We might be getting somewhere....

I want to be with you. If you can’t go, then I don’t want to go. If we are traveling together, sharing political space together, building political family together, then I want to be with you. I want us to be together. Mia Mingus, activist

I am overwhelmed by humanity. I was looking today for a job in the youth work/social justice community and realized that when I googled "Chicago youth," there appeared site upon site of wondrous things that we are doing in the world to uplift each other. This is the second time today that I have been moved to tears by joy. I am just so moved, in a time where I feel like there is so much pessimism, frustration and angst around me. People are searching for solutions, for answers, for something that makes sense in their lives. We, as humans, are moving, daily, sometimes by trial and error and to no avail. We are struggling to provide, to produce and to leave legacy.

"We must leave evidence. Evidence that we were here, that we existed, that we survived and loved and ached. Evidence of the wholeness we never felt and the immense sense of fullness we gave to each other. Evidence of who we were, who we thought we were, who we never should have been. Evidence for each other that there are other ways to live--past survival; past isolation." I am not "queer" or "disabled," the two pieces of her identity that Mia Mingus chooses to use in framing her words. And yet, this applies to me, my family, my neighbors, strangers. It is what it means to be human.

When I see the Young People's Project in Chicago or The Canvas in St. Paul, I am convinced that the little things matter and that they are connected to the biggest pieces of our lives. Love. Justice. Struggle. Energy. Love. We are surrounded by just as much positive energy, more maybe, than negative. You cannot convince me otherwise. And I am wholly, joyfully moved by your kindness, your power and your humility.

Nine Sisters

from Dad on the road.....


shadows fall
on hills - something to covet but never hold,
waves of land crashing into the sea

an ancient fire
anger’s core rests in water,
ocean deep

forever testament – danger
now past
but process not complete

the Maker kissed
nine times
the Nine Sisters now sleep

time hides
their hearts
between each beat

and i,
wanting,
will never have...

their passage now
far
beyond my reach

j'ai peur. je suis étonné!
étonnement!
mon âme étonnée! mon âme.....

Almost every Thursday, after I facilitate my discussion section at the U, I drive over to one of my favorite coffee shops in South Minneapolis. It is worth the 10 minute drive the through campus, around downtown, west towards the lakes, and then south towards one of the more real, gritty and artsy neighborhoods the city has to offer. The coffee is great. The atmosphere - well, I might be slightly less cool than the average customer. But it is the place I go when I want to be nameless, regular and ignored. Hey, sometimes you need that.

Lately, when I take this late afternoon coffee break, I get out of my car to hear a child screaming. It is the same child every week. Across the street, in the parking lot of a child care center and a line of small school buses, a small boy, maybe about 6 years old, screams hysterically while being attended to by at least 5 staff members. I don't know what to make of this. I am a worst-case-scenario kind of girl. I guess the culmination of all the socialization I experienced in my life has resulted in me being a little more critical, pessimistic and dark than I should be. I want to think of the best, but my brain just isn't made for it.

So, I am watching this child and thinking, "What the hell is happening to this child at home that he will not get on the bus?" What awaits him? Is it pain? Neglect? Or just that he is engaged at the child care center and not at home? I heard about this once, when a social worker was describing how children behaved at a local preschool for children of parents in rehab and counseling for abuse. Teachers and bus drivers received special training on how to help the children cope with the transition from school to home. But no one gives the children training on how to survive abuse or neglect. And who would want to? I can't imagine having to convince a child that it would be okay to go home when we have no idea what awaits him. Or even worse, if we do know.

My three-year-old has been screaming every time I leave preschool. I know this is because this is the third week of a very new and hectic schedule in our house. Everyone in school, dad and mom working and interning, coming and going. It is hard for him to wake up and be rushed out of the house. Most mornings it has been just as hard for the rest of us. We just aren't three, so we don't get to scream and cry wherever we are. I am just so, so glad that he is not afraid of coming home. And I cry inside for the boy that is.

A shot out to my social workers.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pkJolktOslw&p=EFC6F2C07DE3E4BB&playnext=1&index=1


Peace

Dad's First Poem

I only have eyes.

Princeton Park in the summer time.
Daddy "Q"in on the powder dust backyard.
Jolly Roger versus ......(whomever) ice cream cones.
Hot nites, no air
Runnin' after billions of fireflies alive just for us to catch.
Baseball (Cubs) Pajamas.
Broken metal skates...
So hot...waiting, wondering when we could fry eggs on the sidewalk.
Grass wars (dirt all over the street),
half he lawn pulled up....spankins' on the way.
Dust on the Venetian Blinds (What's that?)
Chalk from the trains.
Endless days...
Hot nights...
Mommie, kiss good nite...
"I only have eyes for you"....

I love you DAD!!!!

Destination Anxiety

For the first time in my life I am having anxiety about leaving my family behind. I grew up with my parents and siblings, far enough away from extended family that it took a day's drive to reunite. "Home" was wherever we were; together.

Now, I'm not sure if it is the having babies-getting married-having more babies cycle that instills some innate desire to root my family in some place. Or if it is more that my parents are slowly moving beyond middle age and I am beginning to experience a foreign emotion that feels something like nesting. I have the need to create a home, a place, that is for us - all of us; as many of us can fit. All are welcome.

I recently decided to apply for PhD programs (perhaps during a brief lapse in sanity), which means that all of my mental energy has been going towards exploring the options. What are the best programs? Where are they? What are the cities like? Do they have good schools? Will we be the only family of color around? Will it be the best move for US? I have found programs in all corners of the country that interest me, that are rigorous, and that also provide a socio-cultural-economic-greenish-educationally oriented environment for our family. And even as I look towards the beauty of Oregon, or the opportunity of prestigious schools in California, my thoughts continuously come back to Chicago. Minneapolis. The Midwest.

Now understand, this is a girl who flew the coop as soon as she turned 18. I was encouraged to fly as high as I dared and I have always owned that permission, even as I have grown older and had my own babies. The Midwest was not enough for this high-flying girl 10 years ago. I wanted fast and colorful and confusing. I wanted it so bad that I was missing all of the speed and color and wonderful madness that the Midwest had to offer. It wasn't until my daughter came into the world that I slowed to the awesome curiosity of a child's pace. I began to breathe.

And now I am breathing in this place and wondering where the next place will be. I want to fly - this time with my loves - as high as we can. I'm just not sure how many, if any, we will have to leave behind. For the first time it is really important to me to prepare the way. To make sure that our family will be secure; will have a place to call home. I remember what I knew so, so many years ago. That home is where we all are together. I don't think that is something I am willing to sacrifice for any PhD.