View From the Sidewalk

To Return the Favor

2011-05-08T11:54:00.003-04:00

Seems strange to be posting again. I had said everything I'd wanted to say, gotten my little 15 minutes of fame and found a home. Mission accomplished. Time to move on.

But something kept telling me not to delete the blog, and now I see why. Recently I've heard some very distressing news. It seems GIHN is in trouble. They're suffering a lack of funds, and if they don't find some more soon, they could be forced to shut down. Dozens of newly-homeless families would be subjected to the fate we were six short years ago.

Well, they helped us when we needed it, so now I get to return the favor. Unfortunately, I cannot aid them financially (although I'd gladly do so), but the blog's still up. It might even still have a few people who check in on an irregular basis. So I can help get the word out. Perhaps many people can get together and help a truly deserving organization. Or maybe, just maybe, there's a big wheel whose bank account size is exceeded only by the size of their compassion and who can write GIHN a check for the full $60,000 they need to keep operating.

It's a shame that there is even a need for GIHN's services at all in a country such as ours, but as long as there are homeless families, thank God that there is a GIHN around to help them.

One Year Later...Almost

2008-01-09T14:25:00.000-05:00

I had told myself that this chapter of my life is over and I should focus on the future. However, every so often I get an inquiry on the street or an e-mail describing another homelessness horror story and I feel a strong pull back here to the blog.

Coming back now after nearly a year away is, well, like revisiting the house where you grew up, or climbing into a musty old attic where so much of your being is stored. So much that's familiar, yet so much that feels new simply because you haven't seen it in awhile.

But soft; let me take a quick moment to update everyone on our (mis)adventures:

After my last post in 2007, I plunged headlong into the dual business of keeping a roof over our heads (no small feat) and discharging my duties at work without landing in jail (an even larger feat). Mike graduated from high school in June (we're still trying to figure out how), but isn't in college yet becuase frankly we didn't expect him to so we weren't scouting out any campuses and instead were focused on yet another year of high school. He's chomping at the bit to enter school, so we're shooting for this coming fall. Ness made her grade with flying colors and is now in 5th grade. She's developing some talent in music (she can play keyboard, violin and guitar, her favorite) but she's at the point where we have to watch her grades lest they slip. Mama went for job training this past November and passed as far as we know -- she's still waiting for her final test scores. The Trusty Steed is still ferrying us back and forth, although she's beginning to show her age and cantankerousness. We've been adopted by two of the neighborhood cats, a mother and her kitten. We can't actually take them in due to lease restrictions, but we keep them relatively well-fed and ear-scratched. Maybe I should take some time to find them a good, dry home.

I seem to have fared worst of all of us. Although the nightmares of being homeless finally stopped, the Beast hasn't been idle. In fact, after reading a book on the subject, I'm convinced that I have full-blown clinical depression, but that's a downer for another time ("Yes, I'll have the Prozac with a Zoloft chaser, please." Brrr!) Somewhere in a dark corner of my mind, he's cackling to himself and rubbing his claws together with glee... Money is still tight and nowhere near the level I enjoyed in 2000-2002, and the job? Well, the less said the better (some future employer might be reading this, so I have to keep it wound tight.)

Still, it's not all bad. I finally got off my lazy duff and returned to school last fall. Broke straight As my first semester back and I'm now in the midst of my second (out of 4). My major? Why graphic design, of course. It seems to be the only thing I'm good at that also 1) makes me happy and 2) offers the prospect of letting me pull down some good money for a change.

I occasionally keep up with news on homelessness but not to the degree I did when I was in it. For one thing, the old feelings resurface and they feel just as unpleasant now as they did then. But mostly I'm too busy to devote much time to it. As I mentioned above, though, I still occasionally get posts from homeless people in the midst of their own personal hell. Sadly, all I can do is offer words of encouragement but maybe sometimes that's enough, neh?

The Slavery of Freedom

2007-02-16T14:43:00.000-05:00

Not a lot has happened of any consequence since the last time I posted, except for a followup to the original News & Record story. The article states that I've been considering stopping the blog. I figured I'd said all that needs to be said and I didn't want to wear out my welcome by becoming yet another "I-did-this-and-then-I-did-that-but-it's-all-boring-and-the-exciting-bits-are-made-up-anyway" blog. C'mon, you've got better things to do with your Web time.

However, I occasionally have a thing or two to say, so maybe I'll continue just a bit longer.

Today's offering is twofold, but both borne of the same incident. We were in the Greensboro Housing Authority offices for recertification today. For the uninitiated, each year we have to report our income and family composition -- prove that we're still poor enough to live in the projects*, if you will -- which determines if our rent will stay the same, increase or we'll be booted out altogether.

The first realization came as I was filling out the reporting forms and looking over the voluminous rules and regulations the office receptionist handed me. I realized that although my family is living in the most free nation on earth (arguably), we are not free.

Gasp! Horrors! Must be one'a those pinko reds!

Wait, put down the pitchforks and I'll explain. It occurred to me that if I owned my own home, I would not have to do this every year. My private affairs would be just those: my private affairs. How much money I made and how I made it would be my business. Who I had over and why they were there would be my business. What Mama does in her spare time during the day when I'm at work and the kids were in school would be her business. Where the kids went to school and how well they were doing would be their business. Our lives would be -- our lives.

Instead, we have to report on our financial and some social activities to the Overlords, in order to keep a roof over our heads and heat around our bodies. And if we don't report, the roof and heat immediately go away. In addition, we have to submit to inspections pretty much whenever management feels like it; report if I make more money, temporarily or not; report who in the house is working and why or why not; how well the kids are doing in school and why or why not; and always, always dread the next inspection or recertification where we may have forgotten to dot some arcane i or cross some obsolete t that'll land us right back on the street.

I pass by houses every day and I envy those within. Sure, they have their own set of problems, but they're not sweating losing their home just because they can finally tell some bigwig "none of your business" when s/he wants to go poking into their private affairs.

Yes, I can almost hear the rebuttals: "But you're better off than when you were homeless." "But at least you have a roof over your head." "At least you're still alive." "Well, you got to go through some of that if people are helping you." But show of hands, now: how many of you like having to strip naked -- socially speaking -- for whoever orders you to do it "or else"?

The other thing came from a poster I saw on the wall at the GHA offices. It was a PSA** for health care services. The headline was "Poverty Doesn't Make You Sick, But It Can Keep You From Getting Well." How sadly true, but I submit to you that poverty can indeed make you sick.

Poverty can make you mentally sick by making you worry all the time. About money. About the rest of the family's health. About who's going to screw you today, or tomorrow. About the bills piling up. About everything in the universe that you could knock out of the way if you just had your hands on some money. And some people wonder why others play the lottery. All that worry leads to stress, and all that stress leads to...

Poverty can make you physically ill as well. Most of it comes from the mental stress that builds up over worrying about money so much. It's been scientifically proven that stress makes you fat and does horrible things to your immune system. In addition, poor people can't buy the right kinds of food -- fresh fruits, vegetables, foods with low fat and high nutritional content, even dietetic foods -- because they're more expensive. So we end up eating the wrong things. Pretty soon, you're flat on your back with a bug, a stroke or a heart attack. Or you're listening to your doctor (if you can afford to see one) utter those dread words "it's Type 2 Diabetes. There's no cure."

So to sum, I say that poverty can make you very sick indeed. It can also make you a slave. And neither prospect is very pleasant.

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* The irony being, of course, that if we were making enough money to leave the projects, we would've long since left.
** Public Service Announcement, but you knew that already, didn't you?

Then Beggars Would Ride

2007-01-11T18:57:00.000-05:00

I know, I know...it's been awhile since my last post (hmm...seems more and more of my posts are starting out with that sentence...) but the reason behind it is quite simple: I've been working more. My schedule hasn't let up since November or so, and now I'm more or less full time at the store.

Working full time in retail.

What the heck was I thinking?

Well, it's not like there are any graphic design jobs coming my way anymore (and I'm about ready to chuck the whole graphics thing anyway, for more than one reason), so I might as well just shut up, give up and make the best of it.

So what events have transpired since the tsunami...er, I mean, the holidays hit?

My biggest fear thankfully didn't come to pass; thanks to the generosity of Mt. Zion Baptist Church, my co-workers and some of my out of town friends, Mama and the kids had an excellent holiday. Even I got some presents (which I certainly wasn't expecting), but the biggest thing was getting the Trusty Steed to Durham to visit my mother and aunt and back without a hitch. Missed seeing my brother and his new baby, but that's okay; he's always at my mom's house, and we get along like oil and water anyway.

I guess the biggest thing since New Year's Day is that I've finally gotten serious about wanting to lose weight. Nothing faddish or fancy, no Atkins or South Beach diets or anything like that. Let's call this one the Po' Man's Diet. I can't afford a lot of health food and the like (even though we're on Food Stamps), so I use portion control and keep track of what I eat with a cheap food diary I picked up at Borders ($3.95). I try to keep my calories below 2500 a day* and my fat intake to 30% of that. I pay a lot of attention to the nutrition labels on the back of the packages. I've taken up yoga and pilates**, and -- if I can ever learn the moves -- plan to get into t'ai-c'hi. So far I've lost about 10 pounds, but I won't be satisfied until I hit 185 and therefore won't be mistaken for Shamu the Killer Whale.

The big negative of late, however, is that the Beast has made new inroads into my mind. He's gotten quiet since late November, but now relentlessly goes around all the mental barriers I put up. Most of his attacks now seem to have as their source the fact that I used to make 3-4 times as much as I used to when I worked at the ad agency and had a lot more fun. And didn't have to deal with the public at all. It's getting harder and harder to keep from getting depressed when he starts up a fresh attack.

It's said that once you stop looking for what you want, it comes to you. Or something like that. Maybe now that I've stopped looking, a better job with more money will fall into my lap.

Hmm, maybe the Flying Monkeys will come and whisk me off to Oz, too.***

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* All that running around at work has some benefit; at a calculated calorie burn rate of about 3-4 calories a minute, I can knock off between 1350-1800 calories a day. And yeah, sometimes I fill the hole with a cookie or a slice of cake.

** Don't be fooled, guys; you see only women doing this stuff on the commercials and videos, but it's intense enough for us dudes, too. Check out vids by yoga instructor Rodney Yee if you don't believe me. Intense stuff. There are also football players and soldiers using yoga, too.

***Glinda the Good Witch: giggity, giggity!

Tsunami Warning

2006-12-22T19:38:00.000-05:00

I don't think I'll get a chance to post again before Christmas -- now a scant 52 hours away -- so I suppose I'd better make this a good one, neh?

I've decided that the best analogy that describes modern-day Christmas (circa 2006) is like a tsunami. You know when it hits, it's going to hit hard. You don't really want to be in the area, but you absolutely can't resist seeing what the effects will be.

Still, I can think of worse things to be hit by. And we are doing much better this year than we were this time last year, when we had no heat*, not much money coming in, the Trusty Steed sitting moribund in the driveway, the threat of eviction loomed on the horizon, and even Christmas itself was in jeopardy.

This year, thank God, there is abundant heat, the rent is paid up, there's money coming in (at least through the holidays) and -- thanks to the generosity of GIHN, Mt. Zion Baptist Church, some good friends now living sadly out-of-state, and my co-workers -- the kids are going to have a deliriously Merry Christmas. Mt. Zion even helped get the Trusty Steed a badly needed and long overdue tune up (it still grumbles a bit when I go faster than 60, but at least it's not threatening to fly apart altogether).

What a difference a year makes.

The store had adopted my family for Christmas and gave us the presents today. I was absolultely overwhelmed at the amount of gifts my co-workers and managers had collected for us. And after I'd been such a b-----d all year. Thanks, guys, for putting up with all the growls and snarls. There is a Cratchit under all this Scrooge. Somewhere. Really.

Still, there's a part of me that feels...uncomfortable. My kids are taken care of, but it bugs the crap out of me that there are other kids who may not have anyone to adopt them. It really chaps my hids that there are homeless families on Christmas. I know GIHN is helping at least one right now. I can think of few fates more horrible than being homeless during the holidays, and it bugs me that I'm not yet in a position to help out where it counts. Oh, I drop what little money I can into the Salvation Army kettles when I see one, but I'd love to help in a way that really counts. I'd love to win a fat Powerball prize and start funding food banks and emergency utility aid and holiday toy drive efforts. Not for any personal aggrandizement, either. Just so some kid who wants that particular toy at Christmas would get it. Just so a family whose breadwinner won't be working after the New Year could eat and focus on securing that next job. Just so those families whose presents were stolen** could still find a reason to get up on Christmas morning.

Just so.

Yeah, yeah, I'm a bleeding-heart liberal. Sue me.

Let me finish up what may be my last post of the year with a thought. Just a little one:

This season isn't about Santa Claus, or Rudolph, or Jingle Bells, or Tickle Me Elmo. It's not about Christmas trees or carols or festive displays or pretty lights and tinsel. It's not even about family, or Peace on Earth, or giving gifts or Good Will Toward Men, although those are always a good idea.

It's about that little baby born 2000-some years ago in that manger. And why He was sent here. And what he represented. And even why he later died.

It's all about...love.

And when everything else -- wealth, fame, beauty -- has faded away, love abides.

Merry Christmas.

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*The gas had been off for a year due to nonpayment, so we were literally heating a 1200 square foot house with space heaters I'd buy from a nearby discount store with my meager earnings. Four of them kept us from freezing to death, although it still wasn't the most comfortable environment. We still have those heaters, and everytime I get to feeling cocky, I haul one out and take a hard look at it as a reminder.

**We've all heard of families who come home to find that some yahoo has broken in and stolen every present from under their tree. People that do this and ruin someone else's Christmas ought to be taken out back somewhere and shot.

The Fires of Winter

2006-12-12T18:27:00.000-05:00

I was watching the local news a little while ago* when they aired a report of a homeless man who was badly burned over half his body when his campfire went out of control. The News & Record mentions it here. What really got my dander up, however, is that the reporter and some of the people interviewed for supporting information seemed aghast that the accident happened only a half-mile from Greensboro Urban Ministry and it's homeless shelter. As though the guy actually belonged in a shelter for some reason. As though it was assumed that "well, he's homeless, he should go to a homeless shelter."

Lemme tell ya, folks, when my family and I lost out home earlier this year, the absolute last thing I wanted to do was go to a homeless shelter. We got lucky and linked up with GIHN, but there are others not as fortunate, and who have to go to Urban Ministry's or the Salvation Army's shelter, despite any reservations they may have. I had my reasons for not wanting to go to as shelter; I'm sure this guy had his reasons as well. Even if it was for the sheer pride of it all.

Of course, at the end of the day, it's a damn shame that he has to be homeless in America at all.

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*Yes, this is unusual. Although I'm a news junkie, I often don't get to watch it much anymore because I'm either out running errands in the Trusty Steed or Ness has switched the TV to something she wants to watch and subsequently hidden the remote.

Chestnuts Roasting on a...Oh, Wait. That's Me...

2006-12-02T16:07:00.000-05:00

Well, as you Gentle Readers can no doubt tell from the time/date stamp, I've been away for awhile. Sorry about that, but I can tell you that the reason has been because I've been working. A lot. I've gone to a full half-hour-shy-of-40 hours-a-week at work in order to give the family some Christmas presents and to get bills caught up before the weather turns cold for good. Heads up: as a result, I'll be posting very sporadically through the first of the year at least.

But for now, some updates: Thanksgiving went without a hitch (except for the inevitable refereeing of the kids) and I even got the turkey right (for a change...) It usually comes out very dry. This year I dumped most of a can of chicken broth into the turkey before I closed the oven bag. Succulent and delicious! Leftovers this year weren't the ordeal they normally are.

I forgot to title my last post. I've typed one in, as you can see. Gotta keep consistency, after all.

I seem to be getting used to working in retail, even at Christmas (or maybe I'm just suffering from Stockholm Syndrome). Mixing it up with The Public both smart and stupid is just another walk in the park for me now. Still, I get the most boneheaded questions (like the lady that wanted to know if the Christmas trees on display were the same ones in the boxes right next to them even though there's a picture of the thing on the box) and the weirdest calls from the front registers (like the trainee who wanted to know if the clearance price she was seeing on her register was actually a clearance price. Well, duh, sweetheart...) The thing about work that bothers me the most now is when I don't get to finish cleaning up the department or setting up merchandise due to constant interruptions, and then having to end my shift with half my to-do list undone. Still, my fellow daytime co-workers have learned to have the coffee hot when I hit the door in the morning, and to not annoy "Michael B" too much until he's had a cup. Most days, anyway.

Could be worse; all the managers I had problems with are gone, along with, sadly, some I liked. And the ones I didn't like, I hated with a cold-flame passion. But I like all the current managers, especially my department head (Hi, O4!) She's got the same "get-it-done-however" attitude I have. Scary, no?

The Beast has quieted down some since my last post. I think just staying so busy has kept him off balance. Still, he manages to get in a jab every now and then. His latest tactic involves sowing doubt that I'll ever get back in school, or get my diploma once there.

My mom turned 70 today. Thank God. There were a few times we didn't think she'd make it, but not only is she still quite active, she's become cantankerous in her old age. Gee, can't imagine what that's like...

Took the family to the Greensboro Christmas parade* earlier today. It was actually good this year. The most impressive presentation was by Lawndale Baptist Church, who had people dressed as ancient shepherds, leading an assortment of domestic animals, including honest-to-God camels** and a huge float with the Three Wise Men and the Nativity, although the baby playing Jesus was a bit old I think (had to have been at least a year old).

We seem to have made a friend in the projects. There are numerous feral cats living in the woods nearby; they avoid us, we leave them alone (although a few have fallen prey to some of the cars that travel up and down the street). One calico cat, however, seems to have been someone's pet, once. We feed her whenever she decides to show up, and we can tell she's dying to come in, but as much as we'd like that, our lease (and landlord) say that's a no-no. I've been thinking of having someone come get her before the maintenance people decide to start a anti-cat pogrom but I haven't had much time to work on the idea. Calico*** also shows up on an irregular basis, so it's hard to predict where she'll be at any given time.

We've officially got copies of Ness' Christmas list. Oh, Lord. Suffice it to say it's two pages long, front and back, and composed mostly of items that Daddy will never be able to afford. Short of winning the Powerball, anyway. I asked her to prioritize the top ten items she wanted and there are a few things that I may be able to get, if I don't get kung-fu'ed by little old ladies shopping for their grandkids first.

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*It's official name is the Greensboro Jaycees Holiday Parade, but I don't care what anybody says, it's a Christmas parade if it hits in December.

**I have no idea where in the world this place found camels. Pretty docile ones, too.

***I know it's lame, but we couldn't agree on a better name for her.

That Sense of Belonging

2006-11-16T18:47:00.000-05:00

Our lives finally seem to have mellowed and aged into the smooth paste of normalcy bordering on boredom. Of late, nothing spectacular has happened to us. The kids have settled into the ebb and flow of their schools, Mama now has as much space and time as she wants to practice her yoga, and I work. A lot. In retail. At Christmas.

God help me.

I can't help but reflect on a great irony: I spend my days helping others get their Christmas shopping done, while being quite unable to do any of my own. Even if I had the money (which I don't), I don't have the time, since my hours have gone up in direct proportion to the number of sales the store in having and the freight pouring in and the people flooding in looking for holiday deals.

To make matters worse, the Beast have begun his annual campaign of reminding me how good past Christmases have been compared to the one that's got its laser pointed between my eyes.

"Ah," you say, "But you're working, you're family is intact, you're no longer homeless."

All that is true, but I don't feel as though I belong.

Explain? Alright, I'll try. The holidays* are taken as that time of year when families draw closer together, kids' wishes are fulfilled, fantasies take flight, and goodwill is generally spread all around.

Now, remember that in America all this is driven by the engine of consumerism. Madison Avenue has somehow managed to equate the joy of the holidays with "make that credit card smoke, Buster, or you ARE the Weakest Link. Goodbye." Everything is spend-buy-spend-buy. Even if you're making the presents (as sean carter suggested in his Comment) you still have to buy the raw materials, and those prices go up a little every year.

As a marginal participant in the American Economy at best, I feel as though I'm missing out if I can't give out any Christmas gifts. I feel like an outsider looking in on a great big shindig. I feel like I don't belong.

Got it? Don't worry if you didn't. Makes little sense to me too.

Suffice it to say, then, that the remaining weeks of 2006 promise to get very crazy for me indeed and leave it at that.

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*from this point on understand that by "the holidays", I mean not only Christmas, but also Hanukkah and Kwanzaa as well

Full Frontal Christmas

2006-10-30T18:04:00.000-05:00

I'd been dutifully ignoring the signs since September 1st; ignoring all input related to the coming event, refusing to watch any promos or previews about it, not even listening to the odd bits of music that chirped about it. But lately, I've finally had it shoved straight into my face.

Christmas. Full Frontal.

Bah, humbug!

("What's that? Is he crazy? It's Christmas, fergoshsakes! How can he be so Grinchy?")

Well, okay, maybe "bah, humbug" is a tad extreme, but pull your chairs closer and I'll explain what's going on in my warped little brain concerning the Christmas holiday.

When I was a boy in Durham, the first week in September usually brought a tingle in my being that was overwhelmed by the first weeks of school, but would quickly grow in intensity. By Halloween, it would be noticeable and would fold itself into the excitement of trick-or-treating, the Great Pumpkin on TV, and the arrival of the Sears Wish Book in the mail. By Thanksgiving, I could barely eat my turkey and watch the parades with the excitement of the approaching holiday. The sight of Santa Claus at the end of the Macy's parade would set a fire of excitement that only blazed brighter and brighter so that my mid-December, I'd be virtually bouncing off the walls. Christmas Day would culminate in such an orgy of gift giving, gift-getting and family visits that December 26th always was a heavy day of depression for me.

However, that's not the case today. As I've aged, I've become more acutely aware of the marketing buildup before Christmas. This in turn has made me more acutely aware that I don't make much money, and can therefore not afford to give many gifts.

For those of you who have not been badly bitten by the Poverty Monster (oh, how I envy you...) here's the breakdown: I live in constant fear from September 1st right up through December 25th that Mike and Ness will wake up Christmas morning and find nothing under her tree save a few random dust bunnies.

That is my number 2 fear, right behind watching a tornado bear down on me.

Sure I somehow manage to pull it off, most years. Some years have been awful close, though*. And as it is, I can't buy presents for anyone other than my immediate family. I can't remember that last year I gave my Mom a Christmas present.

However, there's still a month or two to go. Who knows? Maybe one of those hundreds of resumes I scattergunned all over the Triad will finally bear fruit.

Hope it does so soon. I thought I heard reindeer being test-flown the other night...

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*2004 was Annus Horribilis as far as Christmas presents go. I'd just gotten hired at Kohl's, and didn't get much for my first paycheck, so I could only give Ness part of what she wanted, and had to promise Mike and Mama I'd use part of my tax refund in January to get their presents.

Dumping Ground

2006-10-30T17:57:00.000-05:00

Cara Michele posted today about a case of "dumping"; seems a homeless friend of hers tried to employ the ultimate end to his problem, spent some time in the hospital for his effort, and got dumped right back on the streets when the shelters were found to be full.

Sadly, this is kinda par for the course sometimes. Instead of getting the help they need, some homeless people get kicked by the system again and again until they feel they're in such a tight box the only way out is to End It All. I know the thought crossed my mind during my own bout with homelessness.

It doesn't have to be this way, but it is. I'm reminded of the recent story out of LA where ambulance drivers were caught dumping homeless patients on Skid Row. What is the rationale for dumping people right back into the very situation they're so desperately trying to escape? When did it become okay to throw people right back to the sharks of poverty and homelessness when it's clear they need help escaping?

Saddest of all, why am I not surprised something like this has occurred in Guilford County?

Avolo's Riposte

2006-10-25T19:45:00.000-04:00

*Sigh* It's hard having acquaintances like avolokitisvara, who prick your intellect and conscience in such a way that you absolutely have to stop and think for a minute.

I was going to post about something else entirely, but I thought that avolo's comments to the last post absolutely had to have a response. So, here are some select quotes from his comments, with my responses. I had to be kinda choosy; I couldn't do a blanket response because time is short.

I'd love to sit down and discuss the issues of the day with this guy over a beer -- that'd be one lively confab, I bet...

“But to concede a lifetimes worth of battles into one experience is wrong.” True enough, but maybe I didn’t make myself clear here. The guy reading to his daughter was utilizing just one weapon against the raging beast of poverty; one that is too often underutilized, especially by the Black community (more on that in a moment). Baby steps, avolo. Baby steps…

“But lets be clear there are MANY things that can put/keep/ trap someone in poverty…Am I to believe that you dont love your daughters nor did your father* love your wife because of the economic hardship” Yes, there are many facets to being trapped in poverty, but instilling a love of learning in a child is, again, one weapon against that. Granted, not the only weapon, but a pretty damn powerful one. And what greater expression of love for your child than to make sure she has every weapon at her disposal for combating poverty.

“Ignorance is like a big big big big river, it can drown you.” Truer words were never spoken. In fact, I’d say ignorance is a friggin’ large and deep ocean that invites too many to swim in its warm waters. And too many enjoy doing it even after they discover that the warmth comes from the excess of urine that’s being discharged into it… That’s why the boat of learning and critical thinking is so desperately needed.

“Being Black? Not as important as you d think it is.” I disagree, my friend. It’s very important. Perhaps too important. Blackness (is that a viable word?) is a gravitic pull upon too many of our youth, who are brought up to believe that BLACK must come before HUMAN. It’s a cynical notion that being exploited to perfection by the hip-hop culture, which is feeding our kids (and to a somewhat lesser extent, white and latino kids) the constant refrain of “You gotta keep it real. All you need is some bling and street cred. School is for suckas!” And then later wondering why “The Man” gets everything he ever wants while they simply get arrested.

"But that little girl and my little boy will need more than to be read to for America worth its salt in the sand." I agree. See the above paragraphs in my reply.

“I hate it when people make derogatory assumptions about the Black community, wherever it is, without considering that these afflictions affect ALL communities in an economic zone, regardless of race, or ethnicity.” I hate it, too, avolo, but (and this is coming from a black man) some of those assumptions are on the money. They’ve entered to popular zeitgeist because they exist. Are all of them true? Of course not. But I’ve seen black fathers abandon their families, black families buying big-ticket items instead of preparing their children for careers other than criminal or McDonald’s; black girls learning how to manipulate men instead of numbers or chemical formulae; black boys looking down their noses at their more educated peers (or beating them up); black mothers too damn lazy to go across the street to apply at the new clothes store, but hauling their asses across town to take in whatever new club opens up; black families on welfare not even making token attempts to get off of it; groups of young blacks hanging around public places intimidating others instead of finding ways to be a benefit. I have seen these things growing up, and I see them today. And it’s so needless, avolo. However, this is America. Ostensibly, it’s a free country. If they want to ignorant, half-savage criminals, fine. But why drag the decent, hard-working people with foresight down with them?

“That you are seemingly, with ease, demonizing the Black father as irresponsible…Your drawing too many conclusions about the quality of men you see when you see women with their children.” Okay, I may be generalizing, but again, I’ve seen it too often to ignore its existence. If more black men would take more interest in their families beyond getting into their girlfriend’s panties, the black community would be a lot better off. Are there black men who stay with their families? Sure there are. But there are too few who do, and black children are suffering as a result.

“Brood sow? Thats mean and demeans people who need public assistance to find a foothold in a safety net that they fell through.” That is mean, but I’m not denigrating everyone on public assistance (remember, I’m there, too…for now). No, I’m aiming that at the lazy women who only seem to find energy to propel themselves out of their ennui long enough go to a seedy nightclub and screw yet another guy who cares nothing for her. Such people see welfare as the be-all and end-all. Fortunately, such people are in the minority of welfare recipients. Most are decent, hard-working sorts who just need a hand…for now.

“"I wanted to congratulate the man on his foresight and encourage him to keep up the excellent work" Dont. Its like someone congratulating you for going to the bathroom. Its something you re supposed to do.” Yes, but when a toddler goes to the potty for the first time instead of blowing out yet another Pull-Up, do we praise him or do we simply snarl “’Bout damn time!” Yes, the man was supposed to do it, but it's more important that he did it, which is more than I can say for all too many men in the black community. Still, a little encouragement goes a long way.

------------------------
*For the record, I grew up without a father; my biological father chose not to hang around after being with my mother (thus I never developed a relationship with him, although I don’t hate him) and my stepfather was a drunken, abusive lout who defined spending time with the family as beating the hell out of us and driving off to drink some more with his equally loutish friends. Hopefully, cirrhosis will stop his foolishness sooner rather than later.

Warfare

2006-10-17T19:54:00.000-04:00

Mama and I spend most Saturday evenings at Borders here in town. I especially like to go after a hard day or week at work, although I avoid the place if there is a live musical act schedules for the nights we go. Sometimes we take the kids; last Saturday we have Ness and Mike with us. Mike immediately peeled off towards the manga section, and I went with Ness to look for books on Anne Frank.*

While we were prowling the children's section for books that broke the story of the Holocaust and WWII down to a kid's level, we became witness to a fight.

A strapping man was in total warfare, swatting away at his enemy as powerfully as he could. He wielded his weapon like an expert, landing blow after blow, trying to force his foe back. I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer brutality of his attacks, effective as they were, and found myself pulling for him. The man's daughter (maybe three years old) was there, and seemed as engrossed as I was, especially since she seemed to be the focus of the battle.

Did I mention that the fight was for that little girl's future? Against the twin enemies of ignorance and poverty? And that the weapon the man wielded was -- a book?

So what? you say. Guys read to their kids all the time.

Ah, but there is one image of the scene I haven't yet recounted: The man and his little girl were both black. And I can say with conviction, my friends, that that is a scene not witnessed enough in the black American community.

The man was reading to his little girl with enthusiasm, without worrying if he sounded silly, and without rushing as if having something better to do. The girl, cradled in his lap, was enthusiastically trying to read along, and frequently interrupting her father to point out something interesting on the page.

Why did I describe the scene as a fight? Because it occurred to me how this man was striking at the very roots of poverty and ignorance. And with such a simple weapon as the power of reading and forming ideas. That man was laying the groundwork for that girl to become something other than window-dressing in a rap video. Or a streetwalker. Or some drunken brute's punching bag. Or a brood sow waiting for yet another welfare check to show up. He was making sure, through conveying the sheer joy of reading, that his little girl would one day have the capacity to grow up, grab hold of the underpinnings of this rotted society, and give it a good hard shake.

I mentioned to Ness how good it was that the father was reading to his daughter. She just shrugged her shoulders. Not surprising; she was focused on fulfilling her own objective, but she doesn't seem to recall that Mama and I read to her when she was that age. A lot. And she's seen us reading every chance we've got. She's become a voracious reader herself, and as a result, teacher after teacher have complimented us on how smart she is.** Still, I don't think the scene was entirely lost on her.

I think everyone knows that education is one way to break the grip of poverty. And one way to jump-start a kid's brain and make it thirst for knowledge is the simple act of reading. Somewhere in all that absorption of knowledge is bound to be ways to break the cycle of poverty and make sure it's driven far from the child's life.

And again, it's such a simple thing. And yet so powerful.

I wanted to congratulate the man on his foresight and encourage him to keep up the excellent work, but by the time we found Ness' books and got back to where they were, he and his daughter were gone. Hopefully, he'll read these words here and know that he struck a mighty blow for his daughter's future intellect that night. I salute you, sir. Years from now, I hope you'll have the pleasure of hearing your daughter rattle off some fact that indicates that she could only have come to it by dint of critical thought and know that you were the one who planted that seed on that long ago October night.

Oh, and we found a copy of Anne Frank's diary. I bought it, and a presentation board from Walgreens across the street to boot. Couldn't really afford them, but what the hell -- it gives poverty and ignorance impressive shiners.

-----------------------
She's recently become engrossed with Anne Frank's story after learning about it at the library. She actually wants to do an extra-credit project based on her life and the events occurring at the time. Of course, there's no way I'm going to dampen her enthusiasm. Previously she wanted to absorb as much knowledge as she could about the Titanic, after seeing the movie and falling in love with the theme song.

**Forgive me a little braggadocio. But we've worked hard to make sure that Ness won't just amount to yet another pedestrian waste of flesh. To see our efforts bearing fruit like her quest to learn more about Anne Frank and the Holocaust is very gratifying.

That I Be Not Judged

2006-10-10T19:00:00.000-04:00

When I began this blog (seems like an eternity ago), I recall dithering over whether or not to allow Comments, as other blogs did. My reticence was born of the fact that I'd participated in online discussion boards which nine times out of ten ended up in minutiaic discussions on how to best split hairs or flamewars. The decision was made for me by the terms of use on Greensboro 101, which required that Comments be enabled.

I'm glad I did enable those Comments. I'm always learning something.

Specifically, the mighty kat confirmed something I was afraid was slowly occurring, but didn't want to admit: I was becoming judgmental. I Forgot Where I Came From. I Failed To Walk In The Other Guy's Shoes (pardon the pun).

I got...judgy.

To wit: you recall, two posts ago, I rated an (ostensibly*) homeless guy using the Shoe Test Cara taught me as a set of criterion, among others, in making a decision whether or not to help him. I eventually decided not to.* kat nailed me good; I could've tried to glean more information. Becuase I didn't, I apparently slid myself right into that same pigeonhole that other less enlightened people were comfortably nestled in.

The clincher came from gtv. Yeah, the guy's arrogant sometimes (by his own admission), but he was on the money with his Comment. Here's the part that grabbed me, in his own words:

First I listen to their pitch and based on their
demeanor, sincerity AND their tone of voice to determine the integrity of the
person. For example, a normal person and a crackhead could say the exact same
thing like "I'm homeless, I need help for me and my family, and could you please
spare any change you may have kind sir?", but the former would look me in the
eye when saying it, isn't pushy and seems to be genuine in their plea for help
while the latter looks, acts and talks like a crackhead! I have also, on
occasion, asked if they would like to share their story with me over lunch (my
treat) and some have accepted the offer. You'd be amazed what you could learn
just by talking to people. You'd be just as amazed what you might be missing out
on by just looking at their shoes...

I remember my interviews with Tim and Ron. Both of them looked me in the eye as we talked. Neither liked being homeless, but there was that spark of "This isn't the end of me" in their eye. I doubt a liar or a crackhead could fake that kind of defiance of circumstance.

As they say on South Park, "I learned something today." The ugly something is that I'm slipping back into judgementalism. I have to watch that. The pretty something is that fakers can be discovered with just a little personal contact, or at least, much closer observation.

Always good to be snapped back into place by one's peers. Thanks, guys.

---------------------------
*Now, I'll still use the term ostensibly because we do have some fakers around here. The N&R did a story on them some years ago, and I think the local Fox affiliate did a short on-air article as well. There is a small minority of people, for whatever reason, that do try to beat the system by panhandling, although they have the wherewithal not to.

**In going back over the post, I find I neglected to mention that we were several lanes away from the guy in heavy traffic. I couldn't have helped him regardless. Not without causiing a wreck, anyway.

Being There

2006-10-10T18:27:00.000-04:00

A representative of the government's efforts to end homelessness came to town (well, Jamestown) last week. As usual, Yours Truly didn't hear about it until well after the fact. Would've liked to have been there; I'll bet I'd've been the only person in that room who's actually been homeless. Luckily, Cara Michele was all over things, as usual. She talks about it here.*

I guess it's just as well. Near as I can remember, I was at work that day. No doubt I would've been too exhausted to contribute meaningfully to the discussion.

Still, I don't like the idea that I didn't help out because I wasn't there. I could've lived with being present but ineffective. But I didn't help out because I wasn't there at all. And that rankles. A lot.

So what would my presence have brought to the table that the other worthies wouldn't have? I guess just my presence at all. Like I said a moment ago, I bet I would've been the only person in the room that had ever suffered homelessness. Maybe my being there would've put a face (ugly though it is) on the homelessness problem in the Triad. Maybe I could've caught up with the guy afterward and put a bug or two in his ear. Maybe simply have slipped him a piece of paper with the URLs for Cara's and my blogs. Maybe given him a piece of information that would've helped in the fight against homelessness. Maybe just been there. Sometimes, just being there is powerful enough; just ask Nichelle Nichols.**

It just rankles me that I missed an opportunity like that. Maybe I'm getting slack in my old age. Maybe I'm more burned out than I realize. Maybe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is setting in.*** I don't know anymore.

I do know that I sometimes I need to speak up, and I'm sometimes too all in to do it. More's the pity.

--------------------------------
* In fact, she's always ten steps ahead of me on this effort. I envy her being so on top of things. In my own defense, however, it wouldn't bother me unduly if the events of February to May, 2006 were tossed in the ash can of other forgotten things in the back of my mind.

**Who you will recognize as Lieutenant Uhura on Star Trek (finally worked in a plug for one of my fave TV shows...) The story goes that she was going to quit the show due to the scarcity and lack of quality of her scenes. At a social function, she met none other than the Man Himself, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, who exhorted her to stick with it because her very presence, even in the background, spoke volumes about the presence of negroes (the term at the time) in society. The rest, of course, is TV history.

***I'm not making light of this. PTSD is a real problem that manifests after all kinds of stressful situations. It's not just "shell-shock" anymore.

The Haggard Sole

2006-10-04T19:04:00.000-04:00

And speaking of homelessness...

I know I haven't been active much in that arena lately, on the blog or in the arena. Not out of a sense of "psh! I got mine..." but just out of the afromentioned burnout and trying to put our lives back together.* There's just a lot to do for ourselves right now, and frankly I feel guilty for missing out on the fight. I know, I know -- you gotta do for you and yours first, but there's still the nagging notion that we went through that three-month nightmare for a reason.

Still, it was an eye-opening experience. I learned a lot. Sometimes I even get to apply what I've learned.

Take, for instance the guys on the street corner with the Hungry.Homeless.GodBless signs. I remember mentioning to Cara Michele about struggling to distinguish the ones who actually need help from the ones who're just trying to get over on the system. She told me to look at their shoes. Aha, the nicer/more expensive the shoes, the less likely this is a person actually needing help.

A couple weeks ago, I approached a corner having just gotten off of Wendover Avenue headed toward town. An older man was standing there strategically with a cardboard sign. My eyes immediately went to his feet. Hmm, worn walking shoes, probably picked up from the Goodwill. There's someone with him. His wife, perhaps? She seems slightly older. She has a cane; maybe she's partially disabled. Still, he's carrying a sign instead of actively trying to better his position. Help him, yes or no? I decided to give him a buck coupled with a word of encouragement and advice, but blast it! I had spent it on gas already. Plus, the light had changed and the guy behind me looked eager to see how far he could shove his SUV into my trunk.

Okay, maybe next time.

In contrast, the other day, Mama and I were headed home from the grocery store when we saw a guy at the corner of West Market and Spring Garden St. He had the requisite sign. I checked out his feet. Brand-new walking shoes! I looked him over then with a very critical eye. The guy was younger than I was. He had on a short-sleeved shirt that allowed him to sport a pair of very well developed arms. The shirt and the jeans were quite clean and in good shape. He had a spring in his step as he paced his chosen corner seeking handouts. He didn't have the world-weary look of someone who was tired of fighting to survive. Even given Cara Michele’s admonition that mental illness isn’t always evident, this guy looked too much like he’d gone for an evening constitutional and decided to pick up a little spare change from passers-by.

Yeah. I did pass by. Without looking back. So did a lot of other people.

I know that sounds cruel. That guy may well have needed help after all. But there was just too much evidence to the contrary. In the end, I stuck to my usual criterion: if he was in that good a shape, he could’ve been out doing better for himself. After all, if a fat old curmudgeon like me can stumble into work every day, I know a strapping buck like that can too.

------------------------
*Homelessness can disrupt lives much more than most people know. We're still taking care of business that got postponed from last February that we're just now able to pick back up on. Those who've been without a roof overhead for far longer no doubt come back to total train-wrecks of lives.

The Security of Mundanity

2006-10-04T18:32:00.000-04:00

Been away awhile (well, duh! what else is new...) Sorry about that. But at least I know why I've been so absent: I'm just plain burned out..

Had to happen eventually; our lives have been mostly on fast-forward for the past month or so as we try and cram ten times the amount of information and business into half the time frame we've become accustomed to dealing with. Even though we now have use of the Trusty Steed*, the time just seems to slip away.

Paradoxically, we've also been contending with a growing ennui, which is probably to be expected having returned to a sense of normalcy bordering on mundanity.

And yet, I'll take the boring mundane over the "excitement" of being homeless any day.

----------------------
*It's still going, even after that business with the transmission and the fact that it still badly needs a tune-up. Still, it's the toughest little car I've ever owned. Even my old '63 Chevy Malibu I owned in the late '80s (may it rest in peace) would've given up the ghost by now. See, this is why I prefer Chevys over any other car (sorry, Ford fans!)

Quickies Redux

2006-09-13T20:38:00.000-04:00

Just a few quick hits...

Finally moved all our stuff out of the storage unit* and am in the process of getting everything either put away or thrown away. In the meanwhile, the apartment looks like Hurricane Katrina and her little sister Bebe swept through. But at least Ness has all her toys back, and the moths left Mama's clothes alone.

Missed an important task force here in town the other day (due to the fun-and-games of the previous paragraph.) A homelessness task force met not too terribly far from the apartment the other night. I wish I'd known about it so I could report on it, but I'm sure Cara Michele has been all over it. There'll be another soon in High Point. I'm currently negotiating with the Trusty Steed to see if we can make that one.

Apparently, even Paradise has its dark side; just take a look.

--------------------------
*Had to do it quickly (seems we have to do that a lot lately...) I didn't have the money for another month, and the manager, after first telling me I had a week, suddenly turned around and told me a day into the move that I only had two days. Gee, think I could've used that information sooner?

Get Thee Behind Me, Murphy

2006-09-01T19:19:00.000-04:00

Had a bit of a scare morning before last. I was on my way to work in my Trusty Steed, and waiting for the stoplight at the entrance to our apartment complex to change. When it did, the two cars ahead cleared on, and I pressed the gas pedal to do the same. The Steed made the customary "vroom" sound, but curiously enough, made no forward progress. In fact, we rolled backward a few feet.

Hmm. Okay, make sure the car's in gear. Check. Make sure I wasn't riding on the parking brake. Check. Make sure I was indeed awake and not dreaming. No tornadoes, swimming cats, or Dolly Parton wearing red fishnet stockings* around, so, check.

Tried the gas pedal again. Customary "vroom" sound. Rolled backward a few feet.

Now, fighting a growing panic, I went through it again. Gear. Brakes. Dolly. "Vroom." Backward. My mind raced through a host of possibilities, but I knew it would boil down to one inescapable conclusion; the worst possible thing that could happen to one's car: transmission failure.

A car pulled up first behind me, then next to me. The couple within offered to help (risking their own car in the process, as they were in the oncoming lane), but I waved them on. My first thought was to get out of traffic, and I didn't want these nice folks to become traffic statistics trying to help me. Making sure there were no more cars coming up behind, I let the Steed roll backward into a driveway, then opened the door, and applied my Mighty Thews** to the task of pointing the thing back down the way I came. before I did, I glanced up the street where I had stalled out and saw a huge reddish slick about a gallon in diameter spreading on the pavement.

Oh, boy. Not good; not good at all.

Luckily, that part of the road sloped down then back up, so I was able to coast to a stop about halfway back to the apartment, a few minutes' walk away. Then I turned full-time to the task of finding out what was wrong. Having checked all the conditions I could without going under the hood, I finally climbed out and did so, not knowing what I'd see (I'm pretty good at diagnosing the Steed's problems, but I don't know nothin' about no transmissions.) To my shock, a hose next to the radiator had worked loose, and was gushing transmission fluid!

Quickly killing the engine, I took a closer look at the hose coupling. There seemed to be no damage; the hose and its clamp had simply worked loose. Whew! If that's all it was, maybe there was hope yet. I quickly called in to work and told them not to expect me for several hours, if at all, then headed for the house to get a screwdriver (why I had none in the trunk, I don't know, but I needed to change into clothes I didn't mind getting dirty, too.

A few quick screw-turns later, I had the hose securely clamped back on, but there was a nagging feeling that this may be the tip of the iceberg. What if there were transmission damage? Shaking the sound of ringing cash registers out of my head, I headed down to the nearest convenience store to use the last of my money on a bottle of transmission fluid.

Along the way, the Beast decided it was an opportune time for a psychic attack: Hah! You waited and fought for over a year-and-a-half to get that car back, and now look. Walking again, not two weeks later! And you know you'll never get up enough money for transmission repairs or another car! Y'know, most poor people are only car repair away from eviction or bankruptcy. And you don't even have money for the repair! Why don't you just give up and head for the bus stop now?

This time, however, things were a little different. Instead of withering under the psychic assault and throwing myself a pity party, I started looking at the fortunates of the situation. One, it had happened near the house. Two, it hadn't happened on a more distant or heavily-traveled road. Three, it was something I could see, and therefore reach and deal with. Four, I'm still in good enough shape to walk, and even run if I have to, and I've memorized the bus routes and schedules. Five, so what? I like my little car, but if I have to give it up, I'll somehow get another.

That last stopped the Beast cold. I had done something to him I'd never done before: Gotten Philosophical. And you know what? It felt good. It actually felt good to simply say "Y'know what? So what?" and not feel any shame or anxiety.

With the space that little mental manuever bought me, I started planning. I laid out several scenarios, including the worst-case one: how to pay for transmission repairs or replacement if necessary. By the time I got the transmission fluid and got back, I had Plans A, B and C ready to go. While the Beast was still stunned at this turn of events, I boxed him up in his corner and gave him a few psychic smacks upside the head for daring to come out.

I know, most American adults can do this instinctively, but I've always been a little slow on the uptake. Understand, even as recently as a year ago, had something of this magnitude happened, I would have spent the better part of a week railing at unjust Fate and cursing an uncaring Universe for my bad luck. But this time, I basically just shrugged my shoulders.

With the bottle of fluid, another half bottle I had in the trunk, and the help of the driver who'd stopped to help me previously (he'd dropped his wife off at work and returned), I got the Steed back to the house. Another day, a trip to the Plasma Center and two more quarts of fluid later, the Steed could make short experimental trips, with just minor gear slippage. Today, I dumped in one final quart of fluid -- the max the Steed can contain -- and made it to work and back.

It still might have some minor transmission damage, but at least I can make short trips to work, the store and the repair shop, if necessary until I can get things squared away. But the most important thing was I've finally learned to roll with the punch while coming up with a Plan B. It's a great feeling.

----------------
*Yes, all of these things have appeared in my dreams at various times. Yes, they probably all have some deep id-driven meaning. Yes, I need a good shrink...

**Okay, I'm exaggerating a bit. But that's why I perfer a mid-size sedan to the minivans I used to own. They're a lot easier to push if need be.

Escape from the Cult of Personality

2006-08-29T20:08:00.000-04:00

Well, I hadn't planned on posting today, but after I read jnccarol's comments to the last post, I felt the need to defend myself. To wit:

jnccarol said...
You know,
you've gone on long enough without comment in this vein. Who made you arbiter of
morality? The sanctimonious tone of your ranting is disappointing. After all
you've been through, you still don't get it. It's not up to you to decide who's
'good' and who's not.You've maligned people unfairly here. I remember a recent
rant about Brad Pitt the day after I had read he was in Africa. I'm certainly not
gonna argue that Paris Hilton deserves regard or respect, but your tone is just
mean.

First, jnccarol, thanks for reading and commenting. Rest assured, however, that Paris isn't my usual target; just the one that I happened to read about after meeting with all those dedicated, hard-working people at Joseph's House. A target of convenience, if you will.

No, I'm not an arbiter of morality. It's not up to me who's good or bad -- the position of God is already filled by a very qualified individual. In point of fact, I ain't a saint. I'm not a Good Person. I've done and seen things that would make your hair fall out. In clumps. Things that you'll never read about here. I'm definitely not qualified to say who's Naughty or Nice. But I know self-absorbed, overindulgent, churlish behavior when I see it; the kind of behavior that always makes the headlines. The kind of behavior that makes you wonder if the perpetrators have had any positive adult influence at all. And it's a damned shame that no one will speak out against such behavior more. Or more loudly.

I just think it's sad and not a little stupid that we have millions more teachers, cops, firefighters, soldiers, clergy, builders, charitable volunteers and others of good will and clear vision that we never hear about, but a minority of vain, spoiled brats that we can't get away from.

And lest you think I'm down on all celebrities, take note: there are many that actually use their exalted status to help make the world a better place. Paul McCartney and Al Gore stump for the environment. Bruce Springsteen traditionally gives large donations to charities of the towns he plays. Johnny Carson was known as a very generous donor. There was an NBA player recently (I wish I could remember his name off the top of my head) that made the news for giving a very large sum for homelessness efforts*. Trouble is, he was only mentioned once, for doing something good. But Paris' press rolls on and on.

Meanwhile, there are teachers in Ness' school that never get any thanks of recognition for helping make my daughter so smart, unless Mama and I as parents thank them personally. Sad, that.

In a perfect world, the cult of personality would pit its power against society's ills and makes people's lives a little better, instead of sucking their adulation so dry there's nothing left for the true role models of society.

That, too, is sad.

--------------------------
*I wanted to blog about this guy, but I got tied up and couldn't get to a Web-capable computer.

Meanwhile, Back in Paris...

2006-08-27T17:15:00.000-04:00

On the heels of my last post, I thought we'd take a look at the flip side of the coin.

Hear of a chick named Paris Hilton? Sure you have. Wish I hadn't. The News & Record featured a story on her Friday about her efforts to be Taken Seriously as an entrepreneur and an "artist" (her word, certainly not mine*).

Having read everything of substance and import in the paper, I took a moment to scan the article for some mention in all of that self-hype of any good this woman has done for society, particularly the poor. Hmm, mention of her expensive cars. Mention of her expensive furs. Mention of how she hasn't taken any money from her rich family (yeah, right!) But no mention of donating to charities, or volunteering any of that expanse of time to helping out, or even serving on a charitable foundation. No mention of how she hasn't even looked down long enough to notice the poor people she's walking all over every day. No mention of her even toning down the massive juggernaut of her own ego and self-promotion.

In other words, typical Paris Hilton: spoiled and selfish.

So why am I letting this get under my skin? After all, I wasn't surprised to see this creature not helping wnyone other than herself, and there are a lot of Paris Hiltons out there. Why should this bother me so?

Becuase it absolutely kills me to see people like the GIHN volunteers, the people at Mt. Zion, and the people toiling in the hot sun at a site for Habitat for Humanity breaking their backs to help others and getting no publicity for it while spoiled brats like Paris Hilton constantly pump hours and millions into inflating their own superciliousness, and the media won't shut up about them. Frankly, it makes me sick.

I suppose it's just as well. It ensures that there are always normal people like myself**, Cara Michele and Kevin Barbieux ready to stick a pin in the zeppelin of such overinflated self-importance.

-----------------------------
*I oughta know; I am one.

** Well, relatively speaking...

Joseph's House

2006-08-27T16:46:00.000-04:00

In East Greensboro, a section of town sadly long used to being bereft of attention and hope, some of each landed here today in spades.

Joseph's House, a faith-based organization dedicated to helping homeless young men, opened up a house under the auspices of Mt. Zion Baptist Church. Mama and I went to the grand opening, where the house directors and other officials from the church gave tours and discussed how Joseph's House would fit into the overall efforts against homelessness in the Triad.

As I looked around the house, which is an older style brick home set in a neighborhood that still showed some of it's 1950s-1960s pedigree, I marveled at how nice everything looked. The renovations, decorations and setup were all very well done. The kitchen was spectacular, and made me envy having one like it*. According to one of the program directors, the initial capacity is 8 youths, with possibility for expansion later. The church plans to open a like setup for young women later on in another house.

A look through the brochure I got gives a good overview of the services Joseph's House plans to provide: not just shelter and food, but life skills training, counseling and case management, job training and substance abuse treatment and counseling referrals, and other such services intended to keep these young men from falling back into the hell of homelessness. I asked the directors if they had linked to community services, and of course they have, with close communication with such entities as Guilford JobLink and GTCC.

But obviously, Joseph's House (I never did discover the source of the name) provides something more. Hope, yes it provides that. Shelter and a hot meal too. But the real provision came to me as I was wandering about the house: dignity. It's tragic that any youth in America has to be homeless at all, but if it is to be, then at least there are places like Joseph's House that aren't one of the homeless-shelter-horror-stories we always hear about, but clean, safe, decent and able to help. Places that treat you like a human being who's going through a tough time instead of a lower life form that dared to slither in the back door. Places that treat you with dignity.

More importantly, it's one more front in the fight against homelessness, and a gap that has long needed to be filled. There is a pressing need not only in the Triad, but all over America for temporary housing for homeless singles. While lots of attention is being paid to homeless families -- as well it should -- we should not forget the young men and women who find themselves also fallen through the weave of the American tapestry onto the cold, hard pavement of homelessness and who subsequently have to sometimes do the unspeakable to survive.

As Martha Stewart is wont to say: It's a Good Thing.

Suffice it to say, not only did Mt. Zion Baptist step up to the plate, it swung and connected. Hard.

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*I still wouldn't like cooking, but at least I'd be in a nice setup...

Requiem for Pluto

2006-08-25T17:34:00.000-04:00

Very tired today (on my feet -- literally -- for over seven hours) so just a real short post. Kinda bummed, too: read in the paper this morning that Pluto is no longer a planet.*

I know, it has nothing to do with poverty in the Triad. But for a space buff from way back, it kinda hurts, y'know. I followed the debate on whether or not to demote the little guy; I was pulling for him.

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*By the by, that's not me being quoted in the article, although seeing the moon, Saturn and Jupiter through a telescope still gives me goosebumps. Best show in the universe, and it's free.

Situation Normal

2006-08-21T19:43:00.000-04:00

Over the past few months, we’ve been slowly putting our lives back together, and with that has come my grappling of the concept of the benchmark for “normal” is. In other words, when could we consider things as having gotten back to normal?

I’ve discovered, to some dismay, that the line between normal and abnormal keeps shifting in response to our circumstances. I suppose in a way, that’s a Good Thing because it keeps me from being too strict, but I’m a creature of boundaries. I like to know what is and what is not.

When we were homeless, what I deemed would be “normal” was when we got our own living space and a TV to watch. When we got those things, “normal” became when I would get the car back and we’d be able to conduct business, look for work and shop like everybody else. Now that I have my Trusty Steed back, “normal” has shifted again, to securing a better job and maybe having the cable turned back on*. No doubt once I get those things, “normal” will redefine itself yet again.

Maybe it’s just a manifestation of my own greed. I hope not. If losing my home has taught me anything it’s to be thankful for what you have; it could all go away in an instant.

Still, I’d like to hit some semblance of normal, so I can finally know when to say “Okay, that’s enough; I’m done chasing. I just want to maintain what we have.”

Maybe I should just consider the Big Three -- home, car and job -- the benchmark and consider everything else gravy. But then there are school supplies, emergency savings, replacement costs, repair costs, and the like. And we’ll need an Internet connection at some point to more efficiently carry job searches and research. And Mike’s preparing for college, meaning he’ll need financial aid and a laptop. Ness is growing at a prodigious rate, so clothing is a factor. And I’d like to start setting aside money to buy my own house one day. And so forth and so on…

And I admit to a little gadget envy; I’d like to lay my hands on an MP3 player. Maybe LCD monitors for the computers.

And all of the above takes foldin’ money.

Well, at least there is a line, now. I guess I’ll just watch it shift awhile longer and trust that I’ll know that I’ve crossed over into Normal when I see Abnormal back over my shoulder. Whenever that is.

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*That needs to happen before Battlestar Galactica airs its season premiere, or I’m gonna be real upset…

Potpourri

2006-08-21T19:28:00.000-04:00

Alright, I ran out of ideas for catchy post titles. Don't have a cow...

• Avolokitesvara submitted an excellent essay in the Comments section of "An Earnest Young Man". I happen to agree with most of it, but even if you don't, check it out. It's a good read, and there might be food for thought in there.

• Over the past few days, the News & Record has published some articles dealing with the homeless here in the Triad. I have to give them their props; they're all over this homeless thing (including giving Your Author his 15 minutes...) I haven't been able to link to them , but check them out. One ran yesterday, 8/20; the other ran last week and includes the latest homeless count for summer (742 here in Guilford County; a low number, but people move around more in warm weather, neh? So they're harder to count).

• I want to take a moment and mention the friends I made long before we were homeless and/or poor. they're the most excellent bunch. You've all had the privilege of meeting Jay -- who years ago put up with my attempts to kill his role-playing characters every week (hee, hee!) -- but there are many others I can't name due to lack of time and permission. They say that no man is an island, and my longtime bunch made sure that I was always fimrly a peninsula. Thanks, guys! (And I haven't forgotten those loans; I promise.)

To See Time Fly

2006-08-21T19:20:00.000-04:00

Holy Moley! Has it really been a week and a half already?!

At least this time I know where the time's gone. Since I got my Trusty Steed back, I've been running around getting all the things done that would've been impossible to get done on the bus. yes, gas prices are through the roof (actually, over the past few days they've dropped considerably -- I hope it's not the calm before the storm) but it's such a rapturous feeling knowing that the distance between points A and B is only a matter of a press of the gas pedal.

Still, I do feel guilty sometimes. I'm only contributing to the traffic and pollution around here; and the Steed uses the type of fuel that makes al-Qaeda's accountants rub their bloodstained hands together with glee. Wish I could put an electric or multifuel engine into it, but that's a notion that'll have to live on Fantasy Island awhile longer.