Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Friday, June 19, 2015
Sometimes
"Did you know that sometimes people are mean to other people just because those people have brown skin?"
"I have light skin, like Elsa! Mama has light skin. Mommy has light skin. L has brown skin. M has brown skin. C has brown skin. Miss T has brown skin. Miss J has brown skin. Lots of people have brown skin."
"Do you know that sometimes people with light skin hurt people with brown skin, just because they have brown skin?"
"That's mean. You can't hit someone because they have brown skin. If someone hits me I say "NO!" and if they don't stop I tell the teacher. It's not nice to hit."
"You're right Lovie, I'm glad you know all that."
Monday, June 1, 2015
#queermutiny (a blogging for LGBTQ Families Day post)
There's a new kid in LB's class. Sometimes Estelle seems happy, sometimes she seems sad. Last week her mom carried her into school crying, and said to me "when do they adjust, because I can't take this!" Over the weekend I reminded LB to ask Estelle to play. "I ask her, but sometimes she just cries." "Well, ask her again. It makes people happy when they have friends to play with. You used to cry at school, but now you have friends and you play all the time."
When I picked LB up today I got a report from her teacher that "LB was a very kind friend today and played with Estelle." I am so proud of that Sweetapuss!
A year ago, almost to the day, I was at home trying to balance mom-ing and working while my wife was away on business and, unbeknownst to me, turning her emotional affair into a full-on affair. Today at work I got served with divorce papers. I knew it was coming, but that didn't make standing in the rain signing off on paperwork with a kindly older gentleman who said, with feeling, "I'm wishing you all the best," any easier.
Since I found out I've run a lot of miles. I've done a lot of pushups. I spend some months trying to save my marriage. I found a new place to live. I've made new friends. I've reconnected with old friends. I've gone to therapy. I've bonded with my daughter. I've been given so much materially, emotionally, and socially.
If you've read this blog before, you know I don't have much time for queer respectability-the idea that gays and friends are "just like everybody else" or even have a responsibility to strive to be "just like everybody else." I spent a couple months this past year waking up every morning and telling myself "the only thing you have to do today is be a decent person."
This year has stripped away many of my trappings of respectability and forced me to think about what matters to me as a divorcee, a queer mom, a daughter, a friend-to love and be loved, to engage with the world, to live by my own values. That's not necessarily a gay thing, but it is because some twenty or twenty five years ago I felt like being gay freed me from the trap of respectability and here I am again.
Many thanks to Mombian for hosting the 10th Annual Blogging for LGBTQ Families Day! I hope you'll click over here all the posts!
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Misery and Kindness
Finally, I got a picture of my little girl in the big snow! Blurry and shadowed, but I just wanted a New England picture for posterity. But she hates to put her feet on snow. Today was mild enough that we took the bus home from the Aurora Kiddo Dance Party (you should check it out if you live anywhere near Providence), and LB even walked a bit.
This winter has been a misery of cancelled plans and wet feet, and broken hips, collapsed roofs, and hypothermia. This story that's been making the rounds on Boston social media is a good example of the everyday suffering of trying to function in the endless cold and snow.
In the piece Barbara Howard discusses stopping in her car to pick up and mom and child waiting late a night at a snowy bus stop. The other side of our current suffering is our increased kindness. Each day along my bus route, riders work to get the lady with the walker and the guy with the cane safely on and off the bus. From the bus, I watched an older man collapse in a slippery crosswalk on a busy street at dusk. Two drivers immediately used their cars to block him from traffic and then carried him to the sidewalk. So many "you want to hold my arm?" to unsteady crossers, and a "at least take that guy on crutches!" to the driver of an overfull bus.
It's never easy to get around as a person with mobility issues, or as a parent with a young child and multiple bags. But those needs are so often invisible. Barbara Howard must have driven by moms with kids at bus stops on other late nights, but this was the night she stopped. Because our own suffering has made us more aware of the suffering of others and more sympathetic to them. It's a beautiful thing in this world.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
Downsizing
All these books, including the ones you can't see in the layer behind the visible books, plus a few more shelves like these. And the basement full of baby stuff for the 2nd baby we aren't going to have, and the closets full of craft stuff for projects I'm not going to make, and who-knows-what-else tucked here and there. I took a paycut of about a 1/3rd at my job here it RI. And it's a good job that I really enjoy, with the possibility of growing with the organization and/or building skills that will make me employable at another org. But for the present, I make a low professional salary. So my plan for the next year is to try to find a reasonably spacious 1-bed for me and LB that cost no more than 1/3 of my take home pay. It's not going to be easy to find, but I've got a few months. And I really need to pare down our belongings, which is exciting because I feel weighed down by a lot of this stuff, but also hard to give up some of these things that were such a part of my identify-like obscure books on obscure topics in US history.
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Want a Valentine's Card? And Miscellany
After the success of project Christmas paper chain, and upon realizing the excessive amount of art supplies building in our closet, and in pursuit of cheerfulness, LB and I are going to be making a bunch of Valentine's card. If you'd like one and you haven't recently sent me your mailing address to chronicladybug at gmail.com.
Today I told myself that I'd run if the temperature went over 20, and of course when I looked at my phone it was 21. That kind of sucked.
On my run I stopped by our local fancy kitchen shop and ordered the present I'm giving myself for my move into a new place for LB and me-that should happen in a couple/few months.
PW protected rants likely incoming, but for now I'll just share that there was someone VAPING on the bus. Who does that? It was bad enough that a woman who was actually smoking sat down next to me in bus shelter-but it is Rhode Island and so I expect that kind of thing. And she did look like she need that smoke more than I need to breathe. But really, vaping on the bus?
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
The GoFundMe Emergency Fund
The Motherlode column published this column about families using online giving sites like GoFundMe to fund things like rent and medical bills. I've seen lesbian moms crowdsourcing funds for custody fights, crowdfunding to pay for divorces and related expenses, and a vociferous debate about lesbian moms and moms-to-be about the ethics and etiquette of crowdsourcing infertility treatments.
I wouldn't be surprised if there is a big structural story there about longterm unemployment and underemployment, heathcare costs, and debt. But I wonder if crowdsourcing is just a new platform for an old practice. People without money have always gone to people with money for help, and people with money have always given money to people in need. Maybe crowdsourcing is symptomatic of the growing divide between those who have and those who don't? If you don't live in an economically diverse community, you don't have people to ask directly for help, and those who would like to give don't necessarily have personal connections to those in need. Or maybe it's a Bowling Alone issue, where people (like me) don't have a church or union or social club to go to for help. Or maybe it's just a pragmatic response to the fact that most of us do live online, and by going online you can tap into a seemingly unlimited pool of potential donors.
I wouldn't be surprised if there is a big structural story there about longterm unemployment and underemployment, heathcare costs, and debt. But I wonder if crowdsourcing is just a new platform for an old practice. People without money have always gone to people with money for help, and people with money have always given money to people in need. Maybe crowdsourcing is symptomatic of the growing divide between those who have and those who don't? If you don't live in an economically diverse community, you don't have people to ask directly for help, and those who would like to give don't necessarily have personal connections to those in need. Or maybe it's a Bowling Alone issue, where people (like me) don't have a church or union or social club to go to for help. Or maybe it's just a pragmatic response to the fact that most of us do live online, and by going online you can tap into a seemingly unlimited pool of potential donors.
Monday, November 3, 2014
Preemie Memories
November is Prematurity Awareness month, for what it's worth. In my writing class, I did an exercise describing an object with sentimental meaning, and describe it for five days without looking back to see what I had written previously:
It fits in the palm of her hand. A perfect impression, the plaster only
crumbling along one edge. How
could feet that small belong to a person?
The tiny lines and creases preserved. The plaster is grey, but the memory is pink feet. Tiny human pink feet already scarred
with needle holes. Pink feet
against a background of florescent lights, machines beeping, digital numbers
rising and falling on monitors. the footprints sit in plaster, in a box, in
tissue paper.
Wrapped in pink tissue paper in a
closet on a shelf in a crate in another box, in another box. “It must be in here.” Something so
important must be here where it should be. She digs past the vacuum cleaner with the canister that
crashes off, past the wrapping paper, past the weights. It’s not in the torn cardboard box, not
in the shopping bag, but in the orange crate. She digs, unpacks, and lifts. Uncovered. A
tiny plaster cast of two feet. Perfect feet with lines and creases. Like human feet, in tissue, in a box,
in a box, in plaster
The footprints fit in her
hand. Gray plaster in the shape of a scallop shell, the impression of the
feet creased and veined. She imagines what she did not see. The
nurse, name forgotten, releases the side panel on the isolette. She
strokes the baby's head and moves the wires to the side. Her gloved hands
lift the baby's feet. Deftly into the plaster and back out. Did the
nurse sing or coo? Did she rock a startled baby? The footprints don’t
remember.
Tiny footprints preserved
in plaster—gray toes and lines and creases like real feet. The real feet attached to the baby were
pink and in motion, scarred by needles, taped down, glowing with a pulse ox,
kicking and pushing. The plaster
feet stay still and silent.
Footprints in a scallop shell. Tiny feet preserved in gray, toes and
lines and creases, perfect and silent.
“Mama, mama, mama” four years later she doesn’t sleep at bedtime. Dirty feet in purple butterfly
flipflops as the leaves fall.
Chipped nail polish feet in motion kicking and crunching leaves. Dirty feet thump and run overhead long
past bedtime. Plaster feet stay wrapped in tissue paper in a box in a box in a
closet.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
"The cold never bothered me anyway": a post brought to you by Wonderful Wednesday
LB has declared herself for Team Frozen and she also has decided that she only wears sundresses despite it being October in New England. I can't say I've been very gracious about the situation, but I'll admit she's cute.
I bought these Dr. Marten's chelsea boots and I think I'm in love. These are by far the butchest item of clothing I own, and since I was wearing a pink coat and red shoes and coming dangerously close to twee, that's probably a good thing. Also I walked three miles while wearing these and suffered only a vaguely worrisome numbness in one foot, no bleeding blisters like back in the day.
Today was blustery, but LB and I got to school and back home okay with only some light rain and strong wind. Now it's raining like crazy with thunder and lightening and it's very cozy to be in here and not out there.
Sometimes I feel happy, sometimes I feel sad. This past weekend was great. I had a friend in town and Providence appointed herself very well. The weather was lovely, the city was charming, the food was good, and the conversation was excellent. One of the best things about my current situation, has been checking back into friendships, rediscovering what kind and interesting people I know and how much I enjoy their company.
Thanks for the prompt Amanda
Saturday, October 4, 2014
How We're Living Now
Some pw protected goodness over at the other blog:
http://lbbreadandroses.wordpress.com/2014/10/04/how-were-living-now/
http://lbbreadandroses.wordpress.com/2014/10/04/how-were-living-now/
Friday, September 26, 2014
"I tried my best just to be a man"
This is the official jam of my separation from B. I love this song and you should definitely check it out, even if your man or lady isn't stepping out on you:
The universe keeps chattering at me. I feel like I notice background music more than other people. Walking through Target aisles listening to "City of New Orleans" or waiting at line at the bank listening to "Blurred Lines," songs seem to hold an overwhelming meaning. Now it's "Don't Think Twice" playing at the grocery store, or "Say My Name" blaring on the speakers outside the gas station. LB, B, and I were in Savers last week ostensibly looking for a dresser for our 2nd rental (June will be nesting in the cozy house while B and I swap out time at the other place), and what should come over the PA system as we tried to wrest a hideous unicorn costume away from LB? Amy Winehouse's "You Know I'm No Good,"which made me think: "Who the hell picked this out? And will you please stop rattling around in my brain>"
Slimkid3 & DJ Nu-Mark "I Know, Didn't I" featuring Darondo
The universe keeps chattering at me. I feel like I notice background music more than other people. Walking through Target aisles listening to "City of New Orleans" or waiting at line at the bank listening to "Blurred Lines," songs seem to hold an overwhelming meaning. Now it's "Don't Think Twice" playing at the grocery store, or "Say My Name" blaring on the speakers outside the gas station. LB, B, and I were in Savers last week ostensibly looking for a dresser for our 2nd rental (June will be nesting in the cozy house while B and I swap out time at the other place), and what should come over the PA system as we tried to wrest a hideous unicorn costume away from LB? Amy Winehouse's "You Know I'm No Good,"which made me think: "Who the hell picked this out? And will you please stop rattling around in my brain>"
Monday, September 22, 2014
A post-modern woman's daybook
What I don't want to be doing right now: ghostwriting a letter of recommendation from a famous public intellectual
What I've listened to five times today: the exceptional September 19th edition of On the Media
Number hours I've spent wondering if Earth, Wind, and Fire's "September" could be reworked to include the lyrics "in November we remember": 1 hour
Number of times I've said, "Please act like you have respect for me.": 2
Hours I spent doing data entry: not quite sure, enough that it sucked
Best songs on my running mix: Billy Bragg, "All you fascists born to lose," and The Coup, "Ride the Fence"
What I'm watching right now: 19 Kids and Counting (Jill and her man are choosing wedding cakes)
What I want to be reading: The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Place
What I am reading: I can't seem to settle on anything
Best place I went in Providence this weekend: Faust-pleasantly hip with German food
What I've listened to five times today: the exceptional September 19th edition of On the Media
Number hours I've spent wondering if Earth, Wind, and Fire's "September" could be reworked to include the lyrics "in November we remember": 1 hour
Number of times I've said, "Please act like you have respect for me.": 2
Hours I spent doing data entry: not quite sure, enough that it sucked
Best songs on my running mix: Billy Bragg, "All you fascists born to lose," and The Coup, "Ride the Fence"
What I'm watching right now: 19 Kids and Counting (Jill and her man are choosing wedding cakes)
What I want to be reading: The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Place
What I am reading: I can't seem to settle on anything
Best place I went in Providence this weekend: Faust-pleasantly hip with German food
Thursday, June 19, 2014
Modest Preschoolers (or, My Daughter Wears Jeggings)
It's almost summer, and the issue of what toddler/preschooler girls should wear in the summer has been popping up all over my social media. I'm having one of those moments where I feel like I was raised by (inappropriately dressed) wolves, and I have no idea what these rules are that other people are talking about. It's like when I found out that a significant segment of society feel that babies should never appear in public wearing only a onesie, because it's like an adult walking around in her underwear.
These are the rules I have heard:
-No tight clothes
-No short shorts
-No big arm holes
-No faux-sexy styling
-No bikinis
LB is breaking a few of these rules right now: tight stretch shorts, with a tucked-in tank-top with big arm holes (worn backwards to maximize exposure). And I have some questions:
Do people really think it's wrong for a preschooler to wear bike shorts as shorts? I had no idea. I feel like there should be a compendium of these rules just so I can know when my daughter's sartorial choices are offending the world.
LB used to wear such cute clothes: cotton rompers, bonnets, handmade sweaters. Hanna dresses from Grammy. And then she learned how to undress herself. Now any clothing considered too soft, to scratchy, too big, or just NO is immediately ripped off.
What I want LB to wear:
And LB's choice:
She styles this shirt (I'm pretty sure this is the exact big-arm-hold shirt that the other mom returned) with tight pink stretch shorts. Shirt tucked into shorts. Shorts pulled up high. Socks pulled up high, with sneakers. I call this her "Fire Island called and wants 1985 back" Collection.
As I write this post, Motherlode has published the post, "Whose Dress Code Is It and Why?" This column gets at some of what I'm feeling. If people look at LB and judge me because she's not modest enough, I will judge them to be prudish jerks. If they judge me for dressing my daughter in pants that slide down her butt whenever she engages in strenuous exercise, and wonder why people start training their children to participate in the horrors of the femininity industrial complex at such a young age-well, then I will just hang my head in shame because I agree.
But it's LB's body and it's the clothes that grandmas bought her. I am a feminist mom. I want to be a feminist mom, but I'm not sure that means I need to be an authoritarian feminist mom.
In the Motherlode piece, KJ Dell'Antonia reminds readers that dress codes aren't simply about sexuality, they are also about learning a variety of other social rules that may serve us well in life. The word that she doesn't mention specifically is class. And that's where I get even more uncomfortable with the rules and hierarchies of clothing.
My parents were passing into the middle class as I grew up in the 1970s-not so much by money, but by practice. That meant that while other kids wore new clothes from KMart, I wore second-hand smocked dresses and fair isle sweaters. Classy.
I loved polyester and bright colors and plastic headbands and shiny shoes. One day when I was eight my dad brought home a pair of Timberland boots for me (way before they became Tims) and I cried and hid them in the back of the closet.
As a teenager in the '80s, I was one of those girls putting together outfits in thrift shops and trying to make t-shirts into skirts like they showed in Sassy Magazine.
Now I wear a deliberately boring and hopefully clean, mix and match, business very casual. I like people who wear outfits. I want LB to have the joy of expressing herself through clothing. I never want to see her in short shorts with writing on the butt, but I don't want her to judge girls in short shorts with writing on the butt to be cheap whores, and I certainly don't want her to think that clothes make her person-for better or worse.
Dear LB, It's the content of your character not the clothes on your back. And if you want to be a peacock, if you want your pants to sag, if your skirts too short, I will love you for it. And I will also replace songs on your ipod with lectures on feminist theory.
These are the rules I have heard:
-No tight clothes
-No short shorts
-No big arm holes
-No faux-sexy styling
-No bikinis
LB is breaking a few of these rules right now: tight stretch shorts, with a tucked-in tank-top with big arm holes (worn backwards to maximize exposure). And I have some questions:
Do people really think it's wrong for a preschooler to wear bike shorts as shorts? I had no idea. I feel like there should be a compendium of these rules just so I can know when my daughter's sartorial choices are offending the world.
| LB's outfit of choice: Elmo and jeggings and to make it even better, her pants always ride down |
LB used to wear such cute clothes: cotton rompers, bonnets, handmade sweaters. Hanna dresses from Grammy. And then she learned how to undress herself. Now any clothing considered too soft, to scratchy, too big, or just NO is immediately ripped off.
| The last outfit I ever forced LB to wear-doesn't she look happy (and I'm still not sure how the school picture company came up with such a glamour shot) |
What I want LB to wear:
| I'm still holding out hope for next fall! |
| She will never wear this before she outgrows it |
And LB's choice:
She styles this shirt (I'm pretty sure this is the exact big-arm-hold shirt that the other mom returned) with tight pink stretch shorts. Shirt tucked into shorts. Shorts pulled up high. Socks pulled up high, with sneakers. I call this her "Fire Island called and wants 1985 back" Collection.
As I write this post, Motherlode has published the post, "Whose Dress Code Is It and Why?" This column gets at some of what I'm feeling. If people look at LB and judge me because she's not modest enough, I will judge them to be prudish jerks. If they judge me for dressing my daughter in pants that slide down her butt whenever she engages in strenuous exercise, and wonder why people start training their children to participate in the horrors of the femininity industrial complex at such a young age-well, then I will just hang my head in shame because I agree.
But it's LB's body and it's the clothes that grandmas bought her. I am a feminist mom. I want to be a feminist mom, but I'm not sure that means I need to be an authoritarian feminist mom.
In the Motherlode piece, KJ Dell'Antonia reminds readers that dress codes aren't simply about sexuality, they are also about learning a variety of other social rules that may serve us well in life. The word that she doesn't mention specifically is class. And that's where I get even more uncomfortable with the rules and hierarchies of clothing.
My parents were passing into the middle class as I grew up in the 1970s-not so much by money, but by practice. That meant that while other kids wore new clothes from KMart, I wore second-hand smocked dresses and fair isle sweaters. Classy.
I loved polyester and bright colors and plastic headbands and shiny shoes. One day when I was eight my dad brought home a pair of Timberland boots for me (way before they became Tims) and I cried and hid them in the back of the closet.
As a teenager in the '80s, I was one of those girls putting together outfits in thrift shops and trying to make t-shirts into skirts like they showed in Sassy Magazine.
Now I wear a deliberately boring and hopefully clean, mix and match, business very casual. I like people who wear outfits. I want LB to have the joy of expressing herself through clothing. I never want to see her in short shorts with writing on the butt, but I don't want her to judge girls in short shorts with writing on the butt to be cheap whores, and I certainly don't want her to think that clothes make her person-for better or worse.
Dear LB, It's the content of your character not the clothes on your back. And if you want to be a peacock, if you want your pants to sag, if your skirts too short, I will love you for it. And I will also replace songs on your ipod with lectures on feminist theory.
Monday, June 16, 2014
"In her kiss I taste the Revolution"
This is the only back-in-the-day photo I can find (weirdly cropped to protect the innocent). The year was likely 1997, I remember buying this dress at the Salvation Army-at least I treated it as a dress. It was like a tiny lampshade, and my friend put a tuck in the back for me so it would fit. I was into wearing white fishnets, and if you could see my shoes they would be super chunky.
B and I recently watched the documentary The Punk Singer about Kathleen Hanna and Riot Grrrl. I really enjoyed all the performance footage, which definitely makes it worth watching. As usual, I'm annoyed that a film that spends some time reflecting on the problem of stars within social movements would choose to feature random quasi-celebrities who had nothing to do with Riot Grrrl reflecting on Riot Grrrl, rather than some of the rank-and-file. I also don't like it when RG retrospectives present the '90s as a vast wasteland for young feminists. RG was something new and exciting, but existed within and alongside a variety of other feminist politics (in my humble opinion).
B's critique of the film was that the filmmakers could have make a much more explicit connection between "trashing" and other negative forms of internal policing within feminist groups in the 1970s and disputes about stars and media coverage within RG. B wrote her senior thesis in college on RG, and she wrote this paper about the Chicago Women's Liberation Rock Band, which you should read. And then you should listen to the CWLRB singing "Papa Don't Lay that Shit on Me" here.
After we watched The Punk Singer, B and I were inspired to bust out some of our old records, and reminisce. It was really fun. I am eight years older than B, which is at least a generation in music time. B grew up in the Pacific Northwest listening to gansta rap, while I grew up in the Northeast listening to punk.
B listened to Dr Dre, Ice Cube, and The Coup, and then branched out to Ani DiFranco and Elliott Smith. The first album I ever bought was Roxanne by The Police and the first show I ever went to was The Ramones (at the UNH student union).
At some point our music histories intersect. I bought the Bikini Kill/Huggy Bear album, I think, while I was living in Seattle in 1993. I loved that album, but I don't think I realized that it was a thing? I don't know, my memory is so bad. I think I probably found out about RG by reading an article in the New York Times-clearly I had my finger on the pulse. B started listening to RG bands and going to shows while in college in the late 1990s, and then got really into Sleater-Kinney (and couldn't tell me precisely how many times she saw them-because I fact check these posts like crazy).
I realize I don't know exactly what was so appealing about this music for B. For me, it was years putting up with jackasses at shows, being expected to hold the coats, and the casual and not-so-casual misogyny of the punk/hardcore/ska scenes. And it was also never seeing women on stage for those shows. It was so great to see and hear women making loud, aggressive music.
Videos I've watched while writing this post:
Hole's "Pretty on the Inside" on college radio late in 1991 blew me away when I heard it on college radio in 1991. I had never heard a woman make music that so represented the roiling and seething that I felt on the inside (which is not to say anything about the people who made that album).
Lone Justice, "Ways to Be Wicked," I've always like country music, but I was embarrassed to admit it in the 80s.
I had roommate who was super into SubPop, and I liked this song by a band I'd never heard of called Nirvana. Nirvana, "Negative Creep."
My other roommates were super into Throwing Muses, and I haven't heard this song in twenty and some years. It bringing back some memory that I can't quite retrieve.
B and I recently watched the documentary The Punk Singer about Kathleen Hanna and Riot Grrrl. I really enjoyed all the performance footage, which definitely makes it worth watching. As usual, I'm annoyed that a film that spends some time reflecting on the problem of stars within social movements would choose to feature random quasi-celebrities who had nothing to do with Riot Grrrl reflecting on Riot Grrrl, rather than some of the rank-and-file. I also don't like it when RG retrospectives present the '90s as a vast wasteland for young feminists. RG was something new and exciting, but existed within and alongside a variety of other feminist politics (in my humble opinion).
B's critique of the film was that the filmmakers could have make a much more explicit connection between "trashing" and other negative forms of internal policing within feminist groups in the 1970s and disputes about stars and media coverage within RG. B wrote her senior thesis in college on RG, and she wrote this paper about the Chicago Women's Liberation Rock Band, which you should read. And then you should listen to the CWLRB singing "Papa Don't Lay that Shit on Me" here.
After we watched The Punk Singer, B and I were inspired to bust out some of our old records, and reminisce. It was really fun. I am eight years older than B, which is at least a generation in music time. B grew up in the Pacific Northwest listening to gansta rap, while I grew up in the Northeast listening to punk.
B listened to Dr Dre, Ice Cube, and The Coup, and then branched out to Ani DiFranco and Elliott Smith. The first album I ever bought was Roxanne by The Police and the first show I ever went to was The Ramones (at the UNH student union).
At some point our music histories intersect. I bought the Bikini Kill/Huggy Bear album, I think, while I was living in Seattle in 1993. I loved that album, but I don't think I realized that it was a thing? I don't know, my memory is so bad. I think I probably found out about RG by reading an article in the New York Times-clearly I had my finger on the pulse. B started listening to RG bands and going to shows while in college in the late 1990s, and then got really into Sleater-Kinney (and couldn't tell me precisely how many times she saw them-because I fact check these posts like crazy).
I realize I don't know exactly what was so appealing about this music for B. For me, it was years putting up with jackasses at shows, being expected to hold the coats, and the casual and not-so-casual misogyny of the punk/hardcore/ska scenes. And it was also never seeing women on stage for those shows. It was so great to see and hear women making loud, aggressive music.
Videos I've watched while writing this post:
Hole's "Pretty on the Inside" on college radio late in 1991 blew me away when I heard it on college radio in 1991. I had never heard a woman make music that so represented the roiling and seething that I felt on the inside (which is not to say anything about the people who made that album).
Lone Justice, "Ways to Be Wicked," I've always like country music, but I was embarrassed to admit it in the 80s.
I had roommate who was super into SubPop, and I liked this song by a band I'd never heard of called Nirvana. Nirvana, "Negative Creep."
My other roommates were super into Throwing Muses, and I haven't heard this song in twenty and some years. It bringing back some memory that I can't quite retrieve.
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Father's Day
"This week we are celebrating Father's Day!! We will be discussing all types of fathers (ex: fathers, stepfathers, uncles, grandfathers, or brothers). We are asking if friends can bring in pictures of their father/ stepfather/ uncle/ grandfather/ or brother, who whoever they consider a father figure [so] that we can discuss them during circle time."
I can remember crying about Father's Day once, either before LB was born or right after, imagining her sitting at a little desk with no father to write for. This year, we spent time with Granddad for Father's Day, and I think that made everyone happy. Otherwise Father's Day has so far been a non-issue. Maybe it will be as LB gets older. I think we do the right stuff when the issue of dads comes up. We're mater of fact, we don't try to shield LB from the world of fathers (it wouldn't be creepy to black out all the fathers in her books with sharpie, right?), but we don't make a big deal out of it. But even if you say all the right things, some kids will feel being different more strongly than other kids, and there's nothing to do about that but wait.
Daycare is doing us some favors, because, while we may be the only two-mom family, there are plenty of other families that are not mom/dad. LB's reality is that some families have two moms, and some have one mom, and others have a dad, or a grammy. I declare this a Father's Day without tears.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Unaccompanied Minors
The recent news coverage of unaccompanied minors, mainly from Central America, traveling across the US border alone and then being detained in federal facilities is incredibly distressing. I guess the upsurge in young migrants has been building for awhile, see this 2013 piece in Mother Jones and this 2012 piece from the New York Times-"Young and Alone, Facing Court and Deportation," but I have to admit I haven't really paid attention until the latest news coverage.
Photos from the Houston Chronicle showing conditions in detention here. The NYTimes answering readers questions about immigration here. The DailyMail on conditions for detained migrant minors here. Mother Jones on unaccompanied minors in adult jails here. And reporting from the LATimes here. Here's a short audio piece from Tell Me More.
A conservative blog take here. And analysis on Laura Ingram's comments on child migrants here.
Liberal analysis stresses the push factors of extreme gang violence in Central American and the humanitarian aspects of these young migrants, while conservatives stress the role DACA may play in motivating migration and use imagery of the US boarder overrun. Clearly, I'm on the humanitarian side in this one. I can't imagine how bad things have to be to send one's child on a journey a thousand miles long, illegally crossing multiple borders, to an uncertain future. I can't imagine how terrifying it would be for a young person to make that journey and then to land in a detention facility. But, I also find it hard to believe that DACA, in addition to other pushes and pulls, isn't a motivating factor in this wave of migration, and if it is, I don't think that means that it is a failed policy.
Tired now.
Photos from the Houston Chronicle showing conditions in detention here. The NYTimes answering readers questions about immigration here. The DailyMail on conditions for detained migrant minors here. Mother Jones on unaccompanied minors in adult jails here. And reporting from the LATimes here. Here's a short audio piece from Tell Me More.
A conservative blog take here. And analysis on Laura Ingram's comments on child migrants here.
Liberal analysis stresses the push factors of extreme gang violence in Central American and the humanitarian aspects of these young migrants, while conservatives stress the role DACA may play in motivating migration and use imagery of the US boarder overrun. Clearly, I'm on the humanitarian side in this one. I can't imagine how bad things have to be to send one's child on a journey a thousand miles long, illegally crossing multiple borders, to an uncertain future. I can't imagine how terrifying it would be for a young person to make that journey and then to land in a detention facility. But, I also find it hard to believe that DACA, in addition to other pushes and pulls, isn't a motivating factor in this wave of migration, and if it is, I don't think that means that it is a failed policy.
Tired now.
Friday, May 23, 2014
Trigger Warning
For the past little while, academics have been getting snarky about trigger warnings. Exhibit A is Laurie Essig's piece in The Chronicle of Higher Education linked here. Essig complains "It was my duty, apparently, to make sure no one was ever disturbed by my class." And she's also pissed that students didn't laugh at her Abu Ghraib joke. Around the same time, Oberlin released institutional guidelines about classroom materials that should have a warning, and then backed down on those guidelines: coverage here.
As a college lecturer for some number of years, I do understand faculty discontent on the subject. Faculty meetings, random service, mentoring, prep, research, incomprehensible administration, and then you have an 18 year old complaining that you're a jerk because you taught standard texts in your field. It's understandably a "how long was I in school and how much debt did I rack up for this?" moment.
That said, I think I'm with the students on this one. I've taught many classes about horrifying topics, and I've never had a student complain about the way I presented those materials. I've rarely censored my choices (I thought about assigning the novel Precious one semester, but decided I just couldn't stomach it). Instead, my classes are generally one long trigger warning-that is an extended meditation on what it means to read and think about painful topics.
One the first day of class, I usually talk about how personally painful it can be to study topics like racial discrimination and violence. How, as a scholar, I find the need to balance empathy with the people I study (trying to imagine what they thought and felt) with the protective qualities of intellectualizing when feeling the pain of my research starts to weigh on me. I encourage my students to both try and feel what they study at an emotional level, and understand that sometimes, particularly in heated classroom discussion, they need to set that emotion aside and speak from the head.
Texts and topics I've warned my students about reading include, but are not limited to: Native American genocide and removal, anti-gay propaganda, Lincoln's speeches, Civil War poetry, lynchings, most topics in African American history, the books Native Son, The Street, The Women of Brewster Place, and Narrative of Frederick Douglass. As I've grown as a teacher, I've done more work to prepare students to engage with the painful themes in these texts.
I don't necessarily seek to protect my students from pain, rather I want to prepare them to sit with that pain. I want to encourage them to develop a radical empathy. For me, that is the point to teaching history to future doctors, teachers, government officials, and lawyers. I encourage my students to see history as a discipline that teaches humility, as we see very smart, well intentioned people make choices that sometimes have terrible unintended consequences. As we study history, we have the privilege of see the past from multiple points of view, and understanding history from the point of view of historical losers can teach us empathy. I hope that those perspectives with make my students more complex and compassionate thinkers in their professional and personal lives.
I like to think that my students have been willing to engage with difficult materials because I've made my classrooms a place where that discussion is always on the table. I can't fix the individual traumas that my student bring the classroom, but I can make my classroom a reasonably safe place to wrestle with pain. In one of my first years teaching, I assigned a group of students to watch a viciously anti-gay propaganda video and analyze if for the class. None of those poor gaybies complained, but if they had they would have been right. Not that I had given the assignment, but that I hadn't given them any preparation for what they were about to see and what they should do with their feelings. I came to my own realization of my error after seeing their presentation about the video, and it changed the way I taught.
For me, the point is to channel students' pain as they encounter painful subjects into reflection. There are students who will not be able to engage with some materials because they bring experiences that make that engagement too difficult. Now, if a student is unable to engage with topics of racial violence and discrimination, they probably should not take an African American history class, but if they don't want to look at a lynching photo (which has happened) or don't want to read a chapter in book with a rape scene, that is not a problem for me as an instructor. It's easy enough for me to find work arounds for those students. I think the most problematic issue with trigger warnings, is that they may discount the everyday triggers that people with PTSD or other trauma disorders may experience, and they reduce and simplify the complexities of trauma. And, there is little I can do protect students from those everyday triggers.
“You know what’s worse than images of torture? Being tortured.” That was Laura Essig's Abu Gharib joke. I think that some of the young professors who are most dismissive of trigger warnings are operating under a very old school model of education. If one chooses to pour knowledge into students, who am I to say that's wrong, but professors in that mode need to expect push back. Student have been actively fighting to engage in the classroom since sometime before, say, 1968, and I see the current discussion of trigger warning as an extension of that fight to be in a conversation with faculty. Personally, I don't particularly want to encourage students to see terrible images and then "put on their big girl panties" and push their emotions away. I want them to be moved and horrified, and to say "a person did that to another person." That's the lesson of history. If they don't like what I assign. If they think my class is turning into trauma tourism. If they think I'm too glib or the text don't add to their knowledge, I want them to say that--preferably in class and to my face--so that we can have a discussion about it. At the beginning of each semester, I tell my students that our class is now an intellectual community. We need each other, we learn from each other, and that's why I require attendance. If I truly expect students to contribute to the classroom, I also need to be prepared for their critiques of me. That's not to say that I will always find those critiques compelling, but I do need to engage with them.
[Aside: A story from an older faculty member: he was teaching at a big state school in the late 1960s. One day in a big lecture class a hippie girl raised her hand and he called on her. She said, "This class is a bunch of bull and you are totally out of touch man! " He replied: "Young lady, if you are going to say something like that you need not raise your hand first."]
In closing: the kids are alright.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
"Tight t-shirt on a real sweet girl"
Rhode Island has an inferiority complex, apparently we came in last in a poll of state residents who rate their state THE BEST place to live. Maybe RI isn't the best place to live, particularly for those of us who aren't perched in a Newport mansion, but I still have a little crush on RI.
My childhood New England rests somewhere between The Beans of Egypt Maine and a Wyeth painting, with a dose of Emerson and some Necco Wafers. I wish Providence had bakeries like Portland, ME, a Northampton juice bar, some Vermont rusticness, and a closer ocean. But, even without that stuff, Providence is a good town. It's cute and artsy and has good food and drink.
RI is a cultural junction between northerly New England and New York. The working class New Hampshire (you don't even have to specify white, because everyone was) accent I grew up with is mostly missing. Instead you get a little uppercrust northerly New England, mixed with a lot of New York with hints of the DR, Guatemala, Mexico, Liberia, and wherever.
My childhood New England rests somewhere between The Beans of Egypt Maine and a Wyeth painting, with a dose of Emerson and some Necco Wafers. I wish Providence had bakeries like Portland, ME, a Northampton juice bar, some Vermont rusticness, and a closer ocean. But, even without that stuff, Providence is a good town. It's cute and artsy and has good food and drink.
RI is a cultural junction between northerly New England and New York. The working class New Hampshire (you don't even have to specify white, because everyone was) accent I grew up with is mostly missing. Instead you get a little uppercrust northerly New England, mixed with a lot of New York with hints of the DR, Guatemala, Mexico, Liberia, and wherever.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Problems: Urban Schools/Urban School Reform Edition
We've got problems.
This morning brings news that yet another friend (a parent and a teacher) is fleeing city schools, in this case the whole family is leaving the US.
Demographically, maybe this is just a blip in the big data story of post-WWII white flight. But though the flight may be the same, I'd like to think that we are different from our forefathers. Although many of the people I know in this situation are white, class and educational background, rather than race seem to be the key factor. When our grandparents fled to the suburbs, they (well everyone except my grandparents) were on a economic upswing. Our generation is made up of non-profit workers, educators, freelancers, artists, lower level professionals. We are the struggling middle class, worried about our benefits, not saving enough for retirement, chastising ourselves for buying that fancy cheese at Whole Foods. What we are not-people who can afford private school tuition. And we are also people who believe in a shared public good, people who went to public schools and believe in public education.
And increasingly, from what I'm hearing and what I'm experiencing, I believe that families like mine have not only been abandoned by public school systems, we are being actively rejected. There is so much going on in public education that it's easy to get distracted. For me the debate over Common Core is just a distraction. I know a bit more about CC than your average non-educator parent, having built a teacher training class that was aligned to CC standards. The standards themselves were good, more in line with the way I expected students to think when I was an instructor at elite colleges than what was expected of me as a public school student. In the hands of a talented teacher, given time to learn how to teach to these new standards and resources to execute those lessons, CC could encourage teachers to do really interesting work with students. The downside, CC has too many standards and is overly detailed and fussy. As an educator, I tried to keep my objectives clear and simple for each lesson and focus on one key theme and topic and one key skill. Trying to do too much (being pushed to develop lesson plan that show you are doing too much) confuses and frustrates students. It also takes time for teachers to learn to teach in a new way and for students to learn to learn in a new way. I taught some of the best prepared college students in the country, and trying to teach them to do a thorough textual analysis was arduous for all parties.
The bigger problem with CC is that it is expected to be a silver bullet for our education woes without any resources to address the structural inequality that, I would say, is the major underlying factor in low educational achievement. I worked in a series of Chicago public schools as a tutor, schools that ranged from functional racially and economically diverse schools to dysfunctional segregated schools. In the worst school, bathrooms did not have toilet paper, and obviously traumatized children were not only not given any services-they were also re-traumatized by harsh discipline, and there was no recess and no school nurse. Because there was no school nurse and 1/3 of the children lived in homeless shelters that were closed during the day, very sick and feverish children were laid on makeshift pallets at the back of the classroom to wait for the end of the day when the shelter reopened. I will never forget seeing an administrator who had been brought in as the enforcer for an out-of-control class scream in the face of a little boy because she thought he was giving her "a hard look" during her lecture. Actually he was terrified. I had gleaned that he had seen his father do terrible things to his mother, things for which the father was in jail. The little boy was physically defensive and hated yelling. As the administrator got in his face, I could see him completely shut down. That's our America.
As a college instructor, would I expect a student who had just seen his uncle shot and killed, or a student whose mom had just gone to jail to function? No, I would say-take the incomplete, get some counseling, come back when you're ready. Poor, little children don't get that luxury.
After surveying my small sample, I would say decisively that middle-class parents bring resources to schools, and as long as they aren't allowed to segregate their children in gifted academies within the school, those resources benefit all children. So, you might think that administrators who oversee urban schools would be working to get more middle class families. B and I want to be those parents, most of our friends want to be those parents, and we don't have to send our child to a perfect school. If the school is a little run down, if we have to send in supplies, if it's a little more regimented than we would like-we could live with all that. But no educator can think it's acceptable to scream in a child's face. There must be toilet paper and recess and a library. There should be a school nurse.
What I'm hearing from parents, what we felt in LB's IEP experience, is accept or get out. The system doesn't want middle-class parents with our critiques and standards and demands. In the public sphere dissatisfied middle class parents are broadly painted as whiny, spoiled racists, which I find infuriating. From my vantage point, urban school administrators have decided that reform will be easier if they get rid of all the parents like me, so they can conduct their grand experiment without interference-or at least without interference by those who have resources.
Why are middle class parents leaving urban public schools. It's not because those school serve children of color and poor children, it's a much more personal experience of the failure of schools to respect children and their parents. Friends have told me stories of preschool-aged children isolated in the classroom each day because they could not meet the developmental expectations of silence and hands-to-self. And, the parent of a five-year-old in Chicago who brought her child to school after a Dr's appointment and was not allowed to walk her child to the classroom-distubing both from the child's point of view-having to navigate a huge, barely-familiar school building alone and from the parent's point of view-don't we have a right to enter and observe our child's public education on public property? No attempt was made to address the concerns of these families, certainly no effort was made to keep them in the school. Instead the clear message was: plenty of people want these spots-either accept or get out.
For committed and talented educators things are just as bad. I know too many good teachers who are leaving because they don't want to teach from a script, because they don't want spend each year learning whatever new curriculum that the admins think will be the quick fix, because they get no resources to do the work that might actually make children ready to learn. It's like when I worked at a certain coffee company and corporate told us that it was non-negotiable that we must have at least two workers in the store at all times, but the computer scheduler wouldn't allow (or pay for) more than one person to open and close. Talented people don't want to be trapped in a low-paying, high-stress, dystopian environment where the standards are impossibly high and the resources incredibly low.
I work for an organization that serves low-income public school students-which in urban Rhode Island means that they are mostly people of color. They are smart, good young people, I would be happy to send my own child to school with them. I have dreams of helping LB's teachers develop lesson plans in African American history, of writing grants for her schools. But seemingly, highly-educated and doting parents like us are just clogging up the machine of urban education reform.
What is my dream school: a public school where all children have access to resources that support their physical (food, health care, recess), emotional (counseling, social skill training), and intellectual (books, art, math, science, social studies) development. A school were all employees like children and believe that children can succeed. A school that sees parents, not a customers, but as partners. A school that believes children are individuals and treats them accordingly. A school where educators are empowered to solve problems. A school where administrators, educators, support staff, and students feel respected. That's all I want.
This morning brings news that yet another friend (a parent and a teacher) is fleeing city schools, in this case the whole family is leaving the US.
Demographically, maybe this is just a blip in the big data story of post-WWII white flight. But though the flight may be the same, I'd like to think that we are different from our forefathers. Although many of the people I know in this situation are white, class and educational background, rather than race seem to be the key factor. When our grandparents fled to the suburbs, they (well everyone except my grandparents) were on a economic upswing. Our generation is made up of non-profit workers, educators, freelancers, artists, lower level professionals. We are the struggling middle class, worried about our benefits, not saving enough for retirement, chastising ourselves for buying that fancy cheese at Whole Foods. What we are not-people who can afford private school tuition. And we are also people who believe in a shared public good, people who went to public schools and believe in public education.
And increasingly, from what I'm hearing and what I'm experiencing, I believe that families like mine have not only been abandoned by public school systems, we are being actively rejected. There is so much going on in public education that it's easy to get distracted. For me the debate over Common Core is just a distraction. I know a bit more about CC than your average non-educator parent, having built a teacher training class that was aligned to CC standards. The standards themselves were good, more in line with the way I expected students to think when I was an instructor at elite colleges than what was expected of me as a public school student. In the hands of a talented teacher, given time to learn how to teach to these new standards and resources to execute those lessons, CC could encourage teachers to do really interesting work with students. The downside, CC has too many standards and is overly detailed and fussy. As an educator, I tried to keep my objectives clear and simple for each lesson and focus on one key theme and topic and one key skill. Trying to do too much (being pushed to develop lesson plan that show you are doing too much) confuses and frustrates students. It also takes time for teachers to learn to teach in a new way and for students to learn to learn in a new way. I taught some of the best prepared college students in the country, and trying to teach them to do a thorough textual analysis was arduous for all parties.
The bigger problem with CC is that it is expected to be a silver bullet for our education woes without any resources to address the structural inequality that, I would say, is the major underlying factor in low educational achievement. I worked in a series of Chicago public schools as a tutor, schools that ranged from functional racially and economically diverse schools to dysfunctional segregated schools. In the worst school, bathrooms did not have toilet paper, and obviously traumatized children were not only not given any services-they were also re-traumatized by harsh discipline, and there was no recess and no school nurse. Because there was no school nurse and 1/3 of the children lived in homeless shelters that were closed during the day, very sick and feverish children were laid on makeshift pallets at the back of the classroom to wait for the end of the day when the shelter reopened. I will never forget seeing an administrator who had been brought in as the enforcer for an out-of-control class scream in the face of a little boy because she thought he was giving her "a hard look" during her lecture. Actually he was terrified. I had gleaned that he had seen his father do terrible things to his mother, things for which the father was in jail. The little boy was physically defensive and hated yelling. As the administrator got in his face, I could see him completely shut down. That's our America.
As a college instructor, would I expect a student who had just seen his uncle shot and killed, or a student whose mom had just gone to jail to function? No, I would say-take the incomplete, get some counseling, come back when you're ready. Poor, little children don't get that luxury.
After surveying my small sample, I would say decisively that middle-class parents bring resources to schools, and as long as they aren't allowed to segregate their children in gifted academies within the school, those resources benefit all children. So, you might think that administrators who oversee urban schools would be working to get more middle class families. B and I want to be those parents, most of our friends want to be those parents, and we don't have to send our child to a perfect school. If the school is a little run down, if we have to send in supplies, if it's a little more regimented than we would like-we could live with all that. But no educator can think it's acceptable to scream in a child's face. There must be toilet paper and recess and a library. There should be a school nurse.
What I'm hearing from parents, what we felt in LB's IEP experience, is accept or get out. The system doesn't want middle-class parents with our critiques and standards and demands. In the public sphere dissatisfied middle class parents are broadly painted as whiny, spoiled racists, which I find infuriating. From my vantage point, urban school administrators have decided that reform will be easier if they get rid of all the parents like me, so they can conduct their grand experiment without interference-or at least without interference by those who have resources.
Why are middle class parents leaving urban public schools. It's not because those school serve children of color and poor children, it's a much more personal experience of the failure of schools to respect children and their parents. Friends have told me stories of preschool-aged children isolated in the classroom each day because they could not meet the developmental expectations of silence and hands-to-self. And, the parent of a five-year-old in Chicago who brought her child to school after a Dr's appointment and was not allowed to walk her child to the classroom-distubing both from the child's point of view-having to navigate a huge, barely-familiar school building alone and from the parent's point of view-don't we have a right to enter and observe our child's public education on public property? No attempt was made to address the concerns of these families, certainly no effort was made to keep them in the school. Instead the clear message was: plenty of people want these spots-either accept or get out.
For committed and talented educators things are just as bad. I know too many good teachers who are leaving because they don't want to teach from a script, because they don't want spend each year learning whatever new curriculum that the admins think will be the quick fix, because they get no resources to do the work that might actually make children ready to learn. It's like when I worked at a certain coffee company and corporate told us that it was non-negotiable that we must have at least two workers in the store at all times, but the computer scheduler wouldn't allow (or pay for) more than one person to open and close. Talented people don't want to be trapped in a low-paying, high-stress, dystopian environment where the standards are impossibly high and the resources incredibly low.
I work for an organization that serves low-income public school students-which in urban Rhode Island means that they are mostly people of color. They are smart, good young people, I would be happy to send my own child to school with them. I have dreams of helping LB's teachers develop lesson plans in African American history, of writing grants for her schools. But seemingly, highly-educated and doting parents like us are just clogging up the machine of urban education reform.
What is my dream school: a public school where all children have access to resources that support their physical (food, health care, recess), emotional (counseling, social skill training), and intellectual (books, art, math, science, social studies) development. A school were all employees like children and believe that children can succeed. A school that sees parents, not a customers, but as partners. A school that believes children are individuals and treats them accordingly. A school where educators are empowered to solve problems. A school where administrators, educators, support staff, and students feel respected. That's all I want.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Scandal: Protestant Pastors Edition
It's always hard to know what modifier to use for this motley crew. Fundamentalism makes me think Biblical inerrancy, 20th century, and anti-intellectualism, while evangelicalism is part of a longer Arminian tradition that stresses the possibility of salvation for all believers. Our puritan ancestors, I was taught to call Orthodox Protestants and I'm always a little confused about how their theology maps on to any modern group, maybe Reformed Presbyterians, but that seems odd since I always associate the Presbyterians with the every Evangelical awakenings in America and the British Isles. Reformed Protestants seem to have some Calvinism where you can still have Grace that I don't quite understand. But considering how quickly people stopped joining the church of our puritan ancestors, I guess any congregation needs to offer something besides unfettered depravity.
In any case, two large and culturally important ministries have recently melted down. The leaders of both Vision Forum and ATI have stepped down after credible accusations sexual harassment. These ministries share a strict patriarchal worldview, a commitment to Biblical inerrancy (as a post-modernist it's hard for me to even wrap my head around that concept) combined with theological beliefs and cultural practices that don't seem to hew very closely to the Bible, and a strong commitment to the Gospel of Capitalism. To the latter point, both functioned through a variety of for-profit and not-for-profit entities. Vision Forum in particular seemed on track to act as a hybrid Amazon, B&N, and Target for the theologically reformed and culturally patriarchal.
Interesting commentary, admittedly from the already disenchanted, can be found here regarding ATI, and here in response to Vision Forum. Here at The Common Room blog is an interesting analysis of sexual abuse within conservative Christian congregation and a response to those who question the victimhood of Doug Phillips (Vision Forum) alleged victim.
In any case, two large and culturally important ministries have recently melted down. The leaders of both Vision Forum and ATI have stepped down after credible accusations sexual harassment. These ministries share a strict patriarchal worldview, a commitment to Biblical inerrancy (as a post-modernist it's hard for me to even wrap my head around that concept) combined with theological beliefs and cultural practices that don't seem to hew very closely to the Bible, and a strong commitment to the Gospel of Capitalism. To the latter point, both functioned through a variety of for-profit and not-for-profit entities. Vision Forum in particular seemed on track to act as a hybrid Amazon, B&N, and Target for the theologically reformed and culturally patriarchal.
Interesting commentary, admittedly from the already disenchanted, can be found here regarding ATI, and here in response to Vision Forum. Here at The Common Room blog is an interesting analysis of sexual abuse within conservative Christian congregation and a response to those who question the victimhood of Doug Phillips (Vision Forum) alleged victim.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
A Classic African American Children's Book
This book is a most excellent one for your home library and mine. Poet Gwendolyn Brooks published the book of children's poetry, Bronzeville Boys and Girls in 1956. Bronzeville refers to the historic Black neighborhood on Chicago's South Side that was shaped by the first Great Migration of Black southerners to the urban north. My expertise in things related to historical African American childhood ends at 1954, so I've seen copies of this book in various archives, but I don't know that much about its creation and publication. Except that Brooks is an amazing poet. Her work never fails to move me and thrill me with its ability to reveal the nuances of a cultural moment, and the emotional life of a cultural moment. And 1956 is such an amazing moment to capture Black Chicago, a time of triumph. Which is all to say that I really love this book, so simple but so deep. And, while I like the classic illustrations, you can't go wrong with some Faith Ringgold. I'm so happy that there is now an in print edition of this book (with the new FR illustrations). Recommend!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)






