A Thanksgiving to Remember

If you have never spent a Thanksgiving away from your family....then you should. Being apart from the traditions to which you are most familiar puts a different perspective on the meaning of the holiday. On Thanksgiving day this year, the words 'gratitude,' 'thank you', and 'blessed' were on my lips, but never because I was prompted by the obligation of the holiday.

Thanksgiving morning I went to the Convention Center to help serve Thanksgiving dinner to low-income families. There were an absurd number of volunteers, probably more than there were guests, but the atmosphere was wonderful. There were bands playing, and people were dancing. It was, I felt, a true New Orleans moment. Everyone was dancing and singing and laughing and telling stories. Local and state politicians were shaking hands and taking pictures. It was beautiful to see how, not just one family, but probably 200 different families spent their Thanksgiving.

When I got home, my neighbor, Tracy, was sitting on his front porch. He had invited my roommate and me to come over for dinner at their house earlier in the week, but I was too shy to accept his invitation. I knew it was genuine, but I still fell like I would be imposing on them and their family. At noon, I stopped over to wish them a Happy Thanksgiving, and I didn't leave until 5:30...with 5 big plates of food. Tracy and Ava brought me into their home, barely knowing me, but it was the most welcoming Thanksgiving dinner I could have wished for. Their good friend is a chef, so he prepared the meal, and everyone pitched into help somehow. The Thanksgiving toast after the prayer was "Bons temp, ya'll." And we did.

And when dinner was finished across the street, it was time to get ready for my third dinner. My Americorps supervisor invited all the "homeless" Americorps for dinner with her and husband and his homeless law classmates. More fantastic food. Our name cards were gingerbread turkeys with our names written in frosting. I'd never been spent a holiday with friends instead of family, so it felt to me like something out of a movie.

I wish that I could use words to explain the emotions that Thanksgiving brought me this year. More than once with gratitude in my heart, I came near tears. Away from what I always take for granted, my family, my home, friends I have known my whole life, I was reminded that holidays are not merely for spending time with relatives out of obligation. I hope that I never dread my holiday time, and I hope that I am never dreaded. Before I turn into a greeting card, I'm going to stop...But suffice to say, that this will be a Thanksgiving together.

*p.s. I ate so much, that I was in serious digestion pain. Worse than anything I've ever experienced. Apparently, my eating capabilities are out of shape. I better work on this.

A List for Saturday.

I will never be able to make pancakes for just me.
And I can never watch It's a Wonderful Life without crying.
I'll always want someone to feature me on his acoustic guitar.
I want to look at the sunshine until it's in me. Until I am it, and it is me.

Saturdays are for being hopeful and lonely and in love and sweatpants and coffee all day long and for poems and tears and cleaning up messes and making messes and waking up early or for sleeping in late and for afternoon beers and for planning for Saturday nights and listening to good quiet music.

Saturdays are for ideas and boredom.

a week in review

friday:
chaperoned high school field trip to new orleans hornets nba game

saturday:
-volunteered at new orleans bookfair
-went to watch one of my students in a rap showcase

sunday:
-went to mall with roommate
-stopped by william sonoma
-examined tomato slicer
-cut finger, bled all over store
-went to e.r.
-5 stiches

monday:
-doctor says cut tendon
-doctor says surgery tomorrow

tuesday:
-bad dreams
-surgery by a doctor who calls me bunny
-anestesia by my boss's wife

wednesday and thursday:
-vicodin and antibiotics
-naps and movies

friday:
-back to work, hopefully.

That's Wazzup.

Someone once asked the national director of Literacy Americorps why the stipend was so low for Americorps members. Her response was not "because it's all we can budget for", but "so that you know what your students may be experiencing." I think we're all mature enough to see through a pile of horse manure here. I do see her point however.

Yesterday, I went to apply for public assistance, aka food stamps, to supplement my meager Americorps stipend. When I printed the application off the internet, I began to hear the national director's words ringing in my ears. Some of the questions were easy, (like my name and address, am I a fleeing felon, or am I housing one, etc.) but other questions weren't so clear. It was frustrating for me, and I imagine that the difficulty is doubled if your reading level is on a third or fourth grade (or worse) level.

I finally finished the application and went to the public assistance office. 'Take a number,' the sign read. But there were no numbers to be had. Confused, I looked around the office, and turned to the lady at the counter to inquire. She rudely shoved another copy of the application at me, and told me to fill it out and come back tomorrow morning at 7:30. I explained that I had one already and that it was filled out. "Ma'am, do you HEAR me?" she said. "Come back tomorrow at 7:30." "Okay," I said, meekly. "Sorry."

Outside, another woman from the office stopped me. "She say come back at 7:30, but be here at 7, or you'll be waiting all day."

I thanked her for the tip, and with heavy feet walked back to my bike. I tried not to let myself get discouraged, but I couldn't help it. I'm getting by just fine, but any little extra would certainly help. I thought about mothers with hungry babies who might be in this same situation. I thought about people who didn't know where rent was coming from. Mostly, though, I thought about myself. I felt really awful for that, too, and I tried to help it, but I just couldn't.

I went to the bayou for a while, and cried to get out all of those feelings out. It helped, but not really.

Night class was starting early last night because of a book event that we were going to. New Orleans has a city-wide reading event called One Book, One New Orleans, where, theoretically, everyone reads the same book. There are various events that take place across the city in celebration. There have been discussions, arts and crafts for kids, rebuilding projects, and other different things to get people out and talking about this year's book City of Refuge. The book discussion with the author, Tom Piazza, took place last night, so we ended class early so we could go.

One of our students, NT, was selected to introduce the author. NT is an amazing woman. She's lively and fun, but she's serious about getting her g.e.d. and she is working really hard to get it done. She reminds me so much of one of my aunts that sometimes it is hard for me to remember that she is depending on me for information. I just want to listen to her talk and tell me stories. I know that if I ever needed anything, NT would do anything to help me that she could.

NT was really nervous about introducing Piazza, so I worked with her while the rest of the class did their lesson. She practiced her reading over and over again. I taught her that Iowa is not pronounced, "Iwah", like the southerners say down here. We talked about the many pronounciations of New Orleans (for future reference, it is NOT 'New Orleens.' It's 'New Orluhns' or 'New Ohlians.') She asked me why I came to the South, and for the first time, I was able to tell fully explain the course of events in my life that led me here. Every other time, it's been an abbreviated version, leaving out bits and pieces, but I knew NT was listening and that she truly appreciated my presence in her city.

The course of this conversation opened the door for her to tell me her story. NT, her husband, and her daughter were able to evacuate, despite the fact that her daughter had surgery only 3 days before the Katrina hit. I willed myself not to cry as she told me about the desperate, fearful search to find her mama, brothers and sisters, cousins, nieces and nephews. She did not tell me if they lost anyone, but she did say her mama was alright. "My mama is the most important person in my life, next to God," she said. "You only have on mother...."

When the hotel they were staying at kicked them out, NT's husband's company transferred him to Houston and put them up in a hotel. Her mother and other family was able to get a little closer to her. Eventually, though, her husband went back to New Orleans to start rebuilding with his company. For a whole year, they were separated. Every three weeks or so, he would drive all the way back to Houston, or she would come towards NOLA. The cost eventually started to get so high that it was straining them. "But now," she said determined, "He said, 'I don't care what happens, I'm never leaving you for that long again.'"

I had to leave the classroom to get something for another one of our students, S, who was filling out information to take the g.e.d. exam. (....which he took today...keep your fingers crossed!) S is a quiet young man, probably not any older than I am, 20 or so. When I had him in class, he worked hard, but he rarely talked. He stayed focused and didn't talk to any of the other students in the class, except maybe on the smoke break. I was ecstatic when I found out he was taking the test because I know he'll do very well.

When I got back in the class room, NT was asking S what changed his mind and made him want to come back to school. "My little sister," he said. "She doesn't have a lot of good role models, and I want to show her that she can do it, and that she needs to stay in school. I want to go to go to college, and I want to be a lawyer."

I never knew. I'd only had S in class for a little more than 3 weeks, since I started mid-way through the nine weeks, but I was shocked. The quiet person that sat in the front row and meekly asked me questions about fractions had big ambitions and dreams. His smile got bigger the more he talked about his little sister and his dreams of college. The tears that I held back from NT suddenly surged, a few breaking down my cheeks, and I had to step into the bathroom to collect myself.

Suddenly, the time was gone. The author's event would start in half an hour and we had to leave. I handed S a copy of the book, and asked if he cared to join. He hadn't read the book, but he said, "Sure. It's better than anything else I'd be doing." Now that is an answer that every teacher loves to hear

NT's introduction went beautifully. She got her book signed by the author and beamed as she left the building.

S and I had to wait longer to get our books signed. We talked about his little sister, about his friends, how to make red beans and rice, and about the test he was about to take. "You ever had a book signed by an author before?" I asked. "No," S smiled. "Well, there's a first time for everything. You've got two firsts this week, your book and taking your g.e.d." He beamed at me again, and I saved his smile for a rainy day.

When we got to Tom Piazza, I explained that I was in Literacy Americorps. He signed my book, but then I told him, "This guy behind me is one of our students, and he's going to take his g.e.d. tomorrow." I was so appreciative of Piazza's warm response to S. He took time with S, making easy conversation with him, asking all kinds of questions about where he lived and that kind. S's smile got bigger and bigger. When their conversation was through, S's smile was as big as a helium balloon, an I thought he'd float out to the parking lot.

He held the book in his hand, as I gave him parting advice on the test. He didn't need it, I don't think. He smiled once more, and started to run up the stairs to the exit. "Hey," the other teachers yelled. He stopped and turned. "Good luck!" they shouted. He beamed one more time before running out the door.

The tears from the beginning of the day were very different from those at the end of the day. stories and yesterday are things I will carry with me forever. Those moments when you connect with another human being through a story, through an actual event or even through a novel, are the moments that give us the opportunity to acquire grace. It's the heart of these conversations that are food for the soul, for rainy days, for days that the public assistance receptionist is just downright mean. I feel older now, in a beautiful way, wiser, and I hope that they do, too.

Racial Rant

Scanning the CNN headlines, I saw one pertaining to the KKK. I was shocked that as I clicked on the link (http://www.wdsu.com/news/17956884/detail.html) , it took me to a New Orleans website. The location of the story was based in Covington, Louisiana, not far from New Orleans, a city on the north shore of Lake Pontchatrain.

I am learning every day just how naive I am. I know that there are bigots and racists in this world, and I know that the southern states are traditionally known for racism. Being white, racism is something that I have never really experienced, and to be frank, was something I thought very rarely about until my senior year of college. I have been raised to believe that people are people regardless of race, ethnicity, gender or religions. I must admit that social stereotypes have integrated my thought process; however, I think my awareness towards those thoughts is a progression away from racism. Awareness is essential in the move towards change.

Unfortunately, not everyone shares this awareness. I assume that everyone has had parents who have taught them to respect others, to embrace differences, but that is just not the case. It seems hard to believe that in a time when our next president is black, mixed, half-caste (as one of my students with Jamaican heritage says), or whatever you want to call it, that the KKK is alive and growing.

A few weeks ago after an Americorps outing in the French Quarter, two of our members, one black and one white, were walking back to the car. A big SUV with a Texas license plate pulled up next to them. A woman, obviously drunk, fumbled with the door handle, and finally wrestled it open. She began shouting at the young black man, a good citizen who serves his country in Americorps. She shouted racial slurs, and probably inferences that would have scared and angered me. He could do nothing. Had he responded, he probably would have been beaten up, ended in jail, or worse. All he could do was stand tall and wait for the car to leave.

When I first was told of the program that Delgado has in the prison, I put my foot down. Okay, not true. I considered it. After numerous conversations with my friends and parents, I decided against it. Mostly, I would say, because they painted a picture much different from what I envisioned. In their eyes, moving to New Orleans was risk enough; surely in prison I would be working with animals, not humans. Their fear and insecurities infiltrated me, and I conceded, overlooking the benefits that a G.E.D. program could provide.

After talking to the teacher of the prison class, I wish in some respects that I had refused to let fear make the decision for me and had followed my instincts. Many of the students in the classroom are young, black males, and as the teacher said, "I was doing the same things they were when I was 19, except I wasn't a black male, so I didn't get caught." A powerful thought, isn't it? I won't say that I am disappointed I don't work in Conchetta, but the point is this: something is wrong with that picture. The lower one's education level is, the more likely a person will find himself in prison. If the purpose of prison is to deter someone from committing crimes, why is it so unsuccessful? Why do so many of those released from prison find themselves back in the clink?

Perhaps I've gotten a little off topic with the prison tangent, but the key is this: These problems stem from one major source, the lack of education. If children are taught in schools to embrace and celebrate differences, rather than what divides them, much more can be accomplished. I will be the first to admit that I fear my own idealism, but the problem must be addressed.

As I prepared to move to NOLA, more than one person commented on the high crime rates and the racial differences. I could only assume from tone of voice that the two were connected, which may perhaps be true. Shying away from problems does not solve them, in fact, that only allows them to fester and become worse. I don't wish to focus on keeping black men out of prison and helping them to become educated. I would just as much like to see white people equally educated. Isn't lack of education what leads someone to believe that an organization like the KKK can solve problems? An unwillingness to accept people for who they are rather than what they are is a solid example of why expanding your worldview through education, traveling, etc., is so important.

There I'm done now. I'm just. so. frustrated. with the world today.

weekend upd8

we have an americorps retreat this weekend.

at a jewish kids camp (there will be no children, but there WILL be a ropes course. is this a covenant camp masquerading as the chosen people? is scot mcnight behind this?!).
in mississippi.
apparently there was matzo pizza last year.

i am quite excited about all of these things.

it will be nice to get out of the city for a while. AND i've always wanted to go to mississippi. and by always, i mean since i saw the movie my dog skip in 2002.

the first time

this is the first time (besides the night i was standing on the couch crying about roaches) that i hated myself for moving. ok, i exaggerate. i miss chicago all the time. but tonight, i said to myself, "if only i hadn't moved, i could be witnessing history."

i wish i was in chicago right now, flipping over cars and cursing the cta.

we, however, rang the new president elect in with a bottle of champagne, some bourbon, and jambalya.

the truth is, it doesn't matter where i am, i'm witnessing it. and i can't wait to talk to my students and hear what they have to say about it.

things i saw last night:

i missed the parade but...

a list of things i saw last night:

-a gay cowboy convention
-julius cesar
-prison 'inmates' throwing beads from balconies on bourbon
-old gregg
-a man with a chainsaw walking down the street
-an angel putting the devil's horns back on
-jesus throwing beads on bourbon street
-a fight on the street
-a fight in the men's bathroom
-a where's waldo cane fight
-mounted police
-cherry picker police thingys to see over the crowd
-kids trick or treating near (on? i don't know.) bourbon street.
-a million jersey accents
-the miss south baghadad beauty pageant
- a million fabulous drag queens
-drinking bailey's from a shoe
-todd palin with baby in tow
-joe 6 pack
-on the streetcar, someone said to mark twain: "mark twain! i heard you were dead!"


best costume award goes to everyone dressed up like a jehovah's witness in their white shirt, tie, and bicycle helmet.