Can't We All Just Get Along?

Conflicts. What’s the deal with them? We all know they are inevitable so why are we always surprised when they occur? Maybe we think we are immune because we are of the utmost moral integrity? Maybe we feel that we treat people how we want to be treated and that definitely couldn’t cause a conflict, right? Wrong.
I think a lot of conflicts between students have to deal with someone perceiving something to be one way when they really were (or weren’t) another. “She said I don’t know how to coordinate.” “She was looking at my boyfriend.” “He told me I was weak and didn’t deserve to have a girlfriend as pretty as mine.” “S/he said I was/looked/acted/sounded gay.” Why the conflict? Do you feel that you need to defend your sexual preference? Are you struggling in that area? Did the person call you out on something that you already knew was the truth? Come on!
I used to hate it when my older sister would want to have a talk with me. These talks always circled around the idea of why I had no friends. Basically, when it came down to it: I was just too darn mean! There really isn’t a nice way to tell someone that they are mean and unpleasant to be around- if you think about it. So those discussions would always end with me in tears and vowing to “never talk to her again.” But the hard part was that she was right.
So, why all the drama?! I don’t think it is hard to have a peaceable talk with the people with whom we are in a conflict with. But one of the people, or groups, in the situation has to be able to be mature enough to respectfully engage in a non-confrontational discussion. The key word: RESPECTFUL. In most every aspect of society, we have to give respect in order to receive it in return.
In the words of Rodney King, “Can’t we all just get along?”

Origins of Black History Month

Alert! For all of you who have been longing to try a new type of hair care product: all black hair care items are on sale at Fry’s! Yep. You heard it here first. This is an area of excitement for me, since most places don’t celebrate Black History Month (like they do with Saint Patrick’s Day, Valentine’s Day, etc) these are the final days to get hair oil, oil sheen, chemical straighteners and the like for up to $1 off each!
Is anyone curious how Black History Month came to be?
Well, Carter G. Woodson started it all. Woodson was a mine worker who wanted to get an education. When he was 20 years old, he enrolled in high school. He was a natural learner but he noticed a reoccurring theme in the history lessons in school: there was a lack of successful black Americans stories being told. Instead there was a blatant trend of inferiority where black were concerned; African Americans were portrayed as laborers without the capabilities to make a contribution to society.
Carter completed high school and went on to earn his doctorate degree from Harvard. This is when he channeled all of his energy into rewriting the history books. In 1915, he established the Association for Study of Negro Life and History. And in 1926, Carter G. Woodson launched Black History week to bring national attention to the contributions of Black people in America throughout history.

Not All Black People Can Sing (part 2)

Did I say that I have a confession to make? I do; but first I want to tell you another singing story.

So, last week at work there were three birthdays (I know, right? I was so excited). We have one new teacher that wasn’t at our Christmas party the last time and she had no idea about my happy birthday song singing ability. So the talented, multi tasking, always on top of things office manager informed me that it was a student’s 18th birthday. This student just so happened to be in the classroom of the teacher that doesn’t know about my gift. So, I calmly walk into the science classroom. The students are working diligently: asking each other questions, talking. I go up to the teacher and inform her that it is the student’s birthday and ask her if I can have permission to interrupt the class to lead them in a chorus of the happy birthday song. She allows it and then comes the announcement:

“Hey, guys! I just wanted to let you all know that today is ‘Sylvester’s’ 18th birthday. If you don’t mind, can you help me sing him happy birthday?” One of the things that made this moment so pleasing was that this student prides himself on making people feel uncomfortable by saying random, off the wall comments. He didn’t expect what was coming.

I open my mouth to sing. All the kids are laughing and smiling. Sylvester isn’t sure that he wants this to happen. He threatens to leave the room but he is blocked in… no escape.

“Happy Birthday to you!!!!.....” I sing the song with a little more than my normal flair. This time, I am inspired by Mariah Carey. You know, how she points her index finger in the air when she is going for a high note? And her voice goes all over the place reminding everyone of her ability to reach crazy high notes and hold her breath for ions? Ya, I did one of those. It was hilarious. It was a hit.
Sylvester turned three shades of red with embarrassment. He was put on the spot and he had no idea of my singing abilities. The kids were falling off their chairs laughing because they had no idea of the wretched sounds that would be escaping my mouth; they’d assumed the sounds would be sweet.

My confession:
I enjoy singing. It is a great feeling to be able to lift my spirit with a song. I sing for the Lord at my church. People don’t cringe when they see me on stage because, for the most part, they enjoy my singing. God enjoys my singing. So, what I have to confess is: this black girl can sing.

Not All Black People Can Sing (part 1)

I love singing the Happy Birthday song. When I am at a restaurant, I take pleasure in belting it out in my loudest, most obnoxious, deaf tone “singing” voice. I find it entertaining- my husband PRETENDS he hates it.
One year at a Christmas party for work (for political correctness, it was called a Holiday party) we went to the Pinnacle Peak Steakhouse- you know, the one where they cut off your tie -if you’re dumb enough to wear one- no matter how expensive it is? It was a great night because that night there was at least two tables where people were celebrating birthdays.
So the staff brought out the cake aglow with candles. They began to sing: “Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear___! Happy B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y T-O Y-O-O-O-U-U-U!!!”
So I began “singing” with them. My coworkers were looking at me strangely but laughing just the same. I’m sure they were hoping that I wasn’t singing in my best voice. Wes, my husband, tried to cover my mouth to keep the wretched sounds from escaping… to no avail. When we were done, everyone applauded (in hindsight I realize that they were probably just glad the wailing had ended).
When we were almost ready to head out for the night, I noticed the wait staff again walking towards me with a cake and candles. I wonder whose birthday it is? I soon realized they were coming up to me. My coworkers and husband told the wait staff that it was my birthday so they could “serenade” me with the birthday song as I had done to them all night. Long story short, it was very funny and we still laugh about it to this day.
…to be continued.
Stay tuned for next time for another singing story.

Black Don't Crack!

Black people don’t normally undergo: tanning, Botox procedures permanent makeup (to name a few). One of the reasons may be because, as a whole, we are too scared of what we will look like if the procedure doesn’t turn out like we’d hoped. There are a few horror stories out there of some facial infections that people got after paying all that money to get these things done. For me, the risks exponentially outweigh the benefits.
One day, some of my colleagues were talking about Botox. Someone has a “Botox lady” and was thinking of having a Botox party. (If you’re confused, a Botox party is like a pampered chef party except the only thing for sale is injections of Botox). We were getting all excited about getting together and having this party. So they asked me, “Sam, if we were to have a Botox party would you want to come?” Of course I would want to come! “Sure. But I won’t be getting any Botox,” I state.
So here’s my reasoning. I won’t be getting any Botox because I won’t be needing any Botox. There’s this saying/colloquialism that states it simply: ‘Black don’t crack!’ That means, black people in general do not get procedure like these wrinkle removing ones and others because our skin doesn’t succumb to wrinkles under “normal wear and tear.”
My friend stated one of the differences between white women and black women perfectly after she understood what I meant. She texted me about an hour later and said, “I guess now I know why they call white people crackers!!!” This is coming from my friend who is white! I frickin’ laughed my butt off the whole way home.

Disclaimer: This is a true story and is not meant to offend any person. If you have a question about black people, post a question under the comments section.

Working in the Real World

I don’t know how I’m gonna cope when I have to get a ‘real job.’ I love my job at the school. Everyone knows that I love my school kids. But I was thinking the other day that this is the first time that I’ve had a job that I love going to everyday (it’s corny, but it’s true!) How am I going to survive in a world where I have to work all year long with no scheduled breaks? I really don’t know.

Besides that, all the teachers at work are awesome! It’s so nice after a good day (and a hard one) to go into the office/lunch room/conference room/health aide office (we have a really small school), take a deep breath and know that everything is gonna be okay because I have these people in the fight with me. Really. At the table, we laugh about things; we vent; we talk about stuff that’s happening in our lives outside of school; what’s going on in our student’s lives. What’s crazy is that we are all different but in many ways, we are all the same.

This is a situation where I am the “token black person” and I don’t mind. But it’s my fault anyway. When we are talking, someone will say something and I will voice the opinion for ‘all black people.’ Really? Ya, really: as if I know what every black person is thinking. I can’t figure out why; but it’s what I do. The funny thing is that I placed myself in this predicament completely on my own. For some reason, it’s okay when I put myself ‘there’ but not okay when I feel that I am “thrown” in there. Hmmm… I think I’m gonna have to think about that.