No More Ms. Funny--At Least for Now

Foreword: I am having a blog personality crisis. I know that a lot of what I have written has been mommy oriented and most of my regular readers are other moms. However, I am just not feeling very inspired these days by typical mommy blog issues. More serious issues have been on my mind lately and I am going to go with them. I may lose some of you readers out there, I know, but I really started blogging for me, and therefore, I am going with my writing muse.


One issue that has been at the forefront for me recently is race and class. It is something that I have been thinking a lot about in both the macro and micro. It is a topic in which I have always been deeply interested, more interested in, really than anything else. If everyone has one central issue that is key to who they are, race and class issues are it for me. The subject of racism and class has informed every serious academic and professional choice I have made. I have studied in/lived in/worked in the African American community for almost all of my adult life. I feel more comfortable in the company of African Americans than I do with some groups of my fellow whites.

I don't like having to prove my beliefs by saying things like, "My best friend was black." That's is not at all what I am trying to do with this. But since many readers don't know me at all, I have to give a little background. I apologize if it seems like I am white-girl-trying-to-prove-how-down-she-is.

One thing that I have really been struggling with in my own life is my choice to go back to work in the fall.

I made the decision after college to pursue teaching because it is one way that I can directly impact the future of society. It allows me to immediately effect the lives of children, especially those at a disadvantage because of the color of their skin or their economic situation. Of course I love learning and kids and all that, but the real core reason I got into teaching is to work in those inner-city, African American schools. I want to do something to improve the lives of those kids.

My favorite students have been African American boys and in the urban, big city school I taught in, those boys were all poor. When I look at their faces, I see children who desperately want to succeed, but have already been beaten down by the world. They have been born into poverty, born into single parent or grandparent households. They have few role models and are immersed in a culture that has given up on education. It is so easy for these children to opt out. It is so easy for them to react to their situations with anger and rage. It is easy for them to give up, believing that they will never win the prize anyway. One of the few things that save some of these children is a caring adult who believes in them.

One of my favorite students was a 13 year old boy, Ronteze. He was a sad and angry young man, but underneath you could see a happy, funny kid who was holding on, just barely.

Ronteze lived with his mother, older sister and a assortment of "uncles." He often slept on the front porch of his house because there was no place for him inside. He had ready access to drugs and guns due to his mother's habits. He had learned violence at a young age at the hands of various family members and "uncles". He was not a bad kid, he just lived in a horrible situation and had not been given a real chance by anyone.

Ronteze was one of those students who the other teacher warned about. He was the one who the 5th grade teachers told us would make our lives miserable when he got to us. He was in and out of the office and suspensions.

Ronteze was first placed in another 6th grade team of teachers. I did not have him in any classes, but I saw him in the hall between classes. Since I gravitate towards kids like Ronteze, I made the decision to try to get to know him. I would speak to him in the hall between classes, smiling at him and maybe teasing him about something. Within a week, Ronteze was stopping by my room everyday just to say hi. I could have well been the only smiling face he saw each day and he craved the attention.

A few weeks into the school year, Ronteze was giving his teachers quite a hard time. One was a male teacher and Ronteze and he butted horns every day. The principal convened a meeting to discuss what to do with Ronteze. No one wanted him in their class. When I found out about the situation, I immediatly went to the principal and asked her to give me Ronteze. I told her that I had a good rapport with him and could handle him. At first she was reluctant. This was her first year at our school and I was a second year teacher, young and white. I knew she thought there was no way I could handle Ronteze, but she gave me the chance.

I went and got Ronteze out of his class and explained to him that he was joining my homeroom. I was affectionally stern with him and told him he would have to abide by the rules. I also told him that I expected the absolute best from him and that I would not tolerate anything but. Ronteze smiled and hung his head, embarrassed and happy.

The other students knew his history and were wary of him, but I was his fiercest defender. When he got into an altercation with another student, I backed him. The other student, a white boy who was involved in an Aryan gang, called him a nigger and shoved him up against a locker shouting racial slurs for no apparent reason and with no provocation, Ronteze somehow managed to restrain from punching him. He was fuming, fists clinched and eyes blazing, but he held back. The white boy's father wanted Ronteze suspended along with his child, but another teacher who witnessed the situation and I backed Ronteze and kept him out of trouble with the office. Secretly, the other teachers on the hall and I decided that if the white boy started anything else with Ronteze and called him nigger again and if Ronteze punched back, we were going to let them go at it for a little while because we knew Ronteze would kick the boy's ass.

Ronteze never gave me a minute's problem. I worked individually with him on his schoolwork and helped get him up to grade level. When he got in trouble in other classes, I was in the office talking to him about the choices he had made. I made him accountable for his actions, but let him know that I cared about him and wanted him to succeed.

After Ronteze, the principal put several other similar students in my room and like Ronteze, they became some of my favorites. These are the kids I want to teach.

My problem is that I have been offered a job here (we moved since I last taught) and the school is rural, upper-middle class and 96% white. It is an excellent school with a fantastic principal. I am struggling with the decision on whether I should take this job or whether I should try to get a position in one of the inner-city schools. I would rather teach in a poor, inner city school. My husband gets irritated with me for saying this because he says all kids need a teacher and that is correct. However, my whole reason for getting into teaching was to help those kids who need it the absolute most. My heart says I should go with what I love and hold out for another school. My head tells me that since I will be a novice at juggling work and children and that since this school seems really great, I should go with it and see what happens. I'm very torn.

By the way, I know some people would accuse me of suffering from white guilt. I'm not and I could explain why but this would get too long and too deep, but if it was, would it really matter? So what? If white guilt makes me work to improve the world, how is that a bad thing?









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All Politics, All the Time

Just in case you don't get enough political and social commentary in your life, I happened across some interesting sites last week:

The Field Negro. I warn you that it is not for the faint of heart, but I love it.

Stuff White People Like. Pretty darned funny.

Momocrats. Mothers' commentary on the Democratic party and politics.

Newscoma. Current event commentary from a journalist in northwest Tennessee.

The Soccer Mom Vote Political and Social Commentary from both sides of the aisle, all from mothers' and families' perspectives.

Sex, Drugs, and Parenthood

Over at Marge in Real Life Marge wrote a post about this whole kids wearing mohawks issue and she raises the issue of how honest and open parents should be in answering difficult questions about sex and drugs.

Since my kids are young, I have not had to deal with this yet, but I know it is coming. Of course how we deal with these issues will depend on who our kids are at the time, their maturity level and their personalities. But in general, I think I know how we will respond.

I am not squeamish discussing sex as an act or the biological function of it. So far, I have been very open with Sweet Pea. We use the correct name for body parts. We have had a very basic where-babies-some-from discussion. Just last week, Sweet Pea observed me inserting a tampon and we had a bare-bones menstruation conversation.

When the kids are teenagers, I know we will have to deal with the question of if and when they should have sex. I do not believe it is responsible or rational to just tell them to wait until they are married. The vast majority of kids have sex before marriage and I don't think that it is reasonable to expect them not to. I also do not want anyone to get pregnant and would like to make sure they birth control options if they have made the decision to have sex. And of course I would want them to practice safe sex. I suppose I will tell them that sex has an emotional consequence and they should think very hard about their decision and make sure they have sex only with a partner they love and only in a monogamous relationship. And I will probably help them obtain birth control and make sure they know how to practice safe sex.

If they ask me about my sexual history, I will probably be very open with them, especially with Ladybug. There is so much pressure on young women to be sexual and I want to try to head that off. I would tell her that I have had sex with more men than just my husband, and that I deeply regret some of those encounters. I will explain to her that sometimes women have sex in order to make them feel loved and that this never works. I will tell her that having sex with someone who you are not in a relationship with almost never ends well and makes you feel worse in the end. I hope that she will never go looking for love in one night stands or casual relationships and I hope that my being honest with her about the consequences of my past actions will help prevent that.

I also am not worried about discussing alcohol use. It is a topic that we will have to address very seriously as alcoholism appears in both our families and I went through a period of alcohol abuse myself. I know that we will be bluntly honest about this topic.

What I do struggle with is drug use. I am not concerned about discussing my limited drug use since drugs have never held any appeal to me. My experimentation was brief and restricted to fairly benign drugs. I do question how far my husband should go in discussing his past. His drug exposure was much more involved than mine and involved more serious drugs. I am not sure how honest he should be in this because he never had any real problems resulting from drug use. It would be easy for a teenager to think well, Dad did it and he turned out fine. Or some teens might see Dad's drug use as a challenge and something they should try to live up to. I just don't know how in depth we should go with this.

What are your feelings on honesty in discussions on sex and drugs?

Would You Let Your Child Wear a Mohawk to School?

Here's something to ponder...how far would you let your child go in expressing his/her individuality through clothing or hairstyle?

Just asking because last week, a kindergartner was suspended for wearing a mohawk hairstyle to school. Now, obviously this child was expressing his parents' unique personalities more than his own, as he is a kindergartner. But if your teenage child wanted a mohawk or primary colored hair, would you permit it?

Kelly over at Don Mills Diva wrote a great post about this last week.

On one hand, I sympathize with a teen's desire to stand out or wear wacky things. In my sophomore year of high school, I wore black every single day. I had a lovely pair of skeleton earrings to complete my ensemble. And many of my friends wore out of the ordinary stuff.

I went to a small academic magnet school in downtown Nashville. Everyone at the school was smart. You had to qualify for admission. Our motto was "just a bunch of nerds having fun." This resulted in a student body of the kids who might ordinarily be outcasts in a large public high school. Instead of being ostracized, kids thrived in this environment and it was cool to be different. Some were punk. Some were more granola and dressed in hippie tie dyes. Many guys had long hair. The expression of individuality was appreciated and was never a problem for the school administration because of the nature of the school.

As a teacher though, I can very much understand why, in many school situations, this type of expression might be distracting, particularly in the younger grades. When I was teaching sixth grade before my children were born, I had a boy who got his tongue pierced mid-year. His brother was in the 5th grade at the same school and also had his tongue pierced. Both enjoyed sticking their tongues out and scandalizing their peers, often in the middle of a math or reading lesson. It became a problem. Written into the school system dress code is a provision that distracting clothing, hairstyles, etc. might be prohibited if they were problematic. The boys' father raised hell about the issue, even going to the news stations. Eventually he backed down and the kids took the jewelery out.

I also had a girl who wore provocative clothing to school, with the backing of her mother. Her skirts and shorts were too short, her tops revealed too much. Some of her pants had inappropriate words on the rear. We had to speak to this child and her mother on almost a weekly basis. The mother totally backed the clothing choices, saying that the problem was not with her daughter, but with the boys who looked at her. It became a feminist issue for the woman. She felt that we ought to focus on the boys and teach them not to look at girls and that a girl should be able to wear anything she wants to school. I agree that boys need to be taught to respect women and girls for attributes other than a nice bustline, but girls also need to know what is appropriate clothing for school or work.

I found it ironically amusing when I intercepted a note written from this girl to her boyfriend about what pleasures she was going to give to him the next time they had sex. I turned the note over to her mother who was shocked that her baby girl had any type of romantic contact with boys.

When my kids are much older, I would not have a problem with hairstyles, make-up and dress (as long as it was not sexually provocative). I would actually be overjoyed if my kids bucked the over-riding style and went their own way. I would rather them be individuals than follow the herd. Granola, skater, punk, goth, all that is fine with me. In allowing them do so, however, I would make sure they knew that they might be wrongly judged on the basis of their apprearance and that their style would not be appropriate in a work situation.

I would draw the line at permanent body art, though, before 18 and even then, I would discourage it until they are older. I have a medium sized tattoo on my back and a belly ring. The tattoo I have never regretted except perhaps on my wedding day, where it was very visible through my veil. Other than that, I am happy to have it. On a couple of occasions, people have said judgmental things about it but I chalk that up to their own uncomfortableness with anyone different from themselves. The belly ring I do regret because it hurt like hell and took months and months to heal. I don't wear anything in it anymore and I think it is almost closed up anyway.

If the school contacted me, though, and asked me to restrict something, I would with no hesitation. The moment that my child's style affects the ability of other students to pay attention in class or effects the ability of the teacher to teach, I would pull the plug on it.

So what do you think? Where do you stand? What would you allow and what would you restrict?

Shut Up and Pee!

Twice in the past week I have entered a ladies room, chosen a stall, started to do my thing and realized that the women next door is having a conversation on her cell phone. While she is using the potty. While she was, ahem, pooping, in one case.

What is so damned important that you must chat on the phone while your ass is parked on the john? I am sorry, but I can not think of a single topic, other than the notification of extreme bodily injury or death of a loved one, that could not wait the three minutes it might take you to relieve yourself.

Am I alone in feeling that this is a breach of etiquette? I mean, first of all isn't it a little disrespectful to the person you are calling? Do they really want to hear your bodily functions, all set to the backdrop of toilets flushing? Do they matter so little that you can't devote a couple of non-pooping minutes to talk to them?

And then, isn't it a little rude to everyone else in the restroom? They can't help but listen to your conversation in such close quarters. And it feels a little invasive to me. It kind of creeps me out knowing that a third party is privy to everything going on in the room.

This is surely a sign that technology and the need to be connected has reached too far into our lives. What's next? Texting during sex? Chatting on your cell while getting a pap smear? You have to draw the line somewhere and the restroom door is a good place to start.

Rock of Piggy Men

As you may remember from previous posts or my old blog site, I have a certain obsession fondness with trash TV, The Girls Next Door to be specific.

I have no explanation for this embarrassing hobby. I can not explain why I feel so drawn to Holly, Bridget and Kendra. Perhaps it is because their lives are so very different from mine. They have butlers and maids, where at my house, I am the butler and maid. They have amazing bodies with perky, perfect breasts (two sets courtesy of Mr. Silicone, but who cares?). I have saggy, stretch marked milk transfer units. They get to wear pretty clothes and gorgeous costumes. I wear yoga pants and stained t-shirts. I spend my day administering to two small, demanding children. They spent their days (and nights too) administering to one old, demanding, kind of creepy man.

Plus, the voyeur in me can't help wondering what exactly goes on behind the doors of Hef's bedroom. Is it a never-ending carnival of sex? Does Hef get it on with all the Playmates? Do the girls pitch for both teams? One wonders....

So, given my love for the Playboy threesome, I was surprised at my recent reaction to another trashy, worthless, sign of the coming Apocalypse show, Rock of Love.

Rock of Love is a "reality show" featuring the lead singer of Poison, Bret Micheals. His lives in a house of honeys who are competing for his affections. It's the same basic premise as the Bachelor.

I happened to catch an episode of the show last week while on the treadmill, my favorite place to indulge in my affection for trash. I don't usually watch it, but there was nothing else on and I had nothing taped.

In this episode, Bret staged a mud ball game for the girls to compete in. The girls were all outfitted in cut-off t-shirts and shorts. bosoms were on display. Bret was clothed in a long-sleeved t with another shirt on top. He explained to the camera how much he loved mud ball games with hot women, the wet environs resulting in body-molding attire. After the game, Bret gathered the girls around to give out the trophy and reward of a private date. Why he was blathering on and on, the girls were visibly violently shaking with teeth chattering. It was obvious they were freezing in their skimpy apparel while Bret was all warm and toasty in his more substantial clothing.

This is when I first started to become a little pissed at the show. The least they could have done was let the girls change first, but no, that would defeat the purpose of having their dripping wet boobs on display.

Then, Bret takes the winner on a private date. A private date to a lingerie store. He has the girl try on and model an assortment of sexy outfits while he sits sipping wine. Throughout, he makes comment after comment about how hot this girl is. He is practically panting and drooling.

After the lingerie show, he and the girl sit down to dinner at a table set-up next to the dressing room. Chickadee is still in one of her new outfits and Bret is obviously checking her out. The girl attempts to talk to him, asking about his likes and dislikes and hobbies and so on. The scene cuts away to Brettreflecting on the date. He complains that the girl was talking to much,asking too many questions, when all he wanted to do was look at her. He doesn't see any sense in all the conversation, when obviously what he likes about her can't talk. He almost eliminates the girl based on her apparently misguided attempt to actually hold a conversation with him. He clearly states that he just wanted her to shut up and look cute.

This sent me over the edge. What a total pig! And who the hell does Bret Michaels think he is anyway? Bono? Las time I checked, Poison wasn't doing much these days. He goes on and on about how a girl has to fit in with his rock and roll life. What rock and roll life??? It's Poison, not the Rolling Stones.


I understand that these women signed up for this and that all this is deliberately staged to be as sexy as possible. I understand that it is not real. But what kind of message does this send to all the teens who watch this show? Women are only as good as their bodies? Women should shut up and look nice? The only worth a woman has is her ass?

Are teenage boys watching this and thinking Bret Michaels is a cool guy? Are the girls watching this and thinking they need to be more promiscuous to hold a guy's attention? Do they compare their bodies to these women and think they don't measure up? It makes me sick to think of Ladybug exposed to this when she is older.

Now, you might say that Girls Next Door does the same thing, and you would be right to a certain extent. I am not defending it and there is no way my children would ever watch it, but there is some difference. The girls on GND are depicted as more than sex objects. Holly is often shown in her job directing photo shoots for Playboy. Bridget is shown studying and going to class (she already has a Master's and is studying Communications). Kendra is shown investing in real estate. And Hef talks with them, plays board games, and is always very respectful of them and supportive of their endeavors. He genuinely seems to care about them as people, or at least he is portrayed that way on the show. Bret Michaels does none of this. He practically says that all he wants is a sex toy.


Even given the differences, I know that both shows are objectionable.

Obviously I could turn the TV off, but ss women and mothers, why do we not demand more from the entertainment industry? Even shows like Cashmere Mafia, which show women achieving in the work world still play up the sexuality of the women. In a recent episode, one of the women, Zoe I think, wore to work a blouse practically open to her navel. It was clearly something no one would wear to an office. Why do we not protest the overly sexual depiction TV? Is feminism that dead?

Tipper Gore Would Have My Head--X-rated Music and a Preschooler

I have created a monster, a mummy to be more specific.

Way back in The Time Before Children, Big B and I loved to go see bands. Since he was a bassist in a fairly successful regional band in his younger years and I have a long and sordid history as a Groupie, it is a past-time we both enjoyed.

Big B and I lived on separate ends of the state and did not know each other during our respective rock and roll days. If we had, though, I would have been on him like white on rice. There's something about a guy on stage that really gets me going. My friends and I used to think we could correctly assess a guy's bedroom style, if you know what I mean, based on how he acted on stage. For the most part, we were dead on.

Anyhoo, one Halloween night, Big B and I went to 12th and Porter in Nashville to see Here Come the Mummies, a Nasville funk band. It was one of the best shows I have ever seen, EVER. I have not danced like that in years. It was the best Halloween I have ever had.

Admittedly, they are a little kistcy. They dress up as Mummies and have this whole backstory mythology. They never really talk on-stage, preferring Mummy-speak like "Arghhhh" and "OOOOOOhhhhhOOOOhhh." They have songs like, "Bag of Bones" and "Ra Ra Ra."

Antics like this might seem a little silly except for the fact that these dudes are literally world-class musicians. No one really knows who they are and they deliberately keep it that way, but they are widely known to be Nashville session players. They make a living as studio musicians playing for other big-time artists or making commericals. The Mummy thing is just a side gig for fun.

Unfortunately, now that we no longer live in Nashville and the Mummies don't make it our neck of the woods very often, we don't get to see them very much. However, we do listen to their CD's on a regular basis and therein lies my problem.

Around Halloween, I ordered the Mummies' second CD and the day we received it in the mail, we put it on after dinner. Sweet Pea was entranced. He thinks they are real mummies, after all. In no time at all, Sweet Pea had a favorite song. A song not really befitting a preschooler. A song entitled, "Booty." I didn't think much of it at the time. I thought it would be a passing fancy.

Well, wrong.

My son now routinely asks me for the "Booty" song and sings alongs at full voice. His favorite line is "It's the time of day for sniffing like a dog." I am just waiting for him to start singing about booty at school or the grocery store. His second favorite song is "Dirty Minds."

I am going to hell.

I have amazed myself by managing to upload the song and you can listen to it here.

If you want to see a short clip of the Mummies in action, here you go.



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