Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Free Free, Set Her Free



I have let my indoor cat go outside after seven years of capitivity.

Maybe it's the fact that she's been barfing and whining all over the apt, or the fact that my toddler can't help but smother her with hugs, cover her with dishrags, or pull her tail, but the cat has seemed listless and annoying lately. I have tried to pawn her off on many a friend, especially since the advent of Baby #2's approach, but there are no takers. We are stuck with her.

Xena, the Warrior Princess, was my good friend Julia's cat whom I offered to babysit right after I moved to NYC almost ten years ago while Julia moved herself from NC to NM, got settled and situated, etc. During these months, Xena became my child and Julia, being ever-so-wise, saw this and let me keep the Warrior Princess. But once I had a child the cat went by the wayside. I forget to feed her, she doesn't get pet much...it's a sad state of affairs and I feel responsible.

So, when the weather turned pretty and the green yard called, I figured, "What the hell..." I dug out her collar and opened the screen door to the great wide yonder.

It's been pretty fun to watch her sleep in the sun, explore the yard, disappear next door and come running back when a feral cat chases her pathetic indoor cat-behind...I mean, she's already 13...what does she have to lose at this point?

I swear, she's a new cat, too. She's not as whiny, she's got some new sass--it's like kitty botox or a kitty spa treatment. Xena's got her groove back, ladies and gentlemen. Just wanted to let you know.

*not a photo of Xena, but if she could, I bet she would give me the kitty finger

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Self-Segregation



An old student of mine posted this Eddie Murphy video clip on Facebook and it stirred up all these old memories in my head of one of my first best friends, Ellen Nyree Stewart (Ny).

Ny and I met in kindergarten. I'm not going to say we met at the sandbox b/c that sounds too cliche, but I think maybe we really did meet at the sandbox. We met the day we all came in for a trial half-day of school and were inseparable throughout elementary school. She lived a decent walk from my house, and next door to super-cute twins Billy and Ricky Malkowicz who were two years older than us. I always went to her house to play. We'd play this one game called "wild pig" where we'd hide under the end tables on either end of their couch and pretend we were in a jungle and a wild pig was after us. We would have to run to the bathroom where the waterfall was to secure water in little perfume bottles to survive. Of course, on each trip to the waterfall the wild pig would emerge and we'd run screaming hysterically back to our tables. God...the imagination of children is unbelievable.

Besides our friendship, Ny and her family were my first education of African-American America. It was at Ny's house that I watched Eddie Murphy on Saturday Night Live and his other comedy skits (the ice cream one from above that I still remember verbatim), listened to Chaka Khan's "I Feel for You," and watched Ny's mom do her hair, applying grease to her scalp (which for someone who still has perpetually greasy hair was ultimately confusing to me, even with her mom's explanation that White folks have too much grease in their hair and Black folks don't have enough). At one of Ny's birthday parties, her mom took me aside and asked me if I was okay. Confused, I said I was and asked why. She said, "Because you're the only white girl here." Damn! I hadn't even noticed. I did notice after that, but it didn't really matter.

Not until sixth grade. In middle school, suddenly we all self-segregated. I can still visualize the cafeteria clearly and the table where Ny sat with the Black kids, the table where the metal/slutty kids sat, the table where the preppy kids sat (me)...Ny and I just stopped talking. Our friendship ended without any official closure, as T.S. Eliot would say, "not with a bang, but a whimper."

But my question is, how did that self-segregation happen? It wasn't discussed, orchestrated, or anything. On day one of middle school, that's just where we all fell. WHY?????

I have searched for Ny on the internet, Facebook, all over but I can't find her. I feel she gave me something during those early years of my life that still resonates in me--the knowledge that there can be common ground with those who might, on the exterior, seem different from me. When I look up in my classroom and realize that the majority of my workday is spent being the only White person in the room, I wonder if--deep down--my comfort with this has anything to do with my early friendship with Ny. Who knows...

When I was little, I had the famous "I heart NY" pin on my little girl purse. I had no idea it meant I love New York. I thought it meant "I love Ny." And I did. She was a great friend.



(Note: One of my daughter's best friends at daycare now is a little Black girl named Anaya whom Alexandra calls "Nya" and I can't help but see a repeat in history...)

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Why I Teach, #3

After posting yesterday about the nose-breaking bloody fight my second year teaching, I was on Facebook last night and this handsome young man came up on the right-hand side under "Suggestions."

I squinted at the black and white photo of this now adult and was like, "Is that the kid I blogged about yesterday?" That fight was in the Spring of 2002 and my memory has been compromised by pregnancies, nursing, lots more school, age...but I thought it was him. I was able to snoop on his page and saw that he graduated in 2003 (right date) and some of his other photos looked like the student I once knew. I sent him a message, saying, "I know I know you from Cobble, were you the kid that got in the big fight with Dennis on the first day of the semester?" And this is the response I got:

Ms. Ungemah!, Wooooow!! facebook is the best!!! Don't blame motherhood for that,they say it makes the memory sharper. And yes that was me i that big pointless fight. Never got the chance to Sorry i really wanted to be in your class.... Sorry :-). And Your baby girl is so cute! Im so happy for you.
I'm doing great, by the way im a photographer these days. Glad to see there are still GREAT teacher's around!!! And congrats for getting your doctorate(I Know you got to write so I'm saying it early) pls. keep in touch

Best wishes


Sometimes the universe sends these old students back into my life to remind me of what is good in my career. In how many other professions do you get an apology from an unruly client seven years after the fact with the satisfaction that that client has grown into a better person? I am swelling with happiness for this guy right now. He's done good.

(BTW, his message totally changed the vibe of my morning, which started with intense barfing b/c I didn't eat a snack before going to bed last night--thanks Vincent!)

Monday, April 20, 2009

School Shootings


My second year teaching, first day of the Spring semester, a student I had in the Fall and knew well walked to the trashcan to throw out some candy wrappers, took a right, and headed down a row of desks. Another kid who was in my class for the first time but I knew him already, stood up. Next thing the boys* were fighting, they knocked over a bookshelf, blood was everywhere. The students laughed, they thought it was play fighting until the blood shot out like a sprinkler then they all moved away to watch and cheer. I got security; it took five guards to break these young men up. My entire class was dismissed to the cafeteria b/c my room had to be bleached down by the janitors due to the copious amounts of blood. The latex gloves I was advised to keep in my classroom came in handy that day.

*boys = over 6 feet tall muscular 16-17 year olds

As I was hustling the students out the door and trying to maintain my composure, I started to cry. Not crazy cry, but a few tears slid out as I desperately tried to maintain my composure.

The next day the students filed in and heckled me relentlessly for my tears. "What, Miss, you ain't never seen a fight before?" Ummmmmm, no, not in real life. They were ASTONISHED, seriously shocked that I had not seen another person get beaten up in real life before. They started going on and on about the shit they'd seen, and it was scary. "Miss, you ain't never seen someone get pistol-whippped?" Ummmmmm....I have never even seen a gun before. They were shocked. I was shocked. And we both sat there in shock of our differences. Key word: shock.

But we continued to talk and I told them my fears--if it's okay to break some one's nose in class, is it okay to shoot them, too? And from this conversation came a theory that has held up year-to-year in my classes, even as our population has shifted and got a little more "urban" (as educational literature likes to call poor people of color in the city):

The students explained that they keep the street on the street. That beating someone up in school is one thing, but pulling knife or a gun on them is another. A lot of them admitted to bringing knives to school daily not to fight in school, but for the purpose of commuting home to the projects after dark on sketchy trains and on sketchier streets. They all said that their guns stayed at home, always. "Street is street, miss, you can't change that..." but they had NO desire to bring the real throes of urban life into their school.

And that's how it has remained. In my 8 years of teaching in this high school, we have had one knife pulled in a fight and one incident where a kid bought a gun to school (to show it off to his friends, but some other kids saw it and thought that was uncool and anonymously snitched--very unlike our population). That might seem like a lot to you, but we literally have fist fights 3-5 times a week? Maybe more? Considering the number of fights/violence we have, the fact that weapons are left out says something to me. The students honestly do want that element of the street to stay in the street.

And that is what I think is different between kids who grow up amid violence and kids in the suburbs who decide to go shoot up their school/university. For my students, yes, violence is glamorized in a lot of ways, but it is also their daily reality. For the Columbine young men or the VA Tech guy, that violence was a fantasy world that they sought to make a reality and gain notoriety for. Fantasy: reality--therein lies the difference to me.

I hope and pray to the universe that I can make it through a career of teaching without ever witnessing a school shooting, but each time I teach "Bowling for Columbine" and re-watch the school footage of those young men on their warpath, each time I hear of a teacher trying to save his/her students in such a crisis, I revise my escape plan from my classroom and hope that the street stays on the street.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Exodus of Alexandra



In the spirit of Moses, Jesus, and Bob Marley, Alexandra freed herself from her baby jail this Easter Sunday. She didn't land with that proverbial thump that folks warn you about, but instead hoisted herself out of her crib with the skills of a refined cat burglar and hung out in her room, coughing and playing, until discovered by Adam who then made this movie.

Big weekend for baby girl: stopped the naptime/nighttime bottle, moved up to size 6 Seventh Generation diapers (the last size), peed on the side of the potty (second time), and fell in love with sea lions. Wow. She just blows my mind.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Old Photos, Older Lori

I have been demolishing our basement in a recent purge. This apartment has a frightening amount of storage space. When Kat moved out, we made fun of her ability to fill an entire moving truck--to the point in which her mattress had to be strapped onto the back of the truck--and then we moved into her apartment and immediately filled up every crevice. Oops. Shouldn't have laughed so quickly.

Call it pregnancy, or spring, or dreaming of a different space, but I'm in the mood to purge. We have a sauna (yes, you read that correctly) filled with plastic storage containers of stuff--photo albums, all of Alexandra's clothing from 3 months to present, baby stuff to keep for #2 (car seat, bouncy seat)...A lot of it necessary, but a lot could go.

I have successfully purged all my doctoral binders and articles, and today I went on to purge my photographs and negatives. These photographs were taken during undergrad, mostly during several documentary photography classes at UNC or Duke, with a smattering of fun rolls of parties, folks drunk and smoking, and bands playing. These photo classes eventually landed me my job at the Center for Documentary Studies, landed me one of my best friends, Julia, and landed me two giant plastic bins of work prints, negatives, and slides that I have carted around for the past 12 years.

As I sorted through these images, I was thrown by several things:

*Those kids I photographed 14 or so years ago...they are adults now. REAL adults.
*I am still friends with a lot of folks in those photos, and that makes me happy.
*I am not friends with a lot of folks in those photos, and that makes me sad.
*We all looked A LOT younger then!
*I was really into the dramatic shot and more dramatic photo title. Kinda ridiculous.
*I miss having an artistic outlet...I can't wait to write and defend this dissertation and then I'm going to start sewing.

A few things I couldn't purge and will be filed away until I purge again, but about 95% of it ended in the trash (I already have my faves printed and framed). I don't really feel sad about tossing them at all...Am I a grown up now?

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Eff all you Slope Haters

I know the title of this post is not a direct quote from Biggie Smalls, but I mean it to be heard in his voice from the beginning of the song "Juicy."

You know, it's one thing for my students (who mostly live in Bed-Stuy, Brownsville, Fort Greene, East New York, Sunset Park, etc.) to hate on Park Slope. It's another thing for those who lived in this neighborhood 20+ years ago to bemoan the current Slope situation. But one thing I cannot stand is the insane proliferation of writing of other 25-40 year old yuppies/hipsters/parent/pseduo-intellectuals that take a dump on this neighborhood and its parents. The recent post on Gawker just pushed my buttons.

Hey--maybe I'm on overly sensitive pregnant lady right now (yes, totally fulfilling a Park Slope stereotype), but there are scores of us in this neighborhood that are struggling to live here b/c we love the park, the playgrounds, and the Food Coop. And I don't mean struggling like, "Oh my god, my bonus was only equal to half my salary this year!" and I don't mean struggling like, "I'm going to have to sell my food stamps for rent money," but struggling in the average sense of the word. Struggling to pay rent, daycare, and student loans...buying used crap off Park Slope Parents b/c there no way in hell we can afford a second round of baby goods with an unpaid maternity leave from the Dept of Ed...not vacationing at all--you know--the struggles of the middle to middle-upper class. We are still yuppies in comparison to others, but that doesn't mean we're all yuppie scum.

I never realized the wealth that was in the community until I became a mom and met a lot of folks whom I would have otherwise never talked to. There's something about having your tit out in a coffee shop that brings about a certain camaraderie. But damn...once the talking began it was like I lived on a different planet from some of these women. I had lived in the Slope for eight years already, but I had no idea there were honest-to-goodness rich folk here. I guess I thought we were all renters, teachers, knee deep in debt, and paying for our sushi with hopes of a better tomorrow. I stand corrected. There are rich people here. And some of them are jerks. But isn't that like EVERY neighborhood in NYC?

But those who pen these articles speak in a voice that says they think they somehow fall out of the yuppie category. Please, look in the mirror. For years my students called me a yuppie and I denied it. I had a very modest upbringing, but, I always had a house, food, and clothes and that's a lot more than a lot of people. I am a currently a yuppie and I grew up with privilege, no doubt. Those of you who think you're not (and who are like me) are deceiving yourselves. Just because you live in Bed-Stuy (and own your brownstone) doesn't mean you're any less of a yuppie than us in the Slope who'll be perpetual renters.

And, oh? You're going to move to Maplewood or Westchester to raise your kids away from the yuppie scum on the streets of my neighborhood? Go for it. I'm sure there are no rich young professional assholes there.

Let's save the Park Slope slamming for the folks who should loathe the insane, overpriced gentrification of this ENTIRE Borough (there aren't Bugaboo strollers in Kensington, Crown Heights, or Fort Greene you tell me?)--the folks whom we are pushing out. Because where are they going to go, once someone decides that East New York is the next big thing and when the the Marcey Projects are invaded and made into condos? Those are the voices missing from this forum, and those are the only voices I feel have validity to hate in this debate.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Dissertation Diva

A fellow doctoral student sent me a link to this blog today and I'm so thrilled I could do a little jig (if I hadn't had the flu for the past 24 hours and am currently afraid of stirring up the vomit beast that lies within).

I have to say, writing this dissertation is LONELY. I guess i could schlep to Teachers College every day, where I might encounter some other miserable folks or inspiring professors (although a lot of my inspiring professors have since left TC, are on sabbatical, or are on leave)...but TC is over an hour away from my Brooklyn home (2-3 trains) and that = 2-3 hours of daycare time spent commuting. And while I swear I'd work on the subway, it wouldn't happen. The Brooklyn Public Library is way too distracting (the people watching is crazy fun) and too full to concentrate. My local library is full of nannies and babies until around 3pm when infiltrated by tweens who are horridly obnoxious...You see where this is going? I'm relegated to my apt with breaks for yoga and the occasional cardio workout.

I have heard rumor that the diss writing process is lonely, solitary, makes you fat, etc, but I guess I thought I was above that. Wrong.

Oh, dissertation diva. Please save me from languishing in my own data and despair!

Here's hoping this website can be the salvation I need.

Monday, April 6, 2009

The Blue Sweater

Adam has been joking with me regarding the crazy amounts of books I have been reading. I am on a roll. My most recent read was The Blue Sweater by Jacqueline Novogratz. I had heard about this book long before its publication due a friend who works for Ms. Novogratz's brain child, Acumen Fund. Never a jaded or negative word has come from his mouth regarding his workplace or his boss (Jacqueline), and he touted this book's debut as if it were tantamount to the second coming of Christ. As a doctoral candidate in International Ed Development, a public teacher who has seen schools in Third World America, and a person dedicated to a life of serving those less fortunate than me due to the sick amount of privilege I have, I was intrigued.

I dove into The Blue Sweater head first. Having just heard a tidbit on NPR on how the book's title came to be, I felt an instant connection to this woman. I, too, had seen youth in West Africa wearing the fashions that I wore in middle school when I traveled there with students in 1995. While I didn't see a particular item of MY clothing, I KNEW those clothes, and was thrown that they had somehow sailed across the Atlantic and into the hands of children in a small village on the Burkina Faso/Ghana border.

But I had a hard time investing in this book at first (wow...bad pun there). The chronology was repetitively linear, and while the story of her life and her development enlightenment are fascinating, her writing lacked a certain flow that made it an easily enjoyable read. I kept defending her, though, telling myself that she came from banking for Christ-sake, has an MBA, and knows how to crunch numbers, therefore I could deal with her lack of writing voice. Deal I did, and I am glad.

For in spite of its lack of a writerly je ne sais quoi, she is brilliant. When recounting ideas to Adam, I started using words like micro-finance, drip irrigation, and incremental housing and he was intrigued by my vocabulary. I empathized with her in so many instances--as a solo woman traveler who has had that fearful moment of "what have i gotten myself into?!", as a white educator who has been questioned repeatedly by fellow teachers, students, and parents on if I should/can teach Black/Hispanic kids, as a person who is desperately seeking a path of both efficacy and love in their chosen career....the list goes on.

In the end, the book gave me hope. Not only in that cliched "one person can change the world" mantra, but also in the idea that change can't be all heart or all numbers, it has to be both. Can you please add education to your areas of interest for Acumen Fund, Jacqueline, and can I be an Acumen Fellow?