"But It's 2007!"

It seems ignorant comments are not just confined to my son's history class.
(Read "Yes, Virginia, People Still Do Say That Shit", if you haven't yet.)

So this is a list of local situations that I've seen personally in 2007, in case anyone still is clinging to the notion that racism is over.

Male Offspring, while fully expected to excel at sports, did not receive the IB* application packet when the other kids did. This despite the fact that he took sophomore math and honors science in the 8th grade. Despite the fact that both sisters are/will be succesful IB diploma graduates.

(*IB = International Baccalaureate, an international honors program.)

No one could tell me why. Something in the IB coordinator's "Sorry about that, but the deadline has passed now ... he can try next year, though," gave me the feeling they just wanted me to quit asking.

Next year? Excuse me? He's supposed to jump into this program after missing the first year? And then you'll wonder why he's not successful? No. Fuck that. Fuck you. He earned his place same as those other kids, he's going in this year.

Thank goodness for his counselor. We got him in through the back door. He'll have his shot.

But I've learned that it is part of my privilege that I am listened to and often see results when I go to address an issue at the school, and that I even have that expectation. (Often there is visible relief when I show up to deal with a situation.  "Oh!  So ... YOU'RE Male Offspring's mother!  Okay!  Sooo nice to meet you!") Many, many parents of color I've spoken with do not experience the same results when they address things. In this case, the parents of color I talked with said they didn't even know about the IB application, let alone the deadline.  This says something about who receives information. And who doesn't. If it weren't for the fact that I'd already fought to get my girls into the program, I wouldn't have known that this opportunity existed for Male Offspring.

They are usually the only Black students in their IB classes. And I had to fight for that.


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There is an African American girl in Teen Demon's class who is the personification of school spirit. She is student body president, is involved in school clubs, and one of the few Black kids in IB. Her grades started to slip; she was stretched too thin with all her activities. She was told to consider moving to regular classes. That's a message about the expectations for her.

Another girl, a White girl, actually wanted to drop IB. School was not her biggest priority, she wasn't involved in clubs, sports, or activities. She actively attempted to move to regular classes. Not only was she encouraged to stick with it, they did not allow her to drop out.  Let me say that again:  they did not allow her to drop out. She eventually did, but those adults had expectations of her; they fought for her, they encouraged her, despite the fact that she wasn't even interested in the program.

The first young lady was not encouraged. They did not fight for her. In fact, she was told maybe IB "wasn't the place for her," even though she had three years of that program under her belt, even though she contributes to the school in many ways. There were expectations for her as well.  Fortunately, she is not living down to those expectations.

Same school, same program, same teachers and administrators.  So even being class president isn't enough to overcome the disparity in treatment and in expectations here.  What the hell, people?


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The Radical Bohemian somehow got marked in the school's records as "White". This means her grades - excellent - were being credited to the White category as far as school performance. This pissed us off, as she was one of only two Black students in the IB program for her year, and now her performance was being credited as a White kid. I asked both the school and the district how that had happened.

Apparently, when we moved here, there was no provision for bi/multiracial students. You checked one box, and one only. So she didn't check any. (These days she just checks Black) Well, it turns out that,

Caucasian is the default.

What? I'm sorry, did you actually just say "Caucasian is the default"? No shit, we knew that; I just didn't know it applied to my daughter's school records as well as to life in general. I was told by a different person:

Oh, she's such a good student. Since you didn't check a category, someone probably looked at her grades and her WASL scores, and made a judgement call.

Are you fucking kidding me? So ... let's see if I've got this straight:  good grades + good standardized test scores + IB program = Caucasian kid? I don't think so. Unconscious bias, anyone?


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A Latina student was asked in Spanish class last week, where her family was from. She'd been taught her family history and Chicano history since she was a little girl. She is also shy, not one for speaking up. This though, was one area she knew, and she confidently told the teacher her grandparents were from the northern part of Mexico. The teacher looked at her name again and replied, smiling,

No -- Spain! Look at your name. Your family must be from Spain.

then she turned to the class and said,

Do you know why I say that? Because _________ is fair-skinned, and her last name is Spanish. Mexicans have the influence of the Indians, so many of them are dark-skinned.

All the kids in the class turned to look at this young lady. Surprise.

Are you kidding me? How arrogant. This teacher, who, by the way, speaks the most awful, gringoized Spanish I've ever heard, has the audacity to correct this child about where her family comes from, AND throw in some fucked up racist incorrect shit on top of it?

That young lady later said she felt stupid in front of her class. Like she didn't even know her own history. How do you undo that feeling?

My son has the same teacher. He says she has asked other students with last names like Garcia and Sanchez, why they are in her class. "Why don't you already speak Spanish?"  What?  Look, lady, do you speak Swedish?  No?  Why the hell not?  Explain yourself.

This is the most qualified individual the district could find to teach Spanish? You seriously expect me to believe there was not a more qualified native speaker who could teach Spanish? And you think there's not been a need for affirmative action?

In fact, I'd suggest that this one local situation is a great example of how our system has included automatic affirmative action for Whites since before we even became a country. In addition to being ignorant about her field of study, this teacher (whom Teen Demon also had for two years) is not even an effective instructor in her field. But she's the one they hired, she's the one who gets to teach the Spanish language to kids in this school. Hello, people, the White kids lose out too, in situations like that. That means your kids too, they're getting fucked up, substandard information in classrooms like this, all across the country.

Is it any wonder US folks in general are abysmal at speaking other languages?


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This same student, last spring, went on a field trip to the UW. Her mother put the trip together on her own, after finding out that the colleges only recruited from honors classes, and that a whole group of Latino kids had never been exposed to a college campus. The girl was fired up after the trip. This shy young lady got her nerve up and actually asked the school club administrator how to go about setting up a Latino Students Club. The advisor told her this:

I'm not sure that's such a good idea. It's not inclusive, you know? I mean, what if a White student wanted to start a White supremacist group here on campus? How would that make you feel?

Really? Are you fucking kidding me? An adult in this school actually compared a Latino Student Club to a White supremacist group. A hate group. What message does that send this student about the value of her culture? What does that say about the level of awareness we accept from the people in positions power? And why was this person permitted to take that action which is against the school handbook/policies on starting up student clubs? We can have a prayer group and a Young Republicans club, but not a Latino Club?

So between those two incidents with this particular student, what do you think the chances are that she, with her already shy personality, will take another chance on speaking up? What is the lasting impact on her? And without that club she wanted to start, what are the chances that she'll even find any support or understanding in the school?

(She did, eventually start the club. She had to fight for it, she had to bring in allies, but it's there now. It is very popular, and the young lady is coming into her own through the business of running it.  She's winning.)


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An individual in a high position in my area took a group of her (White) staff to the Central District of Seattle in order for them to "learn what it's like to be a minority". I'm serious. So they trooped in for a meal, and now, apparently, they understand what it's like for, say, a student of color to be the only one sitting in a White classroom. Really. That hour is somehow equivalent to living a lifetime with a constant awareness of your environment behind the history of being Black in this country? That must've been one hell of a meal.

Oh, and they also, apparently, have increased their cultural understanding with collard greens!

This was relayed to a group of Black women and a Latino man in that well-intentioned way that suggests the person expects approval or even accolades for her actions. Or a cookie. The person relaying the story did not pick up on the reactions of the group. She truly thought she had done a good thing, and that she's ready for diversity work now.

More harm than good here, people.  This lady and her cohort may conclude that since they were fine on their dinner outing, a Black kid in a White classroom should be similarly fine. If he's not fine, they may see it as his fault, because after all, they managed when they were the "minority". For an hour. They may be even less willing to listen to voices of people who do live this stuff every day, because now they "know from experience".

Sigh.

So now, how to deal with that person, and her staff, who are in positions to affect things for young people? Her good intentions have made the work even harder for those around her, and she has no idea.


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So yeah. These are just a few of the things I've personally seen or heard about, the kinds of things still happening in 2007. These are the things that well-intentioned people say and do. It happens a lot.  This is just a sampling.

And it wears a kid down after a while.

Yes, Virginia, People Do Still Say That Shit.

So here's what happened to my son in history class the other day. First off, preface this with the fact that my son is the only Black student in all of his IB* classes -- a fact he noticed the first day of school.

(*IB is the International Baccalaureate program -- a worldwide honors program. The US is pretty new to it. The number of US schools offering it is limited, but growing. I chose this particular district specifically for IB, as it was the closest I could get to the education the kids had been getting in Hungary. Students of color are underrepresented in IB, African American kids in particular.)

Okay, so Male Offspring is taking Non-Western IB History this year. (the non-Western part is something, at least.) Last Thursday, the teacher is giving the lesson about how human life originated in Africa, the migration of the peoples, yada-yada. One young lady raises her hand and says it makes sense that life would've begun there, as it's

warmer there, and stuff can probably grow better than in a cold place.

OK, she's getting her reasoning skills on. She continues with,

Plus, Black people have the really broad foreheads and noses. They look like monkeys, so it makes sense that they would've come first, since they're the ones closer to monkeys.

Oh, yes, she did.

And every child in that classroom turned to look at my son.

Because that's what happens when you are the only person of color in the classroom. At that moment, my son was not "Male Offspring", he was "the Black kid in class".

My son could not tell me what the teacher said in response. He said he was shocked, everyone was staring at him. He said the teacher looked stunned and didn't really know what to do. She did say something to the girl, but he couldn't tell me what.

He said all he could hear was noise in his ears.


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Now, I know there are a lot of folks living under the shiny illusion that this shit doesn't happen any more. People invariably respond with, "That's terrible! It's 2007!" Well, it happened in my kid's classroom last Thursday. If you're surprised by that, either your kid is White, or you don't live in this country.

I met with his teacher. Like you all didn't see that coming. A friend who works me in the parent group and who knows Male Offspring came with me.

We thought she was a student. No joke, people. This is her second year of teaching. She graduated from this very high school in 2001. She was like, soooo totally young! I had some assumptions and biases of my own, my first thought (besides "Holy shit, she's not a student?!) being "Oh, this little girl is not going to be able to handle this situation." I had to check myself, however, as we talked.

I had an idea about how to address what happened -- more about that in a minute -- but I wasn't sure how that was going to go. I can imagine if I were a teacher in her position, I might be nervous about meeting the parent. I might feel defensive or embarrassed. So I thought maybe she'd see any suggestions on my part as a judgement, as overstepping into her area.

She didn't.

I tried to get across how that felt for my son, the history behind that remark, the fact that he had no allies in that classroom who understood. Yes, other kids were shocked, thought it was wrong, but no one really understood. And no one spoke up.

I asked how she had initially responded to the young lady in question, and actually I think she did pretty well for being a new teacher caught off guard with such a loaded comment. Better than certain veteran teachers I know, that's for damn sure. Also, I should've said earlier that she did apologize to my son after class, and admitted to him that she hadn't quite known what to do.

I told her that SHE was my son's ally in that classroom, she has to be that for him, because every kid looked to her for direction on how that situation was going to go down. I told her I did not hold her accountable for what comes out of a student's mouth, but I do hold her accountable for addressing it. I fully expect her to have my son's back in that classroom.

I thought Miss Thang would get defensive or make excuses or gush about how she toootally understood. She didn't. Girl may be young, but she's sharp; I'll give her that. She looked me in the eye and said "Okay. That's my position, then." All right. She also said, "Obviously this student has missed some things we've been talking about in class. That says to me it's time to reteach."

It's time to reteach. Go on, girl.

I went into the meeting with 3 objectives:
1) I wanted the student to know her remark was inappropriate and hurtful, and I wanted her to get the correct information so she hopefully won't be spouting that shit again.
2) I wanted the other kids in the class to get the correct info, and to have an example of how to address comments like that.
3) Most important, I wanted my son to come away from this feeling empowered, not humiliated. I wanted him to know that he does not have to accept those statements, and I wanted his expectation to be that the adults in life will address that shit immediately.

Anyway, Miss Thang was on board with all of it, she wanted to learn how to be prepared for the next time. Which was a nice change. I told her my idea:

I wanted his class to see Race: the Power of an Illusion, a three-part PBS documentary.

Part I involves a high school science class in which the students do DNA swabs and blood pricks, then type their DNA. Before they get the results, they form hypotheses about whom they believe they'll be most closely linked to genetically.

Not surprisingly, they predict along racial/ethnic lines; the Black kids believe they will be the closest, genetically speaking, to other Black kids, the White kids predict they will be most like other Caucasian kids. Ditto for the Asian and Latino kids.

The results, of course, come back the opposite of what they'd thought: one African American young man finds he is genetically most similar to a blond, Russian classmate. A Caucasian student finds that in addition to having a 100% match with someone in the Balkans (which he expected, given his family history), he is also a 100% match for an African individual, which he did not expect. Another White student is most similar to an Asian girl in his class.

The film goes on to talk about race being a social construct, and the history behind that. It talks about the two migrations of people -- the first dying out, the second being modern humans. ALL of us. It covers how we all came about on the same timeline, that there are no separate species of humans, no lines from an earlier time, no group that is more/less advanced, and how any visual differences are a result of geographic adaptations after migration, not from genetic coding.

In other words, none of us are closer to monkeys than any of the rest of us.

Basically, it breaks it down in scientific terms that race has no biological basis; no gene, or group of genes, is common to a particular race. Race cannot be identified genetically. I was surprised to learn that there is twice the genetic variation between two penguins -- which, to my eye, look identical -- as there is between any two humans.




But ... past science did make a false connection between genes and race and intelligence, past science was used to purposefully construct the social aspects of race. In fact, the film covers how the Nazis actually had used US racial research to form their bullshit theories.

We all know how that turned out.

Here's the thing:

If a particular group of people can be shown, according to "scientific evidence", to be savage, to be less intelligent, less capable of self-governance -- closer to animals than your own group -- how much easier to justify taking their land and confining them to reservations? How much easier to rationalize enslaving those who are less than human? How much easier to convince ourselves that beating, lynching those who are "closer to monkeys" is necessary to keep them in line? That selling them as property is okay? How much easier is it to send those who are "inferior" to concentration camps? How much easier to justify Jim Crow laws, miscegenation laws, if some folks are shown to be closer to animals than others?

Pretty damned easy, according to history.



So the monkey comment, besides being incorrect and ignorant, has a whole shitload of history attached to it, even still, today. If you think the monkey comment was no big deal, that particular bit of history most likely does not apply to you and yours.

My son will remember that little girl opening her mouth and ignorance falling out, he will remember every eye in that room turning to him. He'll remember hearing nothing but white noise roaring in his ears while the teacher struggled to address it, struggled to find something to say to this girl.

Something that wouldn't humiliate her too much.

He will remember that time in 9th grade history class when his classmate said Black people look like monkeys. He'll remember how that felt. And he will be fully aware of the history behind that belief, enabling it to still be voiced in 2007.  He will also remember he has a voice.


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Afterward: (ha, look at me trying to play author and shit.)Miss Thang showed the film to all her classes. She had the kids write their ideas of race before the film. Afterwards they wrote how the film did or did not affect their views. She said it went well, that she was encouraged by some of the kids' papers.

She said she'd like to incorporate that film into her classes every year. She's going to bring it up to the science teachers, and try to put something together with them for later in the year.

And for the record, no, that is not the usual response.

I was impressed with Miss Thang, and yes, I checked myself on my own assumptions that I'd formed upon seeing her bouncy blonde ponytail and wide-eyed. perky smile. I learned a lesson too.

So, my son will not forget this experience, it will leave its mark; but he will also remember that the adults in his life dealt with that shit, and he'll be more prepared next time. He'll remember that his class learned that shit is not okay and not correct. And hopefully, he'll remember that a little change was made in his school as a result of addressing that ignorant remark.

In Which My Pants Go Marching Marching

See the radical protester in camo fatigues, holding back the media with her awesomeness and blinding attire? That would be my kid.
There's more.

My pants were at the March on Washington. As in my soldier girl pants. My former BDUs. (that's Battle Dress Uniform in civilian lingo.) From when I wore combat boots for a living. That's them, there on the right.

The boots in the picture, though, are all hers.

I'm so proud. Not only was my daughter an organizer in the March, she donned her mother's old army pants to do so. There's a certain irony there. A certain je ne sais quoi. Oh wait, yes I do: a certain Fuck You, Georgie, and fuck your war. Here's one former soldier whose ass you didn't get to control.

And whose ass no longer fits in those pants, which is why the Radical Bohemian is in currently in possession of them. Yeah, I really hate that part. That part pretty much pisses me off. Almost enough to make me get up and exercise.

Anyway, my teenager is fortunate enough to be wearing those BDUs to march on Washington, rather than wearing them to march through Fallujah or Baghdad. I've been thinking more than usual about the mothers whose kids are wearing desert fatigues lately.

Good job, baby, you rock.



(Why yes, as a matter of fact, I am posting about the March and my daughter ad nauseaum. My blog, my kid, important event that BushCo. wants to stifle. Whatever.)

The Radical Bohemian in the News

I got an email from the Radical Bohemian this morning informing me that she has been photographically featured in the Washington Post online. (much thanks to Sling for sending me the screenshot -- I you a shot.) The media, as I've been bitching about, threw a few bones out here and there, but pretty much it was slim pickins as far as coverage of the ANSWER Coalition's March on Washington. If, however, you wanted to know what OJ was up to this weekend, no problem there.

Guess our Commandant in Chief would rather that We the Sheeple don't know how strong the anti-war sentiment really is. Better to keep us all docile and happy and thinking about Britney's custody case.

According to this photo series, "dozens" of protesters were arrested. OK, if you want to call 196 "dozens", technically you're not wrong, but when I hear "dozens", I tend to think of a number more like 36 or 48. But that's just me.

Anyway, she is picture #7 in this series of pics. She says they were shouting "Shame" at the time it was taken. She says there is another picture out there somewhere of her holding back the media from the caution tape line. I guess she told one guy, "I don't care if you're CNN, that doesn't mean you can cross our line!"

Anyway, that's my daughter, in the blindingly lemon yellow ANSWER shirt and security vest, with the hat and braids. Go baby.

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Oh, and the police took her bike, Spirit the Unicorn. She thinks. She and some of the other protesters left their bikes chained up -- in a bike rack -- near the starting point of the march, as it's not so effective to wheel your bike along on a march. And riding in a march, well, that kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?

Anyway, the officer smirkingly told her, "We took a lot of bikes that weren't supposed to be there. Did you have it registered?" (she didn't, it was fairly new) "Oh, well, in that case, you know, we give a lot of bikes away to kids."

Already? In the middle of the night on Saturday when you were busy dealing with all those folks you arrested? In other words, damn lefty, stirring up our weekend, that's what you get.

She was told she could not file a report of theft until she checked with the police holding area on Monday. He did not seem hopeful that Spirit the Unicorn would be there.

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PS: (hey, I do it in comments, I can damn well do it in my own posts. Whatever.) Lorraine has some news sources about the march over on her site, if you're interested, because she's cool like that.

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.