES Below)

So I just got the first report from the Radical Bohemian, straight from the front lines of the anti-war March on Washington. As most of you know from my relentless Offspring bragging, the eldest daughter has been working with the ANSWER Coalition in organizing the march. She's been working her ass off.

Her team's job today is to keep the marchers together and keep people from going off the route. A bit ironic, because she's never considered her sense of direction to be among her superhero skillz.

She comes by that honestly, I can admit it.

Right now they're still doing the rally, with the march to start immediately after. She says it's getting harder to hold the marchers back until the rally is over -- everyone wants to get started. Her job at the moment is to help keep the stage clear for the speakers, and check for stage passes.

Some of the speakers are a representative from the Iraq Veterans Against the War, Ralph Nader, Cindy Sheehan, a former US attorney general, and a bunch of others.

Apparently she's taking her responsibilities very seriously. Maybe a little too seriously. Here's the exchange when one unsuspecting woman tried to get past her onto the stage.

Radical Bohemian: Hi, can I see your anti-war impeach-Bush super special hippie flower pass?

Stage Crasher: No ... I don't have a pass, but I'm supposed to be up there.

Radical Bohemian: I'm sorry, but you'll need a pass to get through to the stage ... sorry, but I can't let you up there.

Stage Crasher: I'm Cindy Sheehan.

Oops.


So I'm combing The Internets and the TV, and I have not found a single current article or TV report on the march. What the hell, people? Not one news agency has cameras there? I'm about to go all Conspiracy Theory on you, here.

This is happening right now, there are no live reports to the public. I have, however, seen on 2 reports on Britney Spears' custody battle, OJ being picked up by police in Vegas, something about some major golf thing, reports about the poor little British girl who was kidnapped 4 months ago, and some new film about past astronauts who went to the moon.

Where is the coverage of this march? It's happening as I type, but nothing.

BushCo. has known for months this was coming, the police have been dogging the protesters for weeks for hanging up signs with arrests and fines. If any of you saw the clip over at the Radical Bohemian's site, you saw those cops grab the sign posters and their glue, telling them to disperse because "this is a matter of national security". Are you kidding me? Some signs for an anti-war protest are a national security matter? And then the cop on the horse rode up like he was straight out of the Apocalypse or something. The organizers really feel that there has been a concerted attempt to squash this march and its publicity.

Oh wait --- CNN just put up about 15 seconds on the rally. Oh, you'll be happy to know 2 counter-protesting groups are there, with their flags and signs, including one monster sign reading, "Traitors Go to Hell!" Nice.

Anyway, the daughter is supposed to be marching toward the front, so you may catch a glimpse if these media clowns every get around to doing their jobs.

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UPDATES:

The daughter just called. She's so hoarse!

There are like, over 100,000 people. Are we on the news? Do you see us? I was in the front -- can you see all the people?

I had to tell her no. "It figures," she said.

The rally went fine, they have marched to the Capitol, and now many of the protesters are taking part in the "die-in" there. Some Iraq veterans are in camo dress, and some protesters are wrapped in red cloth to symbolize Iraqi deaths, and those guys are laying on the ground to represent all the deaths in this war. It is considered an act of "civil disobedience" and this is where the daughter says there is the most risk of arrest.

She says they had to run the gauntlet between the anti-protesters. "I can't even go into that now, that's a whole other story -- I'll call you later and tell you that part,"

As they approached the Capitol, they saw a big black mass on the steps. She said it was like a "What the hell is that?!" type of deal. As they got closer, the mass started coming apart and descending the steps. It was police in riot gear. I asked her how the police were acting toward the protesters.

Well, there have been at least 10 arrests so far. They're acting ... they're kind of standoffish. I think they might be scared.

That's not good. She has promised to stay safe and her head on straight. I'm worried, though, of course. I'm worried for her safety, and we're both worried about arrest because she's on scholarship -- not sure if it would affect that. I mean, I'm not freaking out with worry -- I'm very proud of her for being a part of this work, and I'm glad she's having this experience. But I'm realistic, too. These things can spin out of control so fast, and the police aren't going to stop to ask questions. They're going to see what they see when they look at her, they don't know or care who she is.

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I just got a text message from the daughter that said, "Hundreds (?) of arrests, maybe".

A friend in DC just called and told me that they've apparently shot rubber bullets at some of the protesters. (Later: my daughter told me that the police had them, but to her knowledge did not shoot anyone with them. It was scary not knowing, though.)

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Text message from the daughter: "Massive pepper spray -- I only just avoided"

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The daughter and her group have gone to the jail to support those who were arrested. There were so many arrests (196) they had the arrestees tied up with zip ties, sitting in city busses outside the jail waiting for processing. Actually, it's not the "jail", there are too many people to fit there. They're using this big warehouse type thing. The daughter said the remaining protesters may stay all night -- they're in blankets outside.

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She got back to her dorm about 4:30am her time. She's fine, but could barely croak, was exhausted, and of course on the edge emotionally.

I'm glad she's home, and I'm really friggin' proud of her.

Sing It, Baby

OK, so you've all heard of the whole Six Degrees of Separation theory, right? I just found out I am a mere two degrees from Barack Obama. Or at least I will be by September 28th.

Here's my logic: Senator Obama will be delivering the convocation address at Howard University's 140th opening convocations. The Howard University choir will be singing at this event. The eldest daughter is a sophomore at the University and a member of the Howard choir. The choir will (as I understand it, don't quote me on this part) be singing a medley of different songs, in which there are a couple of short solo parts. Exciting stuff. Hold onto your panties, people, it gets better.

Guess who has a solo part? Oh yeah, baby, that's right! That would be the Offspring, aka the Radical Bohemian, getting her tunes on. Go girl! I'm thinking this should qualify her for a record deal more than those pop tarts on American Idol, right? She's so excited! She's got the Big Anti-War Protest going on this weekend, then hanging with Barack.

It's pretty much first name basis now with me and Barack.

The daughter says they're more like soloettes, not like a full piece. Whatever. I don't care if it's one note, she's singing. I say that's a mere two degrees of separation between me and the Senator. And just one degree for the Radical Bohemian, she's the one with the pipes.

Barack Obama is practically family, y'all.

Remembering 2001

I was on an old Russian military post in Taszár, Hungary, converted for US forces. The Hungarians, thrilled to have the the US there as opposed to the former occupiers, had visions of EU membership dancing in their heads. Their open-armed welcome was to change after this day, that is, after we started the top secret missions on their post without their knowledge or consent, but we didn't know these things at the time.

I was in my office, working on some mundane task or other, when I heard my boss's voice barking down the hallway, "Sims! Female type! GET IN HERE!" (The ex and I worked in the same building for different companies in a largely military or former military population -- thus the designators: Sims, male type or female type. It sounds weird here, but seemed pretty normal there.)

My boss tended toward the urgent and dramatic, especially when up against deadlines, which we often were, so I didn't think much about it. "All right, all right, your Highness, don't get your panties in a bunch!"

You develop a thick skin and a quick tongue when you're the only female working among a large group of guys in a military environment.

He was standing in the middle of his office, staring at the tiny 13" TV he kept in there for news. It was, as always, tuned to AFN, the Armed Forces Network. He didn't look at me or say anything. I looked, saw the pictures of the first tower, smoke pouring out, heard the anxiety in the announcer's voice. I couldn't make sense of it.

At that time, an event like this wasn't a possibility in our minds. It is now, but not on that day.

The other guys started filling up the office. At first, everyone was talking.

What the fuck?

What the hell happened?

That was a plane? Did the pilot have a heart attack?

Something must've happened to the pilot.

Oh my God ... all those people ...

I have a cousin in Manhattan ...

Then it just got quiet. We just watched that tiny TV. I remember a lot of the scenes from the TV that day. It was horrifying, watching it from so far away, feeling very American and very connected to our country in those moments, yet feeling so separated, far away. Helpless.

It felt wrong somehow, to not be in-country, to be in some other country, safe, while this was happening. We were on a military base, our jobs were supposed to keep this kind of thing from happening. It was supposed to happen to those of us who had signed on for that risk, not civilians back home, working in some office building.

People started doing Internet searches, calling family in the States, trying to find out what the hell had happened. People started heading for the chow hall, for the big screen TVs. I'd never heard it so damned quiet in that chow hall. The kitchen sounds, the laughter, joking, clinking silverware, all gone. It was just the TV. Just the terrible images of people running, crying, afraid, everything covered with that white dust, shrouded in smoke.

People were crying too. Soldiers, civilians, Hungarians, didn't matter.

Watching the firefighters really got to me. We had US firefighters on post. My girlfriend and I were their hanging buddies. I dated one of them. They were all good guys. For some reason, that connection with "our guys" made it very hard to watch those firefighters in NY. I don't have the words to talk about their bravery, and don't want to try.



The real situation quickly became apparent. The second plane hit, the Pentagon was hit, Flight 93 crashed in Pennsylvania, those heroes taking the secret of that plane's mission with them.

I remember the post seemed to explode from shocked silence and tears to measured, deliberate activity. The Threat Con was raised. HumVees with the big M-60s on the roof rolling out to the gates, barricades put up. Soldiers running to their units, building security put in place. Flack vests put on, weapons pulled out of the weapons room.

This is not a drill.

The post was put on lockdown. No one in, no one out. The jets went up, screaming into the air. I remember listening in disbelief to the news anchor, soberly telling us that commercial flights in the US were grounded - the whole country. That jets were flying cover over US cities. American cities. We were safe, where we weren't necessarily supposed to be safe, but civilians back home had been attacked.

The kids were downtown at school. The ex and I were on lockdown. Fuck. He was a program manager and had to stay, had to keep communications up. I secured my area and ran to the gate. Yes, I know we're on Threat Con, I know we're on lockdown. My kids are in town. They're the only US kids not homeschooled, the only ones with a parent not at home right now. You know they can't be there by themselves; everyone knows they're American. Dude, you know me ... you know the kids ... you have to let me off post. Fuck protection, goddamn it, my kids are out there. You gonna assign a detail to protect them, Sergeant? Then let me the fuck off this post! Please ... what if it were your kids ...

They let me go. Thankyouthankyouthankyou. Actually, they told no one was authorized to leave post, and that they had to go check something in the logs, and would be back in exactly 30 seconds. Thank you. My car, thankfully, was off post, so I could just slip out.

I got the kids.

They had heard the jets, but hadn't heard what happened. Their classmates had asked them why the jets were up. I had a really hard time telling the kids. Driving through town, things looked normal. It was sunny. People in town were going about their business. It was surreal, after the TV, the emotions and action back on post. I was driving, stopping at the lights, making the turns, talking to the kids. I felt like I was screaming inside.



The Hungarians were wonderfully supportive. They would stop us on the street to profess their sorrow for that heinous act. But I think, in a way, September 11th was when some of our hosts first became vaguely disillusioned with our presence. I think it caused the first stirrings of doubt as to the cost of hosting the US military on that old Russian army post.

One occupier or another, there's always a cost.

I didn't know it that September 11th, but we would later invade Iraq. My kids would later tell me about their Hungarian classmates being scared shitless of our jets roaring low over town the day of the invasion. Their classmates, crying openly, would look to my kids that day, wanting answers. That day, people feared the town becoming a target; the quid pro quo of Hungary's freshly forged partnership with the United States.

That never happened, but other things had; secret activities on post leading up to that 2003 invasion, things put in motion two years earlier on the day we now call 9/11, at the hands of our government. Things began to change. People in the cafés looked at us differently. There was a resentment, a mistrust. Not of us personally, but of our government. Our motives as a whole. Way to leave a legacy, Dubya. The US eventually left the old post in Taszár. The ex took a job in Oman. The kids and I came back to the States. It wasn't the same. The world had changed that day in September, and our government used that day, the deaths and pain, they used it to further their cause.



Remembering that day brings back the horror of the scenes I saw only from the TV and computer. I was not in New York or DC or that field in Pennsylvania, I did not have a close friend or relative directly affected by one of the flights. I can't add anything to the lives of those folks who lost someone that day. All I know about is where I was, how I felt that day.

Most of us were not there, yet every one of us remembers exactly what we were doing, where we were. That shared memory, the knowledge that we all remember, it binds us. 9/11 ripped through the normal bullshit that separates us. On that day, I felt disconnected, yet very connected to every other American, the "folks back home", and to the people who were there. The ones who lived and died in Manhattan, in Pennsylvania, at the Pentagon that day. Though I did not know them, I remember them today.

Jam the Knee at the Jamboree

In Which the Offspring Jams the Wipeout Knee and
Cowbell Waxes Splenetic on Deranged Suburban Sports Parents

Today the Male Offspring put on the pads, the cup (as opposed to the glass), and all other requisite equipment to keep parts intact on the field, and headed to the Freshman Jamboree.

So the son's first good play, he lands right on the Wipeout Knee. The skin has grown back, so the gore has morphed into a scar, but the joint is still a bit tender. The boy won't even going to make it to the first game at this rate.

Check out the sequence shots on the new camera.*

See the guy in the tight purple spandex to the far left, waiting for the ball? That's my baby:

Hike!

Ready to catch
(the ball is right in front of the guy in red, coming toward the son, left)

Bam! Clean catch.

Take off!

"You're so going down, dude"

And ... they're on him.
He got first down, though. Go, baby!

Some of these sports parents, though ... whew! It's wild. You overhear all kinds of shit at these games. I mean, don't get me wrong, I am all about my kids' sports -- I love seeing them get out there and do something they love, and it's fun.

But damn, people, they're kids, it's freshman year -- this is not the friggin' NFL.

These guys go on about why the coach doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground, how things were different when they played, how good they were when they coached pee-wee ball.

And don't let a kid miss a pass or a block.

Last year, 8th grade season, a group of the dads were talking, and one of them started complaining about some kid the coach put in. "Coach doesn't know what the hell he's doing! why the hell did he put _________ in? That kid's a pansy, what's he doing in there? He expects to win like that?"

Yeah. 8th grade. WTF, people? How are they supposed to learn to play if you never put them in? And by the way, your star quarterback son? He still shits brown like everyone else, and guess what, he's dropped the ball a time or two, and the boy can't play by himself.

There's no "I" in team, asshole. What kind of coach did you have?

Some of these guys are living their glory days through their sons, while they sit behind a desk or drive a forklift all day. I tell you what dude, when you're wearing an NFL uniform, you can talk shit and I'll listen. Until then, let the kids play and the coaches coach. It's not your clipboard, jerkoff.

Anyway.

My kid had fun today. And yes, as a matter of fact, he did kick ass, but either way, it's about putting kids in and watching young men develop.

Way to go, baby.

* I had planned to do a sort of Adoption Announcement post for the new camera, to balance mourning the death of Dear Camera, but varied and sundry shit began hitting various fans about that time, and well ... I just didn't.

Game Time

Last Friday was Stadium Night at the high school. First varsity game of the season. The son did not play, he's on the freshman team. We played our rivals. One of my co-workers on the parent group has a nephew on the rival team. We sat together on the midline, each of us cheering for our respective teams.

We won. I think it was 34 - 13. Not pretty for them, but oh so pretty for us.

I had "spirit gear", courtesy of Teen Demon. My spirit gear consisted of some beads. It could not rival hers. Here is a picture of her in full spirit gear regalia:





She won some kind of award for school spirit last year. You'd never know looking at this girlie getup that she played football not so long ago for the 8th grade team. On the line, now, as she reminded her little brother last night. (Little brother is a running back.) Took her lumps and got back up. Badass. Cute skirt or shoulder pads, she can carry that shit off. It's all about options with Teen Demon.

Digression: Here's a little aside involving Spirit Gear and the Teen Demon:
We were readying to go do our big presentation with the district. Teen Demon, a senior this year, had been at the high school for the freshman orientation as part of the "Link Crew". The Link Crew is a group of upperclassmen who connect with the incoming freshmen to help them feel more at home starting high school. In this capacity, Teen Demon had on her senior shirt and a good amount of Spirit Gear. Just beads and hair ribbons -- no tights. She wondered if this was appropriate to wear for the presentation to the district.

Teen Demon: Should I change? Do I need to dress up? The superintendents are going to be there, right?
Me (from the other room): What are you wearing?
Teen Demon: Spirit gear. And my senior shirt. From the orientation with freshies.
Me (poking head out door): No, you look fine. You're representing the student voice -- school spirit is great. They'll see you have a stake in your school, that you give a crap.
Teen Demon: Oh. (pause) Should I get more Spirit Gear?

OK. Back to the pics. Here is a picture of the son, trying to get out of my car with his football gear on. (no, he was not driving. Are you kidding me?) Actually this was the day before, but it made me laugh. This pic is actually part of a series. I think it took four shots before he made it out. It was frustrating for him, but hey, it's all about my entertainment.



And finally, here is a shot of the Army Recruiter, skulking around after the game, preying on our athletes and anyone who looks like they may need a helping hand to college. After a short side trip to the battle field, that is. Looks like Sarge is working a little overtime.



In other times, I'd have been all over a sexy boy in a beret, but stay the fuck away from the high school, Sergeant. Go do your grim reaping somewhere else.

Anyway, that was the game. The frosh team starts soon. Between that and my boys, the Seahawks, who won their last preseason game, in case any of you were interested, I am full on ready for football season. Or, as my beret'd buddy would say, locked and loaded.

Get Your Protest On!

The Radical Bohemian, aka the eldest daughter, will be doing just that on September 15th in DC. She asked me to let all my readers know about the March On Washington that day. After all, if just 1% of you guys actually showed up, that would be ... not even a whole person. Like a toe or something. At any rate, the big yellow button over there is for info on the march. I actually entertained the idea of going, but our big re-presentation to the district's administrators is the 18th, and we'll have a lot to do before that. Gotta pick your causes, I guess. Plus there's the money factor.

My little Radical has been volunteering with the ANSWER Coalition (Act Now to Stop War & End Racism) practically non-stop. She's been working in their offices and plastering signs all over DC. Apparently, a lot of folks don't want this march to happen in Dubya's back yard. This could have something to do with the fact that the march is set to coincide with the release of a report on the "progress" of the war by non other than General Petraeus, US military commander in Iraq. Oh right, the progress -- specifically the progress around the infamous surge.

Should be an interesting report.

Though the ANSWER Coalition has permits to hang the signs, which I gather look like the button on the sidebar, officials (read "Dubya's minions) have charged that they were using "improper adhesive." The ANSWER Coalition uses an organic water-based adhesive, specifically chosen to be non-offensive, environmentally friendly and above all, compliant with Red Regulations. The volunteers also remove signs after events using sponges and water, which is going to be a bitch after this march, as these signs are everydamnwhere.

To date, they have been charged with over $20,000 in fines. Over some glue.

I'm thinking the Republicans have a bad taste in their mouths when it comes to Marches on Washington.

This is a definitely a calculated political move aimed at disrupting the demonstration, which has been organised on a day when the world's eyes will be on Washington for the Petraeus report,

Sarah Sloan, staff coordinator for ANSWER

My daughter and 2 other young women were actually slightly assaulted by an angered Republican while hanging signs, as a matter of fact. He got his dander up over them publicizing "a bunch of bullshit" and charged it was illegal for them to hang the signs. They showed him their permit, which practically caused his sphincter to implode. He snatched a sign out of my daughter's hands -- oh yes he did -- and tore it up. He pushed another of them, spilling their pot of organic water-based glue on her clothes. By then, their 4th compatriot, who'd been driving them around and just happened to be the owner of A Penis, came flying out of his car and asked Mr. ConservaSphincter if there was a problem. Seeing that the little gals now had A Man on their side, the chickenshit beat feet, still railing about how it was all so much bullshit.

My my, but folks do have their panties in a bunch over this march.

Here is a bit from the Radical Bohemian's blog:

Anyway, I want you all to go to http://www.sept15.org/ . It'll tell you all about the protest. If you start to feel like you can't possibly give a dollar or risk getting arrested (just don't do anything stupid and you'll be fine) or take off work, think of this: The people of Baghdad are marching in solidarity with us on September fifteenth. If the people of Baghdad can go out on the streets and risk being blown to pieces for the sake of stopping this war, you can get off your ass too.

Good point.

She also has info on other things you can do to help the cause if you can not attend the march.

OK y'all, are you sitting down? I have not previously linked to the Radical Bohemian's blog here, due to my well-known paranoia around keeping my blog an Ex-free zone. Hey, a girl's gotta have one stress-free place in life, right? She is, however, too deliciously kickass to keep to myself, and I can't believe I've done it this long. So, with much cyber fanfare, I give you the Radical Bohemian's radical blog.

(Just don't say something in the comments like, "Oh, I'm here from your mom's site, cowbell dot blogspot dot whatever!" Comments are fine, in fact, she'd probably love that. just don't link back to me. Sir, Madam, and the former MIL read her blog, which she has at times regreted, but can't undo now that the blog address has been given unto them. I comment over there either as Dirty Rotten Kitty, or "kolomp".)

The post about the march is called "See You In September?".



And just to give you a taste of how entertainingly kickass she is, here's another tidbit, from that same post:

As I turned down 3rd St to my dorm I heard the hisses before I saw the men. There were about four of them, lounging on the porch of an old brownstone, smoking and drinking. "Hey baby," they said as I sped down the street. "Can I ride with you?" "Wonchew come on over here, baby."

At the last second I slammed on the brakes, revelling in Spirit The Unicorn's high-pitched squeal and the way her back tire slid. "Do not harass me!" I yelled. "I'm sick of it, and it's not gonna get you anything!"This verbal attack had come so suddenly, and they were so drunk, that the men were rendered completely speechless. Before they could regain their composure I put the pedal to the rubber (of my shoe) and took off. Many, many seconds later I heard their curses chasing us, and laughed. Spirit The Avenging Unicorn's tires whirred happily on the pavement. "Suckers," I said to myself.

I'd like to say I slapped protest stickers on all of their foreheads, but I'm not stupid. Foolishly confident, maybe, but not stupid. It's only legal to put stickers on lampposts.

See? Kickass.

Anyway, if any of you are actually attending the march, I'm envious, go kick ass for all of us. And if you see a pissed off protester on a periwinkle bicycle named after a unicorn, curls streaming and sign waving ... give her a hug from me.

This Old Motherfucking House: the Prequel

The Prequel: Kenmore Blues

I wrote this prior to the realization that problems with This Old Motherfucking House would be frequent enough to warrant a series. Consider this the prequel. 

My washer broke. Times like these are when I could use a sweet hookup with a Maytag repairman.

Well, I may not have an in with a hot repairman (my Maytag repairman would not be that guy from the commercial), but I do have a strapping young son who likes taking stuff apart. Plus, it was his crazy unbalanced load of sheets and smelly football jerseys which broke the washer.

Digression: Speaking of smelly football gear, here's a little aside from Friday:

Son, getting ready for football practice: Hey Anyu, have you seen my cup?

Me: No.

Son: Are you sure? You didn't see it out here?

Me: Yes, I'm sure. It better not be out here -- and you probably need to wash that thing.

Son: Not really...

Me: Oh, I'm quite sure you do.

Son: Huh?

Me: After all those football practices? Please.

Son, holding up handful of ibuprofen: ... um, my glass? My cup of water?

Hey, the boy was readying himself for football practice, getting his gear together, what do you want? Like you wouldn't have thought the same thing. An honest mistake.


Anyway. Back to the washer.

I figured if we installed a new toilet together, using only directions from The Internets, we could fix a washer. The old toilet, by the way, was from 1964. Older than I am. The new one is a veritable throne. Anyway, I formed a hypothesis about which part we needed for the washer and ordered it through a local shop.

That evening, the son and I faced our adversary, armed with screwdrivers and a flashlight.

The part in question involved wiring and connectors. Great. The son gets the new part put in. I clean the nasty gunk built up in various and sundry places around the washer's innards. This stuff is a sticky mess borne of fabric softener, soap scum, sweater lint, and dog hair.

Seriously people, everyone should dismantle their washer and get that crap out of there. It's nasty.

The first time we reassembled the washer, I forgot to reconnect the bleach dispenser hose. Crap. I poured water in the bleach receptacle, hoping I was wrong. Water ran straight out the base of the washer. Crap. The son went on for a while about how could I have forgotten to reconnect the bleach dispenser, yada-yada.

The second time we reassembled the washer, it still wouldn't spin. By this time, tempers were a bit short, because we could smell the burritos that Teen Demon was preparing, and the son wanted to watch the movie we'd rented: Blades of Glory.

Oh, please. Get off your high horse. You try living with teenagers, and tell me you don't watch stupid movies.

Anyway, a semi-heated discussion followed, as the son was convinced that there was, in fact, something ELSE wrong with the washer after all. I had checked the rest of the washer while it was flayed open, and was of the opinion that Boy Wonder had neglected to connect something, or something was hooked up backward, upside-down, or otherwise not fitting with Kenmore's finicky standards. This meant I may be able to live down the bleach-dispenser oversight. Silver linings, people.

We took it apart again. We knocked a small part down into the guts of the thing. Crap! Oh, and a long plastic piece, known to us as "The White Thing" had been falling off and getting jammed between the cabinet and the back since we started. Every damn time we touched any part of the washer, The White Thing would slip off.

I figured if we could get The White Thing to stay, that would free up my hand, enabling me to help with the cabinet, and protecting my foot from getting crushed by the cabinet, since I had to stand so close to the damn thing in order to hold The White Thing in place. So I'm yelling for Teen Demon to bring some Scotch tape to hold The White Thing in place while we're farting around with the cabinet.

Teen Demon informs me that there is no Scotch tape.

I know there is Scotch tape, because I personally commandeered a fresh roll out of the gift-wrapping basket (which sounds very organized but is pretty much a joke) and installed it in the tape dispenser which I commandeered from the surplus pile at work, and which currently resides in the "school supply" section of our desk.  Also pretty much a joke.  I know there is Scotch tape as surely as I know there are ballpoint pens: not only did I raid the gift wrapping basket for tape, I had also wisely purchased three dozen cheap ballpoint pens at Office Hell one day, while in a rage over how there are never any pens or sharpened pencils in my house when I need one. Cheap pens because good pens don't last but overnight. Good pens disappear into backpacks and into oblivion in the blink of an eye.

Then I realize that I had just been in another pen rage not two days ago, as the run-of-the-mill Bics I had so thoughtfully purchased were now gone. If the pens are gone, chances are the tape is gone as well. There is, however, a dried up glue stick available, with approximately 1/2 millimeter of old glue that I could possibly dig out with a fingernail.

Crap. I continue to keep The White Thing in place with one hand, while adroitly holding the flashlight in the other so the son can fish out the tiny part from the innards of the washer. There is the requisite discussion about how to prevent the tiny part from falling out again, ending with the son's exasperated, "I got this!"

We finally decide to leave the washer until after burritos and the movie. Thank goodness for Teen Demon's burritos that night. I call them Détente Burritos. Burritos, however, need lettuce, and there was only a sad tiny pile of limp lettuce available for burritos. Lettuce is not high on Teen Demon's list of burrito ingredients. It is pretty much a necessity for my burritos. I take off for the store with much squealing of tires to procure some lettuce. I don't know why I didn't get pens and Scotch tape while I was at it, but I didn't, so we're still out.

After a rousing round of burritos and Men on Ice, the son ventures back out to the garage.

Um ... the washer's fixed. I kind of forgot to connect the ends of the wires.

Vindicated. Also, that kid rocks.

If I ever win the lottery, I'm going to break my new bigass washer on purpose, just so I can enjoy calling a friggin' repairman, and let somebody else fix that shit for us.

The Underdogs Get a Bone

Well, well, well. So yesterday was our first "working meeting" with the district. They did sort of try to drive the bus, which we expected, but I have to say this for them -- they were very open to all of our suggested adjustments. I think they actually do realize that this is a growing issue in the district, and I'm pretty sure they had long been at the point of, "Oh shit, this isn't going away, it's getting worse and our methods aren't working ... what now?" They seem genuinely appreciative and respectful of our "expertise".

Hmm.

We're kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's almost too easy. However, we asked directly what kind of training/awareness they have, and I was happy to hear that all three of the ass't superintendents have been through the Undoing Racism training facilitated by the People's Institute out of New Orleans. That's encouraging. It's some pretty intense training on institutional racism. It is most likely a large part of the reason we're facing cooperation rather than opposition.

One of the assistant superintendents worked in Arlington, VA, and said there were some really dynamic parent groups there -- she seems really passionate about getting things going here, and glad to have our input. Another, whom I will be working with on Personnel, is more quiet, but she seems on board so far, as does the last guy.

Huh.


So they were all gung-ho about splitting up into the work teams. We said we feel it's important to talk about our understanding of the issues, where do they believe these problem stem from, what training have they had, what is their level of understanding. We also said we'd like to spend time discussing how institutional racism and privilege are affecting students as opposed to personal prejudices, so that we're operating from the same base.

Once they put it out that they'd been through the Undoing Racism training, I expected them to just say, oh, you can see we're up to speed, we're good as far as that goes, let's move on. But they didn't.

When we said we believed that training for them, for the group as a whole, was important before we could move on, they suggested setting an entire day set aside for that. Asked us what type of training we envisioned. Said they'd support bringing in facilitators. Asked us what we thought would be most effective. Said maybe it could be used as a model to train teachers, counselors and other personnel later, as an addition to Undoing Racism, as that is expensive, has limited capacity, and is only offered at certain times. (that and it doesn't sugar coat it ... we figure they want to start out more warm and fuzzy. Sigh.0

Huh.


Furthermore, they asked us if we'd be willing to give our presentation (ohgawdnotagain) at one of their regular administrators' meeting. This is ALL the administrators. All the principals, assistant principals, advisors, program managers from transportation, food service ... la-dee da-dee everybody. They said our presentation was so powerful that they want all their administrators to see it, so they will know where this work is coming from.

OK ...

We were all kind of looking at each other trying to communicate "Do you believe this shit?" to each other without being obvious. One of our members said that sounds very good, but we don't believe it would be effective to just bring our dog and pony show without the express support of the top level district -- you know, looking like a plea for support from the bottom that they can buy into or not. (One of the points in our presentation was that diversity efforts are currently decentralized; each principal has authority over his/her school -- we believe it has to come from the district for consistency, so that every student benefits, not just some) Their immediate response was absolutely, that's the purpose -- it will be presented so that everyone knows we are there at the request of and with the backing of the superintendent.

Huh.

So we agreed to do that. It will happen September 18th.

Teen Demon was there, and is going to work on a project to bring the Multicultural Clubs/Diversity Clubs from all 4 high schools together in some sort of event. She is also going to share the student survey that she helped do for her Multicultural Club, and get that implemented district wide. Watching her talk to these guys, you'd think she'd been doing this for years. This is going to be great experience for her.

Now we have to figure out what we want to see for the training day --- this is a tremendous opportunity to get this info where it needs to go: to the guys who hold the power. The gatekeepers. We did not expect to have that chance.


So we're going to run with it. The other shoe may be waiting to drop, for now, we're going to run with it. Who'da thought?

Maybe You Can Fight City Hall

Whew! I know I said I would update on my parent group's big Meeting With the District, but my life has been thrown a few curve balls the last couple of weeks. I feel like a goddamn outfielder. Blindfolded with no glove.

So, the meeting: the result was better than we had even hoped for. Our goal was for the district to hear our concerns and to work toward addressing them, our hope was that the district would agree to partner with us in some capacity in order to do that. We knew the partnering thing might be kind of a longshot. A representative from one of the community advocacy groups has been sitting on our meetings for support. She has been involved with parents in other districts who have tried similar things, and their districts have told them no, they don't need the parents' or communities' help. So we didn't know what to to expect. We thought maybe they'd throw us a bone and let us sit in on some board meetings, maybe take our info and say thanks, they'll take care of it and get back to us. We figured they would be defensive and bring out all the info on programs they've implemented, and why this shouldn't be a problem because they've done A, B, and C.

We worked really hard, starting out with stories from the families, and pulling from that a document covering what we believe to be the root causes of what our kids deal with. From there we came up with a presentation to bring before the district. We had prioritized all our issues and decided to focus on addressing the top three: Personnel (hiring, training), Discipline, and Expectations & Programs. Sounds simple, but it was a lot of work and emotion to get to that point.

They agreed to meet with us, as you read in the other post. The superintendent himself, and all three of his assistant superintendents, as well as others from the district. We had some support from a couple of community groups and also a representative from our city's new Diversity Commission. We were nervous, y'all. We're just parents, we've got no budget, we're not a non-profit, we don't get paid for our hours on this, we haven't had facilitator training or community organizer training. We work, some of us are single parents, and when it came down to being in a room facing this row of white faces with Ph.D's ... it was a little intimidating.

But we did it, and I think we did a really good job. The district was not defensive. They thanked us for coming, for bringing our expertise in this area. Said they realized there were problems, and they would like some help in how to go about addressing those problems. They agreed that the face of our district is changing, as far as the students, but it is staying lily-white as far as the teachers and administrators.

They agreed to work with us.

Not just "hey you can come to some meetings, thanks for these resources, we'll keep you updated," either. They agreed to form three teams to address this. Yes, I said three. One for each of our areas, so that the process wouldn't be too linear and drawn out, because nothing would get done that way. Wow! And, check this out: they agreed that this effort needs the backing of those actually in positions of power, so on their side, each team will be represented by a top level administrator. I'm talking the assistant superintendents themselves, y'all. Each of them will be on a workgroup. We will be the other parts of the workgroups. We said we believed the students themselves need to be involved, and they said yes to that as well. The workgroups will come together as a whole group periodically.

How 'bout them apples?

Hell yeah.

So we'll see. We're cautiously optimistic. One concern is that we all be operating from the same level of understanding. At the meeting, we brought up the issue of training -- it needs to be deep, ongoing, and across the board. Not some hour-long diversity training that you take once a year, makes everyone feel good, and checks off the institution's diversity requirement for that year. That's not good enough. And it's not good enough to send 2 or 3 people from a school to a deep useful training, and say we're done. What about the other 350 teachers, administrators, counselors at that school?

The sensitive issue will be their level of training -- they let us know at the meeting they themselves have had loads of training, they recognize the importance, yada yada. We'll see. I want to know their understanding of the issues. I want to know how they define institutional racism, white privilege, I want to hear their understanding of how that differs from personal prejudice, because it's a whole different thing. In order to be effective, we need to operate from a common base.

It's one thing for them to say "yes, there issues, yes we need to address them," but if our understanding of where those issues stem from is fundamentally different, then the process of coming to solutions will fall apart. As one of the parents put it,

It's about seeing the light, not just feeling the heat.

Bingo. We want to see the consciousness raised, not just compliance under pressure.

Another concern is they seem very much to want to take charge, so we're going to have to be mindful of how WE want to organize ourselves and the direction that we want to move. There are different ways of doing business, and as encouraged as I am by their positive response, we'll have to be mindful of being "guided" to where they want us and along their path. They, of course, are the experts with school administration, but we are the experts in this arena. We just have to remember that.

Anyway, it was a very positive result, and I'm really encouraged. It's more than we expected, that's for sure.

I was so proud of Teen Demon at the meeting! She "drove" the powerpoint for us, clicking the slides and all. After the presentation, she spoke up and told the superintendent about a survey that her Multicultural Club had done at her high school. The survey to was to find out how students of color feel about the school climate and where they fit into it. The superintendent said that sounded like a great idea, he'd be interested in seeing the results. At this point, Teen Demon could've just said, great, thanks and the meeting would've moved on, but she spoke up again and told him that she would like to see this survey implemented district-wide. She said she believes it's important for the administration to understand what the students themselves are feeling about their environment and their experiences, and that it's necessary to do that for the whole district, not just one school.

Go, baby! She was so confident, too. She told me she definitely wants to be on one of the work teams, and wants to start now. She friggin' rocks. She should run for President.

I am going to work on the Personnel work group. I kind of had to adjust my thinking on that; that was the section that I presented at the big meeting -- again with the "it's better for them to hear it from a white person" in that subject: if a white person says we need more teachers of color, it must be true, because they don't have an ulterior motive! It's not self-serving if they say it, they are just being objective! Whatever. I really hate that and it makes me very uncomfortable, but there it is. (And we could totally see the different reactions, too, both to my section and to my summary. Grrr.) Anyway, that was the section I presented, but I really didn't feel qualified to take on that workgroup, because it involves hiring as well as training, and I just felt that a white person meeting with different groups for recruiting purposes might be kind of off-putting. So I had volunteered to work with Expectations & Programs. I actually do have some experience with implementing programs when my kids were younger.

I ended up questioning that though, based on the reactions of the other 3 women I'm doing this with. I called one of them later and asked her to talk about her opinion on that. Turns out they believed that I should be doing Personnel, that it would set off fewer defensive reactions, that a white person insisting on changed hiring practices will be taken differently than a person of color saying we need more people of color. Well. Basically, "they're your people, honey, they'll work with your ass."

I really didn't feel all that comfortable with that assessment. But this work is not about my comfort level. It is not about me deciding what's best. I think that being an ally in this kind of work involves working with people of color and deferring to their judgement on things that they have a deeper understanding of than I do. I have a role in this work, but it is ultimately not "my" work, if that makes any kind of sense. White people as a whole (not all individuals, don't get your panties in a bunch) have been making choices and deciding "how things will work" for people of color since this country got started. Our comfort level (as a whole) has always come first. If we want to challenge how the power structure of our society supports that, we have to learn to work in different ways. So I needed to listen to my friends and trust their judgement of this, even though it kind of makes me squirm.

Again, I know I sound all soapboxy with this stuff sometimes. As I said in my last post about it, it's not like I woke up and decided to make this shit up. It's a result of having a unique "window" into this shit, via my children and the experiences of our family. How can I deny this shit, when I SEE the different reactions I get when I walk out of the house alone, when I walk out with my kids, and when I walked out with my Ex in the past? How can I deny it when I see the different reaction I get from the principal as compared to the reaction parents of color get? It is there, and no, you wont' see it often as a white person. Of course we don't see it, it doesn't happen to us. It is not our reality.

Damn, I started off just to tell about the results of the meeting, and I did go ahead and get up on that box again, didn't I? It's just that this stuff is real and it's important, and it's frustrating when people don't see it or believe it's there, or realize the impact it has on these young people.

OK, that's all. We meet with them today at three for our first big group meeting.