Twenty-eight days. I guess the fact that I’m not impressed makes me ungrateful. Well, I’m still not impressed. Each year during the month of February, kids in schools across America get to hear about Martin Luther King Jr., George Washington Carver, Harriet Tubman, Garrett Morgan and Jackie Robinson. Bulletin boards in schools across the nation are adorned with pictures, artwork, and biographical data in tribute to these and other black historical figures. African American communities host events to celebrate and corporate giants buy radio and television ads to show that they are culturally aware and committed to diversity. There are 365 days in a year and Black History gets 28 of them. Big deal.
I sincerely believe that there was a time—many years ago, when acknowledging Black History for one month really meant something. I’m sure that when Carter G. Woodson started Negro History Week in 1926, he never envisioned that fifty years later, an entire month would be designated to commemorate the history of African Americans. I’m guessing that in 1976, African American parents were elated when their young children came home with a picture of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. or were assigned to write a book report on a famous African American person. In 1976, the recognition of Black History month was a sign that our country had taken a huge step in the right direction. The country as a whole had moved from blatant discrimination to tolerance.
I’d like to think that in 1976, the parents of school aged children felt the same kind of pride that I felt when my kindergartener wore his Barack Obama t-shirt to school the day after the 2008 elections. For on that day, we were celebrating something unprecedented. We were celebrating the day that our nation—as a whole moved from mere tolerance to acceptance. Although “acceptance” still implies inferiority (since the person who accepts someone or something is bestowing approval or favor), it still felt like a major hurdle had been crossed.
I think it’s time for our nation to embrace the notion of equality. I subscribe to that notion. If one is an American, he or she should be afforded the same opportunities and privileges as any other American. Carter G. Woodson started Negro History with the dual purpose of getting African Americans to take pride in their worth as a people and getting others to embrace African Americans history as an important part of American History. To achieve the latter, our history must be infused into the history of our country—making every day black history day. As a nation, we have to go beyond the mere shout outs and mentions. We have to shift from the ideal of pacifying a people with trivial acts of tolerance and acceptance and instead, employ the universal ideology that tolerance and acceptance are patronizing at best, and at worst, insulting to the intelligence of the rational man.
I’m not suggesting that we do away with Black History Month, I’m suggesting we work harder at being inclusive and treating every American equally. When that happens, there would no longer be a need for the twenty-eight day garbage time, where second string citizens get to have their moment in the spotlight.
Until then, Happy Black History Month. I’m still not impressed.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
The Priceless Commodity
It’s gone. Just like that…it’s gone. I had it in the palm of my hands, so many plans. I can’t understand.
It’s wrong. Somehow it feels so wrong. I’d feel better if someone stole it, and I couldn’t control it, but…
I took it for granted. I’m so disenchanted. I’m frantic.
I was warned. I’ll admit that I was warned. Should’ve paid more attention, for it’s gone in an instant. I’m torn. I’m completely torn. My heart feels broken, and I’m not really copin’. I just keep hopin’ that I can retract…somehow, get it back. Simply change the fact.
It really disappeared, I swear! It was right here, and I didn’t know to care. Now, I don’t know where—and I’m in despair. It really doesn’t seem fair!
I’ve got to face it…I wasted it. Misused and abused it. Never knew I would lose it. What I wouldn’t give to re-do it. But it’s gone. That I know for sure. I can never get it back…but I do have some more.
So I’ll move on and live, learn to forgive—my own mistakes, it’s better late…than never, ‘cause “never” is forever.
But from now on,
I’ll treat it with respect instead of neglect, and I’ll be careful about who I select, to spend it with me. After all, it’s a precious commodity—that is hard to find. So I pledge to make the most of my TIME.
It’s wrong. Somehow it feels so wrong. I’d feel better if someone stole it, and I couldn’t control it, but…
I took it for granted. I’m so disenchanted. I’m frantic.
I was warned. I’ll admit that I was warned. Should’ve paid more attention, for it’s gone in an instant. I’m torn. I’m completely torn. My heart feels broken, and I’m not really copin’. I just keep hopin’ that I can retract…somehow, get it back. Simply change the fact.
It really disappeared, I swear! It was right here, and I didn’t know to care. Now, I don’t know where—and I’m in despair. It really doesn’t seem fair!
I’ve got to face it…I wasted it. Misused and abused it. Never knew I would lose it. What I wouldn’t give to re-do it. But it’s gone. That I know for sure. I can never get it back…but I do have some more.
So I’ll move on and live, learn to forgive—my own mistakes, it’s better late…than never, ‘cause “never” is forever.
But from now on,
I’ll treat it with respect instead of neglect, and I’ll be careful about who I select, to spend it with me. After all, it’s a precious commodity—that is hard to find. So I pledge to make the most of my TIME.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Kids are Dying for Us to Help Them
Earlier this week I learned about the death of a young man in New York City. Although I didn’t know him personally, the news left me feeling extremely melancholy. A teenager, in the prime of his life, was shot and killed in cold blood. At 19, he hadn’t even begun to live. From what I gather, this young man was caught in between two worlds, something that happens to many youth who grow up in the inner city.
On the positive side, he was a student athlete at a local college and was set to attend a four-year college on a scholarship…next month. That amazing opportunity died with him, and what a tragedy that is. Here was a kid who had enormous potential…there was even talk of a possible NFL career in his future, but that is a dream that he didn’t get the chance to realize. Why? Because some unidentified person decided that the issue that they had between them was worth killing him for. What can be so terrible as to drive one to take the life of another? How can we help our youth understand the value of human life? How can we get them to value their own lives and see a future filled with opportunity? Those questions have perplexed me for quite some time now.
Life in the “hood” has rules and norms of its own. In the “hood” many of our kids are willing to die for respect, and will risk going to jail for being disrespected. Some kids feel forced into negativity because the alternative is to be victimized by those who have embraced the thug mentality. It is here in the hood that statistics of high school drop outs, teenage pregnancy, gang activity, rampant drug and alcohol use, and kids dying too young cloud the vision and ability to dream. In the hood, there’s a state of emergency—because reality is killing dreams.
Who’s to blame though? Is it the parent of the kid who does the shooting? Did they do a poor job at raising their child? Are they too busy to pay attention to what’s going on with their child? Certainly there must be some signs that you have a child capable of such a heinous act. Is it the fault of the youth because they get themselves into situations and don’t know how to walk away? It should be easy to apologize, or at least agree to disagree, right? Is it the schools for not providing a curriculum that helps kids unveil their hidden talents, skills and abilities? Wouldn’t kids be willing to “do the right thing” if they had a clearer path to prosperity? Is it the media? Are these television, movie, and musical images dooming our kids to pursue the wrong things? Are they hypnotized and mesmerized by the facade?
I don’t know who’s to blame…and I’m not even sure if it matters. I just know that there has to be a way that collectively WE can be a part of changing this phenomenon. It’s such a huge undertaking that it overwhelms me to think about our ability to be successful. However, pointing blame, talking about the problem without offering action-oriented solutions, and ignoring the issues because they are not directly affecting our lives is unacceptable. So how do we do it? One kid at a time. Leave the comfort and convenience of your life and environment and get involved. Volunteer. Mentor. Donate to a charitable organization that works with at-risk youth. Reach out to a parent that may need advice. Please, just commit to doing something. I am tired of reading about and hearing about kids who “had” so much potential. It’s time for us to help them reach it.
On the positive side, he was a student athlete at a local college and was set to attend a four-year college on a scholarship…next month. That amazing opportunity died with him, and what a tragedy that is. Here was a kid who had enormous potential…there was even talk of a possible NFL career in his future, but that is a dream that he didn’t get the chance to realize. Why? Because some unidentified person decided that the issue that they had between them was worth killing him for. What can be so terrible as to drive one to take the life of another? How can we help our youth understand the value of human life? How can we get them to value their own lives and see a future filled with opportunity? Those questions have perplexed me for quite some time now.
Life in the “hood” has rules and norms of its own. In the “hood” many of our kids are willing to die for respect, and will risk going to jail for being disrespected. Some kids feel forced into negativity because the alternative is to be victimized by those who have embraced the thug mentality. It is here in the hood that statistics of high school drop outs, teenage pregnancy, gang activity, rampant drug and alcohol use, and kids dying too young cloud the vision and ability to dream. In the hood, there’s a state of emergency—because reality is killing dreams.
Who’s to blame though? Is it the parent of the kid who does the shooting? Did they do a poor job at raising their child? Are they too busy to pay attention to what’s going on with their child? Certainly there must be some signs that you have a child capable of such a heinous act. Is it the fault of the youth because they get themselves into situations and don’t know how to walk away? It should be easy to apologize, or at least agree to disagree, right? Is it the schools for not providing a curriculum that helps kids unveil their hidden talents, skills and abilities? Wouldn’t kids be willing to “do the right thing” if they had a clearer path to prosperity? Is it the media? Are these television, movie, and musical images dooming our kids to pursue the wrong things? Are they hypnotized and mesmerized by the facade?
I don’t know who’s to blame…and I’m not even sure if it matters. I just know that there has to be a way that collectively WE can be a part of changing this phenomenon. It’s such a huge undertaking that it overwhelms me to think about our ability to be successful. However, pointing blame, talking about the problem without offering action-oriented solutions, and ignoring the issues because they are not directly affecting our lives is unacceptable. So how do we do it? One kid at a time. Leave the comfort and convenience of your life and environment and get involved. Volunteer. Mentor. Donate to a charitable organization that works with at-risk youth. Reach out to a parent that may need advice. Please, just commit to doing something. I am tired of reading about and hearing about kids who “had” so much potential. It’s time for us to help them reach it.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
A Matter of Time...
“It seems like it was just yesterday.” “Time sure does fly.” “Time brings on change.” “I don’t know where the time has gone.” These are phrases we all know too well. But lately, I’ve really been thinking about time. How fast it passes, how much it changes, and how much it’s taken for granted. It seems like just yesterday I was a teenage girl coping with the death of one of my dearest friends. In that moment, tomorrow didn’t matter. Yesterday was all I could hope for. I remember naming my friend’s daughter. I haven’t seen her since our falling out just before her wedding… I wonder if her daughter knows my name. I remember being so excited to bottle feed my nephew. I’d examine his little fingers and toes while shaking him gently. Now he’s old enough to drink, he’s twenty-one. Five, four, three, twenty one…I remember playing that jump rope game with all of my friends in the double building. That was twenty five to thirty years ago, way back when Filippo Totti jeans and travel fox were in style. That takes me back to when Coca-Cola shirts, Spotbilts, Suspenders, “Yo Baby Yo Baby Yo…Good to Go” sweatshirts and acid washed everything were the fashion trends.
I remember the excitement of graduating from high school, going off to college, and turning 18. I remember when I thought that being 18 was being grown. Now I’m older and I know better.It seems like just yesterday I gave birth to a ten pound baby boy—after forty six hours of labor. Those 2,760 minutes seem so insignificant when compared to the sixteen years of watching him grow. Oh how time flies! Yes, I remember when my boyfriend had a high top fade, and then a bald fade. Now he’s my husband and he’s rockin’ a baldy. Yep…time brings on a change. I remember when my mother would break my neck if I said anything with the wrong tone, or the wrong choice of words. Now, her grandchildren can do no wrong. I remember when I was worried because my toddler wasn’t talking. Now he’s seven and learning a second language. A minute ago, I was changing his diaper, now he's closing the door on my nose for privacy. Sadly, I remember when my sister called to tell me that my brother had been killed. I felt like a part of me died the second she told me. That was five years ago and I’m still here...life goes on. I can't fprget the 1994 New York Knicks. Who could forget? “Go New York, Go New York, Go…” Was that really ’94? Yep. Indeed it was. I remember being upset whenever I got I.D.’d at a club or at a bar. Now I’m aggravated if they don’t ask for it. It seems like just yesterday that my mom was referring to me as her “baby girl.” Well ok…that was yesterday.
Seriously though, where has the time gone? It’s as if I blinked and people changed, the world changed, and more importantly, my prospective changed. So many things that seemed important twenty years ago are irrelevant now. So many things that happened that seemed to bring my world to a complete halt have become easier to live with…or without. Sure, there have been missed opportunities, mistakes, even regrets. But at the end of the day, I survived. There’s a lot that changes, but life goes on.
With that in mind, I’m going to work on enjoying the moment and not taking anything or anyone for granted. I’m going to work on letting go of things that won’t matter twenty years from now…and those that shouldn’t matter tomorrow. I’m going to take care of those things that matter as if they won’t be here tomorrow. After all, tomorrow isn’t promised...and death has a way of making life choices seem so insignificant. I’m going to work on making every experience meaningful and memorable. Life has no do-overs. Mike said it best…”This is it.” Contrary to popular belief, thirty is not the new twenty, and forty ain’t nothin’ but the old thiry-nine. So I plan to live my life like it’s golden…’cause it’s all I have--and every day, I’m running out of time.
My best friend gave me a watch for my birthday and she wrote in the card that I should take “time” for me. You know…that’s exactly what I intend to do!
I remember the excitement of graduating from high school, going off to college, and turning 18. I remember when I thought that being 18 was being grown. Now I’m older and I know better.It seems like just yesterday I gave birth to a ten pound baby boy—after forty six hours of labor. Those 2,760 minutes seem so insignificant when compared to the sixteen years of watching him grow. Oh how time flies! Yes, I remember when my boyfriend had a high top fade, and then a bald fade. Now he’s my husband and he’s rockin’ a baldy. Yep…time brings on a change. I remember when my mother would break my neck if I said anything with the wrong tone, or the wrong choice of words. Now, her grandchildren can do no wrong. I remember when I was worried because my toddler wasn’t talking. Now he’s seven and learning a second language. A minute ago, I was changing his diaper, now he's closing the door on my nose for privacy. Sadly, I remember when my sister called to tell me that my brother had been killed. I felt like a part of me died the second she told me. That was five years ago and I’m still here...life goes on. I can't fprget the 1994 New York Knicks. Who could forget? “Go New York, Go New York, Go…” Was that really ’94? Yep. Indeed it was. I remember being upset whenever I got I.D.’d at a club or at a bar. Now I’m aggravated if they don’t ask for it. It seems like just yesterday that my mom was referring to me as her “baby girl.” Well ok…that was yesterday.
Seriously though, where has the time gone? It’s as if I blinked and people changed, the world changed, and more importantly, my prospective changed. So many things that seemed important twenty years ago are irrelevant now. So many things that happened that seemed to bring my world to a complete halt have become easier to live with…or without. Sure, there have been missed opportunities, mistakes, even regrets. But at the end of the day, I survived. There’s a lot that changes, but life goes on.
With that in mind, I’m going to work on enjoying the moment and not taking anything or anyone for granted. I’m going to work on letting go of things that won’t matter twenty years from now…and those that shouldn’t matter tomorrow. I’m going to take care of those things that matter as if they won’t be here tomorrow. After all, tomorrow isn’t promised...and death has a way of making life choices seem so insignificant. I’m going to work on making every experience meaningful and memorable. Life has no do-overs. Mike said it best…”This is it.” Contrary to popular belief, thirty is not the new twenty, and forty ain’t nothin’ but the old thiry-nine. So I plan to live my life like it’s golden…’cause it’s all I have--and every day, I’m running out of time.
My best friend gave me a watch for my birthday and she wrote in the card that I should take “time” for me. You know…that’s exactly what I intend to do!
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
A Bug's Life
While driving on the highway, I had a chance meeting with a rather large dragonfly. It hit my windshield, fell onto the hood of the car and was swept away by the force of wind. There was no chance of survival. Of all the places that dragonfly could have been, he ended up flying on the highway...big mistake. This bug was born to soar. It had powerful, strong wings and the freedom to choose its course, but it all came to a crashing halt on I-595. Traffic didn’t come to a stop, no one summoned the police, in fact, no one other than me even noticed. Why would they? This was just an insignificant bug. Bugs hit windshields every day. No one cares. After all, it’s nothing a little windshield wiper fluid can’t fix, right?
Aren’t you glad you’re not a bug? Me too. However, there’s a lot to learn from a bug’s life. Much like that dragonfly, we are all born with talents, skills and abilities. As we live, those assets are further developed, and new ones revealed. Some are the core of our existence, seeming to give our lives meaning, others we take for granted or deem unimportant. As we grow our experiences begin to shape who we are, helping us to find purpose and meaning in the lives we live. Even in a structured society with social norms, rules, and taboos, we have the freedom of choice. Each day of our lives we execute choice. We make decisions about trivial and complex matters. We have the ability to try new things, and learn better ways of doing old ones. We can choose to live purposefully or fly by the seat of our pants. Like the dragonfly, we can spread our wings and soar, but, too often, chose to “wing it” instead.
It’s important to recognize that our talents, skills, and abilities are not enough. How we choose to use them is what determines our destiny. What are you doing? Are you wandering idly on an uncertain road or are you carefully choosing the course you will follow? Are you using your assets to the best of your ability or are you fluttering about aimlessly? Are you cognizant of the people, places, and things that can have a negative impact on your future? Do you avoid them, or are you so attracted to negativity that you risk the certain path? Are you living your life with a sense of urgency and purpose? Or are you waiting to be blown away by the winds of time? Are you allowing your own insecurities to block your possibilities? Are you content with being the victim or are you choosing to be the victor? More importantly, will the world be a better place for you having been in it? Are you living a legacy or leaving a liability?
While driving on the highway, I had a chance meeting with a dragonfly. His unfortunate demise reminds us all of the fragility of life and the power and influence of our choices. So my friend’s, his life had purpose.
Hmmm, the life of a dragonfly...perhaps it's not so insignificant after all.
Aren’t you glad you’re not a bug? Me too. However, there’s a lot to learn from a bug’s life. Much like that dragonfly, we are all born with talents, skills and abilities. As we live, those assets are further developed, and new ones revealed. Some are the core of our existence, seeming to give our lives meaning, others we take for granted or deem unimportant. As we grow our experiences begin to shape who we are, helping us to find purpose and meaning in the lives we live. Even in a structured society with social norms, rules, and taboos, we have the freedom of choice. Each day of our lives we execute choice. We make decisions about trivial and complex matters. We have the ability to try new things, and learn better ways of doing old ones. We can choose to live purposefully or fly by the seat of our pants. Like the dragonfly, we can spread our wings and soar, but, too often, chose to “wing it” instead.
It’s important to recognize that our talents, skills, and abilities are not enough. How we choose to use them is what determines our destiny. What are you doing? Are you wandering idly on an uncertain road or are you carefully choosing the course you will follow? Are you using your assets to the best of your ability or are you fluttering about aimlessly? Are you cognizant of the people, places, and things that can have a negative impact on your future? Do you avoid them, or are you so attracted to negativity that you risk the certain path? Are you living your life with a sense of urgency and purpose? Or are you waiting to be blown away by the winds of time? Are you allowing your own insecurities to block your possibilities? Are you content with being the victim or are you choosing to be the victor? More importantly, will the world be a better place for you having been in it? Are you living a legacy or leaving a liability?
While driving on the highway, I had a chance meeting with a dragonfly. His unfortunate demise reminds us all of the fragility of life and the power and influence of our choices. So my friend’s, his life had purpose.
Hmmm, the life of a dragonfly...perhaps it's not so insignificant after all.
Monday, August 16, 2010
A Short Love Story
He entered the bedroom and I looked up from the television screen to acknowledge his presence. We both smiled. I patted the pillow and moved over for him. He cuddled up next to me and tried to acquaint himself with the show I was watching. As I lay in bed with him, I rubbed his head and kissed him on the cheek. It wasn’t long before his breathing sounded heavier and his eyes were closed. I watched him sleep. I picked up his limp hand and put it against mine. His hand was so much larger than mine. He was so relaxed that one of his legs slid slowly off of the bed. I struggled to pull his legs back up onto the bed. His legs were heavy and long so it took quite a bit of maneuvering to achieve the task. He repositioned himself while he was still asleep. His new position made it difficult for me to see the television so I made my own adjustment. I took my pillow and propped it up on his back and rested my chin on my folded hands. Now I could see the television. I could feel him breathing. I glanced over at his face—only his profile was visible. I watched him sleep for a few moments and thought about how much I love him. I smiled to myself...inebriated with love. That’s when he walked in…my husband. He looked over at the two of us…the guy occupying his side of the bed and I. He grabbed the remote and headed for his comfy chair. I guess even he knows that there’s no love like a mother’s love for her son.
Friday, July 23, 2010
More Head Coaches, Less Spectators
Last night while watching my younger son practice with his pee wee football team, a group of teenage boys came and sat on the opposite end of the bleachers that my husband and I were sitting on. Within a few minutes more teens had joined the group—as did two more adults. The kids were talking about everything under the sun…especially how one was better, faster or stronger than the other. They cracked jokes on one another, challenged each other to races and tossed a football to showcase their passing or receiving skills. It was a pretty typical group of teenagers, on a pretty typical evening. From their prospective, there was nothing unusual or noteworthy about the day. The problem was, that the most memorable thing about their interactions and discussions was not the activities, or the wise cracks, it was the profanity. Every sentence seemed to begin or end with a curse word. The first few profanity laced sentences grazed my earlobe and I quickly turned to see who did it. I saw him and gazed at him intently for about five or ten seconds, but nothing…he didn’t even feel my piercing eyes staring in his direction.
I turned to watch my son as he learned how to lower his shoulder in order to get around his opponent without being tackled. He lowered the shoulder withstood the impact and my husband mumbled softly “Good, he lowered the shoulder”. Just then, another teen threw a four-lettered expletive at his friend who wasn’t fazed by the comment. I guess I didn’t lower my shoulder, because it hit me right in the gut. I turned again and glared at the perpetrator but to no avail, he was already lining up for the next play. I looked at the woman to my right and she stretched her eyes to signal that she was on my team, but it was clear to me that she was not interested in being on the frontline. I huddled up with my husband and brought the issue to his attention. He’d already noticed, but didn’t let it bother him. I told him that I just couldn’t believe that out of all of the kids on the bleachers, not one of them tried to remind the others that adults were on the bench. Not one of them seemed to care.
We reminisced about our youth and briefly discussed how teens use to respect adults and how we would be quick to excuse ourselves should we realize that an adult had been exposed to our dark side. That’s when our thoughts were suddenly intercepted by a kid who decided to add negative sexual orientation comments to his offensive lines. I sighed loudly, and noticed the woman on the left side of the bleachers shaking her head in disbelief. My husband explained to me that it wasn’t that they were trying to be disrespectful, but that a lot of young people don’t even realize that what they are doing is wrong. He said that they didn’t even see us. Wow, so, now we’re in their world and have to adapt to the changing times huh? Well, not so fast. Since I’m invisible, I decided to draw up a play of my own. I looked at the group again and tried to anticipate how they’d react to what I had planned. My sons practice was just about over so I told my husband to go on the sidelines and help him take off his gear. I was going to be responsible for the outcome—win or lose, this was my game.
I walked over and sat in the middle of their group. A few guys were standing around talking (and cursing) and hadn’t noticed my new position. I summoned them to come over and have a seat. Many looked confused and tentative, but every one of them complied. In fact, the one who had used the most profanity was the first one to acknowledge my presence. I started with a question…”Can I talk to you guys for a second”? “Yes ma’am” he replied. “Yes ma’am” can you believe it??? I’d finally been acknowledged as an adult who deserved respect. I talked to them for about five minutes. I was respectful and considered my tone and chose my words very carefully. I told them that I was disappointed by their actions because I was certain that their choice of words did not reflect who they were. I let them know that I too was a teenager and was far from perfect. I asked them to do me a favor and think about how their parents, aunts, uncles or other adults whom they respect would feel if they were in the park. I told them that I too have a teenage son and would not want him to use that type of language at all…but especially not in the presence of any adult. I noticed a few of these kids nodding their heads in agreement. Others hung their heads, while some looked at me with apologetic eyes. I asked them to be responsible for their words and actions, and to be aware of the adults in their presence. I reminded them that they represent their parents everytime they leave home, and asked that they take that seriously. I thanked them for listening, and some of them thanked me for talking. No one was disrespectful.
As the adult in this situation, I had a choice to make. I could sit there on the side line and complain about how awful kids are today, or I could get involved. Those kids didn’t need to be knocked down; they needed to be picked up. I was offended, but it wasn’t about me. It was about them. If they are our future, then it is up to us to teach them. Life is not a spectator sport; we have got to be willing to get involved. We’ve got to be willing to get in the middle of the huddle and call the play. As I walked off the field, one of the women who sat on the bleachers jogged over and stopped me. She commended me for doing something that she too could have done, but probably was too afraid to tackle the situation. I’d like to think that every one of us (kids and adults) learned a lesson or two from that encounter. I hope you do too.
I turned to watch my son as he learned how to lower his shoulder in order to get around his opponent without being tackled. He lowered the shoulder withstood the impact and my husband mumbled softly “Good, he lowered the shoulder”. Just then, another teen threw a four-lettered expletive at his friend who wasn’t fazed by the comment. I guess I didn’t lower my shoulder, because it hit me right in the gut. I turned again and glared at the perpetrator but to no avail, he was already lining up for the next play. I looked at the woman to my right and she stretched her eyes to signal that she was on my team, but it was clear to me that she was not interested in being on the frontline. I huddled up with my husband and brought the issue to his attention. He’d already noticed, but didn’t let it bother him. I told him that I just couldn’t believe that out of all of the kids on the bleachers, not one of them tried to remind the others that adults were on the bench. Not one of them seemed to care.
We reminisced about our youth and briefly discussed how teens use to respect adults and how we would be quick to excuse ourselves should we realize that an adult had been exposed to our dark side. That’s when our thoughts were suddenly intercepted by a kid who decided to add negative sexual orientation comments to his offensive lines. I sighed loudly, and noticed the woman on the left side of the bleachers shaking her head in disbelief. My husband explained to me that it wasn’t that they were trying to be disrespectful, but that a lot of young people don’t even realize that what they are doing is wrong. He said that they didn’t even see us. Wow, so, now we’re in their world and have to adapt to the changing times huh? Well, not so fast. Since I’m invisible, I decided to draw up a play of my own. I looked at the group again and tried to anticipate how they’d react to what I had planned. My sons practice was just about over so I told my husband to go on the sidelines and help him take off his gear. I was going to be responsible for the outcome—win or lose, this was my game.
I walked over and sat in the middle of their group. A few guys were standing around talking (and cursing) and hadn’t noticed my new position. I summoned them to come over and have a seat. Many looked confused and tentative, but every one of them complied. In fact, the one who had used the most profanity was the first one to acknowledge my presence. I started with a question…”Can I talk to you guys for a second”? “Yes ma’am” he replied. “Yes ma’am” can you believe it??? I’d finally been acknowledged as an adult who deserved respect. I talked to them for about five minutes. I was respectful and considered my tone and chose my words very carefully. I told them that I was disappointed by their actions because I was certain that their choice of words did not reflect who they were. I let them know that I too was a teenager and was far from perfect. I asked them to do me a favor and think about how their parents, aunts, uncles or other adults whom they respect would feel if they were in the park. I told them that I too have a teenage son and would not want him to use that type of language at all…but especially not in the presence of any adult. I noticed a few of these kids nodding their heads in agreement. Others hung their heads, while some looked at me with apologetic eyes. I asked them to be responsible for their words and actions, and to be aware of the adults in their presence. I reminded them that they represent their parents everytime they leave home, and asked that they take that seriously. I thanked them for listening, and some of them thanked me for talking. No one was disrespectful.
As the adult in this situation, I had a choice to make. I could sit there on the side line and complain about how awful kids are today, or I could get involved. Those kids didn’t need to be knocked down; they needed to be picked up. I was offended, but it wasn’t about me. It was about them. If they are our future, then it is up to us to teach them. Life is not a spectator sport; we have got to be willing to get involved. We’ve got to be willing to get in the middle of the huddle and call the play. As I walked off the field, one of the women who sat on the bleachers jogged over and stopped me. She commended me for doing something that she too could have done, but probably was too afraid to tackle the situation. I’d like to think that every one of us (kids and adults) learned a lesson or two from that encounter. I hope you do too.
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