10.10

 I had hoped there was beauty

In taking care of those who took care of you

Mostly it is just heart-crushing pain

Because no matter how hard you press for dignity

The veil slips

And you are reminded 

Of the pain that is yet to come.

10.8

 

I find I never regret this journey

Because even on the

coldest

wettest 

dreariest

Of days

When the body is dry

And the blood is warm

I am so thankful for the hike.

10/5

 This could be just an exercise 

Or an exorcism.

A chance to rid the demons

That  plagued away my days

Or it's like a ride on a bike

Something you never seem to lose

Always the first time on

A little stumble happens

But somehow the ability is there. 

Or maybe it's both.

A trial in finding my way

Back to a person I wanted to be

And not the devil I have come to be.

10/2

 I went back and looked

at all the things I have written

there was a desire to delete

the things I was not proud of

or questioned my intent

or felt embarassed of

but that is where I was at

in that moment in time

and I had to let it go

There was a few

where I could not rememeber 

the anger or the hurt

that I had felt that exact time

And today I had a reminder

that the hurt goes away

and becomes a distant memory

that I am living today

I have to remind myself always

that this too shall past.

9/30

 A month's end couldn't come sooner.  A lot of beaten down and beaten up situations.  September ate me up and spit me up.  Here is hoping October is a bit more gentler.

9/26

 I tend to write cryptic

Like I am afraid 

That the truth will hurt

Or maybe saying a little

Is saying enough

I tend to hold onto things 

For way too long

The cycle of doubt

I dream in circles

9/24

 That feeling you get when you're the fifth wheel.  The four sit side by side and across.  And to one side is you.   Part of a side but not the whole.  You shout to be heard but the conversation has changed.  

9/22

  Today I made a vow to shift what I am proud of.  Before I worked hard to be proud of being a good mom, worker, wife.  That pride in a way is dependent on others, it is dependent on how other's view the work I do.  If they are happy I am happy. 

For the most part those prides have been met. But suddenly but really slowly I find that what once brought me pride is now evaporating.  The kids are older and their needs are less.  I find myself relying on myself for the comfort I need.  Work has not been the same boat I sailed on nine year ago.  You learn quickly that you can't rely on others for your own happiness, you have to find it within yourself.

So what made me happy?  At one time this.  This space.  And maybe at one time my words mattered to someone.  Mostly they mattered to me.  And that is the magic I need to recapture.  I need to shift what makes me feel proud.

Day 13: Work

Writing from Course Work: Race and Cultural Diversity in American Life and History

by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign

In simplest terms I define myself as White and Woman.  Going beyond that I can say I don’t know much else.  Not because I didn’t want to know but because of what I was told.  If I asked my father it was a mix of Dutch, English, Scottish and American Indian.  When my sister tanned after a summer in the pool my dad informed us that we were also ‘Black.’ I knew this as a joke and can admit I laughed at the joke, even though I know it hurt my sister immensely.  Not because she was sad to be Black, but sad knowing how my father felt about Black.  My father further joked that it was quite possible as our roots can be traced as being white slave owners in Tennessee; and trips down south where to solidify that.  The family can be traced back to the Revolutionary War in the footholds of the Virginia Mountains.  There is no claim to a specific country, only the country we live in today.  Today I can say I am: White, Woman, Cis, Straight, American, Teacher.

One of the cultural groups I identify with is Woman. This group is the strongest for me and I feel as a whole I have the most support.  I see me in the role in every aspect, as mother, sister, daughter.  In the family most of the older generation are divorced mothers who took on the role of single mom.  The 80’s divorce culture did not favor the man, my dad utilized multiple organizations set up for men to gain custody of their children.  By the time the 90's came, and my father gained custody I was shown the ways by a young step-mother.  As a girl I was taught to not only care for family but to work and support family.  I can say that my perceptions of motherhood were not quite as utopic as June Cleaver nor as horrendous as Roseanne Barr. 

Not being able to claim a Motherland has never really bothered me too much.  I was just American.  We celebrated the holidays of a Christian Faith, marched as Americans in parades and worshiped the ‘One True God.’  Once I lived with my Step-mother more culture came into play.  Her family embraced their Polish and French roots.  I imagined I was Polish as I tasted pierogies and sausage.  Although I won’t admit to it when ‘Dumb Polish’ jokes were told.  I think I only yearned for the best parts of the cultures that I wanted to identify with. Today I cook no special dishes or prepare special feast days.  Ultimately I am defined by the ‘Red, White and Blue.’

Being a White Woman Teacher has been my biggest struggle.  The state I live in, Wisconsin, has the worst achievement gaps in the nation, specifically as it related to the graduation of Students of Color in the nation.  This is eye-opening to me and made me seek out a re-education of how I work with Students of Color.  I am interested in diving into the topic of modern day school segregation that is part of this course. Just glancing at the GAO report we see that the gap just doesn't lie in education but in levels of poverty for Students of Color. I am also interested in gaining insight from others regarding the doll experiment and the change in behavior in children when the experiment was first performed and now.

I will say this definition of how I define myself as American leads me here.  Over the past few years I have been disappointed in myself and my culture.  Working in the school district I have seen my role as being part of the problem and not the solution.  I struggle with interacting with those, adult and child, that have a defined culture that goes beyond White America.  I really had noticed this culture of White, Woman, Cis, Straight, American is a privilege I have gained the benefits of. 

Day Eleven and Twelve: Choices

Yesterday was a day back at the school.  Outside.  Cars of kids paraded around gathering supplies and one last good bye.  It felt different.  I felt different.  A mix of everything. Being forced away.  The need for equality for our students of color.  This flicker.  

Today was a listening session.  A student spoke and to me this was the biggest a-ha! moment.  Seeing another teacher of color that I worked side-by-side with share his story.  I didn't know their pain.  Or ask about them.  Connect.

I am still reading Francois Clemmon's book.  I can't help but feel the punch at the choices he had to make.  He faced not only being a man of color in the height of the battle to desegregation. He had to fight battles for being a gay man in the beginning of the battles  for equal rights.  The blatant racism.  The blatant homophobia.  It seemed to me that a lot of the choices he made had to do with survival.  But he still made beautiful music.  He still valued his desire to help.  To be a helper.  

I think I often fear being seen as a racist.  Saying the wrong thing.  Doing the wrong thing.  Being accused that I put up walls to protect myself.  I don't give the same attention out of fear.  This is just another way to be racist.  I can't demand anyone point out my racism, I need to be able recognize it myself.   The way I do this is by keep doing the hard work.

My choices need to be to lead with compassion.  

Day Ten: Choices

I had made a choice not to write today, a break.  But sleep is not coming as fast as the thoughts do.

I want to make a joke about how I have turned to Mr. Rogers in this chaotic time and isn't that the most white girl thing to do?

I really am a true Mr. Rogers' fan.  I watched it as a child well beyond what most would find acceptable.  I had younger siblings, so well into my teens.  Fred is not a false narrative, and this is what I crave, need in my life.

Earlier this year I listened to the podcast 'Finding Fred' by Carvell Wallace which sparked an interest in Francois Clemmons' autobiography.  Which came out early last month.  I