Make Your Parents Proud

I ran across this on one of the many Detroit booster sites that I lurk around and it made me laugh out loud. I'm sure my parents never expected that I would live in Detroit when they moved me to Michigan in 1962--they selected Beverly Hills, a bucolic suburb with the blandness of vanilla pudding. As soon as I was old enough to talk my friends into driving me, we would skip school and venture into the city--to Belle Isle, the Detroit Public Library, the Lafayette Coney Island. We regularly attended the Fox Theater holiday Motown shows--in fact, we were often the only white girls there...utterly devoted to Smoky Robinson, Marvin Gaye, "Little" Stevie Wonder and the rest. One summer, we met the Supremes outside their trailer at the State Fair grounds and got autographs. They were so skinny and small under those huge bouffant hairdos.

That same year, we saw the Beatles at Olympia stadium--not once but twice. We hid in a suite for the time between the 2 p.m. show and the 6 p.m. The tickets looked the same! The Stones came next--but only 300 people were at that first show.

Each time we ventured into the city, we became more and more comfortable, convinced that all the fear other people expressed was just stupid. Now, having lived here over 10 years, I can honestly say we have had fewer brushes with crime than our country living counterparts. My friends who have been burglarized live in the country. Cars that have been broken into were parked in the suburbs. Yet, the fear remains.

This week I hope that SuperBowl XL makes our parents proud--this city has so much to offer--such a creative place with so much talent.

An Economics Lesson

This is just in from my friends at the Michigan Democratic Party. First these creeps steal the election, now they are lying about our governor.

"The DeVos for Governor Campaign and the MI GOP are trying to mislead people about the jobs numbers in Michigan. Why? Because the Bush economic and trade policies that DeVos supports have helped cause the economic problems in Michigan. DeVos himself, while head of Amway, laid off 1,400 Michigan employees and created tens of thousands of jobs in China.

The Republicans have put out three different numbers on Michigan jobs statistics in two days. What they haven't disclosed is the number of Michigan jobs lost due to their outsourcing policies, nor have they mentioned the number of jobs created or retained under Governor Granholm.

Here are the facts:
FACT 1: Republican trade and tax policies encouraging outsourcing devastate Michigan.
Since President Bush took office in 2001, Michigan has lost 203,287 jobs due to outsourcing.
Over: 1826 days
That's: 111 jobs per day
4.62 jobs an hour
1 job every 13 minutes
Source - http://www.techsunite.org/offshore/index.cfm

FACT 2: Republicans are arguing among themselves about the jobs numbers.
In the last couple of days they've put out numbers that don’t add up, and aren’t consistent.

FACT 3: More people are working today than when Governor Granholm took office in 2003
During the first three years of the Granholm Administration, total employment in Michigan increased by 99,000 (with employment increasing by 87,000 in 2005, alone)
Month Employment
2005 (Dec) 4,795,000 2003 (Jan) 4,696,000
Employment growth + 99,000
Source: Michigan Department of Labor & Economic Development http://www.michlmi.org/LMI/lmadata/laus/2005/misa78-05.htm

Fact 4: Governor Granholm has a plan to secure Michigan's Future. The contrasts are very clear. Last night Governor Granholm clearly showed that she has a plan for Michigan's economy and that it is beginning to work. Don't let the Republicans play politics with our jobs. They caused our economic problems and she's working to move Michigan forward."

She's been busy trying to overcome THREE terms of Republican Gov. Engler who all but destroyed the state. Sometimes I wish WE had a Karl Rove--

SuperBowl Countdown

I'll be rooting for the Steelers in SuperBowl XL because Jerome Bettis is our hometown boy. Football is only interesting if you know someone who is playing--I found that out when my son began to play in 9th grade. Before that time, football looked like chaos to me--I could not distinguish between the offense and the defense, couldn't spot an offsides, or a holding on the offense. Now, I sometimes make the call before the officials do.

There are a lot of things in life that people dismiss as boring. On the other hand, I always wonder what is it that makes something interesting to someone else. If someone finds stamp collecting fascinating, I want to know why! How is it that people can watch golf on TV? Why would anyone do crossword puzzles? What are they seeing that I'm not?

I am reminded of a quotation that my favorite Humanities teacher put on the board one day: "A book is like a mirror; if an ass peers in, don't expect an angel to peer out." Perhaps this could be applied to a lot of things. If I'm bored by something, maybe I just don't know enough about it yet. On the other hand, maybe it's really just mind-numbingly boring.

Camille Claudel and Rodin

A little affirmative action back in Rodin's day might have kept his protege, Camille Claudel, out of the asylum where she spent the last 30 years of her life. Frustrated by her own creativity and "demons" (according to the narrative on the audio tour of the exhibition), she became paranoid and increasingly unable to function. Demons! What a quaint way to describe rampant and unrelenting sexism in 19th century French society.

Anyone who sees the current exhibition at the Detroit Institute of Arts cannot help but notice that her sculptures are as powerful and evocative as his. But Rodin was considered a genius and praised and courted by French society, while Camille worked behind the scenes mostly unnoticed. Women were not considered creative, nor artistic and certainly not capable of genius.

I'll bet that asylum was filled with some of the most intelligent, talented women French society had ever produced. We'll never know.

Scraping by on a $20 Lunch

What will it take to wake up the sleeping masses of sheep? Perhaps Trent Lott's comment yesterday will incite a few people to riot or even better--to vote the bums out of office. He was complaining about the possible lobbying restrictions in an interview and commented that a$20 limit was ridiculous--"Where ya gonna go? McDonalds?"

I wonder how many families have to live on $20 a day in groceries. The federal government budget for school lunches also comes to mind as a fruitful (pun intended) comparison--remember Ronald Regan's "ketchup as a vegetable" pronouncement?

Pat Robertson expressed sympathy for these poor members of congress who have to maintain two houses--no wonder they have to eat lunch with lobbyists!

I have a better solution! Put them all in Public Housing! Let them travel coach! Let them pay for their own health insurance, prescription drugs, lunches and vacations! They might start seeing the wisdom of rethinking an economic system that is totally market driven and look to any other progressive country for solutions to social problems.

There are too many hands in the pockets of the military/industrial/evangelical complex. This unholy alliance has a stranglehold on our country and has all but killed the American dream. We elect these people to make thoughtful, reflective, informed and critical decisions about what kind of country we will be. But they are for sale--and their decisions are tainted by corruption. What's it going to take to make us fight back?

In Praise of Rit Dye

I'm sure the housewives of the 1950's could tell a better tale than this, but I just have to share. It's messy, but I have spent the last few days dying old white and dingy grey towels and a few old throw rugs to use in our cabin up north. Rather than toss them or tear them into rags, I bought several boxes (and it now comes in bottles, too) of Rit dye and followed the directions. Ever the artist, I mixed a denim blue and forest green dye and threw in a dozen or so towels. A few hours later, the most lovely shade of dusty teal had replaced dingy. Positively energized and feeling self-righteous about the sheer thriftiness of such activity, I began to hunt for other things I could dye--Today two ugly tan throw rugs will succumb to the hot Rit bath and emerge newly teal. There should be some kind of metaphor here, but I'll leave that to the English teachers of the world.

Brown Sticks and Mud

This is the time of year I wonder how anyone can live here--it's cold, gray and there is only a dusting of dirty snow to cover the trash that has blown up against the fences and bushes. My daughter lives in the perpetual sunshine of L.A., near the ocean--but as she points out--since it is always there, you rarely decide to go swimming--you can always go another day.

I think this is how being young felt...there was always another day--another month--another year. The sense of urgency just wasn't there. We'll go to Greece one day--I'll get an MFA. We'll build our own house--visit Singapore, rent a small farm in Italy for the summer.

So, Detroit winters are a great time to get out the world atlas, the travel brochures, collect house plans from the Internet, read the seed catalogs. Forced indoors, we are also forced a bit inside ourselves. This isn't the worst thing that can happen--The worst thing is have no plans ready for when those brown sticks start to bud and that mud begins to sprout green.

Where the rain never falls, and the sun never shines...

I wonder how the mine owners and the industry insiders that Bush appointed to "oversee" mine safety sleep at night. What do you do if you suddenly realize that your whole career is built on a carefully constructed house of cards, one that has recently destroyed a dozen or so families? Accidents don't just happen--they are usually the result of cutting corners. It takes a lot of corner cutting to pay for all those golf outings, second homes, first-class tickets, and courtside seats.

Happy New Year

Things better get better or else I'm leaving!

Political Correctness

It took me a while, but I finally realized why the term politically correct offends me so much. As an unreconstructed idealist and patriot who still maintains faith in the positive growth of human beings and our American society (silly me), I find this term to be most insidiously cynical and damaging phrase spun out of the conservative camp in the last two decades. When anyone uses the term, what they are really saying is..."I know it's morally wrong to be sexist, racist, greedy, vulgar, etc..., but I don't f*in care!" These same folks are currently upset about Happy Holidays vs. Merry Christmas. They believe torture is okay, spying on American citizens is necessary to "protect" them, and democracy can be forced down the throats of any country that has enough oil.

Well, Happy Holidays--Seasons Greetings--and Peace on Earth. If that's not politically correct enough, then f* you!

Twenty-seven in a Million

I was invited party last night to celebrate a former student's admittance into law school. This student is one I refer to endlessly when lecturing my current students about commitment and hard work. J was not the smartest kid in the class, but she didn't know that and no one could out work this young woman. She had a baby while still in the 8th grade--no one knew--not her friends, her mother, nor her teachers. ("I had sex once," she said. "Never again!") By the 10th grade, she was in my Honors American Literature class, and I had no idea that she had a baby until she came to me to get a week's worth of homework--in advance. When I asked why, she said her daughter had to have heart surgery. I almost didn't believe her.

J was never happy with any grade lower than an A, and she stayed after school as long as I would allow her in order to make corrections on her work. She rewrote papers endlessly, struggling with grammar and punctuation as many students do. Her limited vocabulary frustrated her as she tried to read Thomas Paine, Emerson, and Thoreau.

By her senior year, she elected to take AP English (despite mediocre test scores) and she gave up basketball (an outstanding player, she was being recruited by Division II teams) to concentrate on her grades. "I don't want to be the stereotype single mother," she declared. She wanted to be valdictorian--and to go to a top school.

AP Literature did not come easy to her. Much more comfortable with mathematics, she had problems with abstractions and nuance and was often frustrated when I could not give her a formula for some thematic or symbolic element in a text.

She missed valdictorin by three-tenths of a point, but got into the top school...despite unremarkable standardized test scores. She started college majoring in computer engineering, but very soon realized this was not her passion--despite a definite proclivity for math and science. She changed her major to English--much to my surprise.

After graduating with a 3.6, she was turned down by several top law schools due to average standardized test scores. Undaunted, she went to work for the NAACP, and began a Masters program in Public Administration which she completed with a 4.0. Still, her test scores did not tell the whole story, and she was denied admission to several law schools. Finally, she participated in a special week-long program designed to allow the school in question to meet her and evalute her ability to work in groups on practice cases and briefs. Of course, J emerged as a superstar and was accepted to the school.

Last night, I hugged J, her mother, and the baby--now 9 years old--and heard about other students in the class of 2000 (there were 27 of them)-one in medical school, another in graduate school, and others who have completed college in various places all over the country. I also heard about the ones with babies, but no daddies, and no degrees. You'll see their stories in the newspaper and on television; meanwhile J will march ahead, defying the sterotype with sheer will and determination.

From SDS to AARP

Feeling a bit down during the holidays (whoops! I mean Christmas!--after all there's a war goin' on.) ? Just visit a few old folks and enjoy what remains of the the spring in your step and the hearing you still have, even after too many nights in front of the speakers at too many concerts. Attend a Christmas sing-along with people who don't care if they are off-key or that they have forgotten the words. Delight in decorations made of recycled toilet paper rolls and tin foil.

About this so-called "war" on Christmas...The only war I recognize is the one the conservative Christians are waging against working people, gay people, single parents, students, young parents, old folks and the poor. These people claim to represent Christ--but they have no interest in the "least of these..." They seem to side with folks who already have more than enough. As Joni Mitchell once wrote..."some get the gravy, some get the gristle, some get the marrow bone, and some get nothing...though there's plenty to spare."

The Dog Ate My Homework

As a teacher, one expects excuses, but this week has been the king dog daddy of a week for weird excuses.

"Dear Professor *, I cannot continue to attend your class due to my unfortunate situation. I had to go to court this week and it looks like I might have to go back to jail. I would like to meet with you one-on-one about my grade." Hmmmmm.

"Dear Professor *, I ran out of medication for my ADD and cannot finish my final paper. I was too embarrassed to tell you."

"Dear Professor *, I am having too much mental stress with trying to do all YOUR work (my work?--no I am quite finished with my degree--this is YOUR work!), so please extend, to me, kindly, an incomplete." Oh for the simple bygone days of misbehaving pets. . .

Cleaning House

When nothing else works, I always fall back on cleaning closets. Today, I ran across four vintage purses (not really, just old) and found all kinds of loose change and a lot of those moist towlettes, that are no longer moist, I'm sure.

Finding a home for things I no longer want makes me really happy--I gave away several bolts of vintage fabric to a decorator who could not believe I didn't want money for them. I told her that I'd call her for advice some time and she could talk to me for free.

I think people should barter more--it avoids the whole payroll tax routine--not to mention the whole "money" thing. Bake me some bread and I'll edit your next history paper. Paint my bathroom and I'll tell you how to get through writer's block. Bring me a load of firewood and I'll tutor your kids in grammar. C'mon, it could really work!

Road Trip

Today, I'm off on a road trip--something I don't do very often alone. I'll carry bread from my favorite bakery, several journals, some poetry to read at the conference and some Vernors for my host who is a native Detroiter. I'll pack my favorite music and head off to a place I've never been before, temporarily untethered--except by cell phone-- to the life I lead here. I'll recall road trips from the past--one in particular--taken in a restored 1942 Studebaker. We were more adventurous then--a few dollars in our pockets and we could move across the country, crash with friends for a few weeks and find a new place, another life. It's not so easy now--burdened with stuff--antiques, books, photo albums, artwork, computers, the kids' stuffed animals...

A question sometimes posed is: "what would you take to a desert island?" I'd like to put a more pedestrian question out there--"What would you put in a Ford Focus wagon and where would you go if you had a one-year paid sabbatical?" Think about it and get back to me.

The following email came today and cheered me up tremendously! This young woman was a student of mine several years ago and faced many difficulties simply finishing high school--only one of which was a pregnancy at the age of 12. But, she now can speak very well for herself!

Hello Friends and Family,

As many of you know the week of October 24-30, 2005, I was in Lansing, MI attending the Thomas Cooley Law School qualifying program. The program was very intensive, and I believe the most intellectually challenging task I ever was involved in. There were 31 people in the program from all over. We had people from Jamaica, Africa, LA, Vegas, and many other states from the East to the West Coast. We studied the 7 different intentional torts: battery, assault, false imprisonment, intentional infliction of emotional distress, trespass to chattel, trespass to land, and conversion. In one week, we were taught how to brief a case and use legal analysis to write out the different elements of the law. It was unreal how complex the laws of our land are. We were only studying seven laws, but getting down the format and the language used to make an argument for or against the plaintiff was unlike anything I have ever done. Although the week- long studying was very intensive, it made me want to learn the law even more. We had 3 people leave the program without even notifying the coordinator that they were quitting. It made me feel good that although I was struggling, I stayed the course and gave my best possible effort. So right now I have to wait until the 15th or so, and I will know if I am indeed admitted into Thomas Cooley Law School. In the meanwhile, I am still taking classes for my master's in management and public administration with a gpa of 4.0.
I must say that I truly appreciate all the support that each and everyone of you have given me as I try to make a better future for my daughter and myself. I know that with God's will I will be sending out an email letting everyone know that I have been admitted into law school for 2006, so look for another email from me in the next weeks to come. I hope that everyone is doing well and please if I haven't heard from you in a while drop me a line and let me know how you are doing.

Well, since receiving this email, I'm doing a lot better!

Greater and Greater Grace

I'm glad I made the effort (walking about 3 miles, standing in line for 3 1/2 hours) to get into Greater Grace Temple where Rosa Parks' funeral was held yesterday. It was a glorious Indian summer day and I parked my car about a mile or so away from the church on a small neighbor side street because 7 Mile Road was closed--(I know you only know 8 Mile, but we have lots of mile roads in Detroit.)

Anyway, I walked to the end of the line- which was about 1/2 mile long by the time I arrived and found myself next to a tiny, well dressed, elderly, light-skinned American American woman, using a cane. We struck up a conversation and I learned that she was 85-years old and had been born in Kentucky, but raised in Michigan. Since it was 7:30 a.m. and the funeral was to begin at 11:00 a.m., we faced a long time in line together--and the possibility of never getting in at all.

I told her I was a teacher and had a strong interest in American history--particularly of the civil rights era --since I was tangentially aware of it as a child and became more outraged by injustice as a teenager. I told her of my dual upbringing--born in the south, raised in the north--school year in the north--summers in Mississippi. I asked her to tell me about her life--as much as she wanted to. It was fascinating to hear her own version of the Rosa Parks' incident--she was 19 years old, taking the bus from Wayne State when she was asked to stand and move to the back. She reported that she had resisted only briefly. But it was 10 years before Rosa Parks! I reminded her that Rosa Parks had the backing of SCLC and was much older than she had been.

As we talked, the few people within earshot began to listen intently to our conversation. She was quiet, well-spoken and warm, and I gently prodded and asked more and more questions, pushing for more details. She told me of how she marched in Detroit with Dr. King and of problems she had as the only black dietician in her class at Wayne State. She had attended a private school in Kentucky that was run by northern white women who believed in the education of young black women...Reminiscent of Zora Neale Hurston's experiences. One of the people in the crowd asked where we "stayed"--thinking we were together. It was only then that I realized that she and I were really about the same "shade." I never asked her, but I wondered if she had ever been about to "pass."

I told her of some of my experiences and how proud I was that many of my former students, all African American women, were in college or working professional jobs. I didn't tell her how many were pregnant and I failed to mention the one who had been fatally shot while at an after- hours club. I figured she'd already had 85 years of bad news.

Finally, just before being allowed to enter the church, I asked to know her name and gave her mine. We shook hands and found ourselves nearly the last two people allowed inside. I had to keep up with her as she wove her way through the enormous corridors--she had been in Greater Grace before--and she led me to the side chapel where an enormous screen had been set up. As we entered, the service was beginning and she burst into song--with a voice as strong and pure as I had ever heard! She knew all of the scriptural readings by heart, too.

Together, we sat for the next 5 hours listening to some of the most moving and powerful speakers this country has to offer--people who can move others to tears, laughter, and shame--all with words! Starting with former President Bill Clinton, who had to leave early, and moving to Rev. Al Sharpton who was unbelievably followed by Minister Louis Farrakhan, and Barak Obama, and so many others, one after another, they seemed to be able to lift the crowd to higher and higher ground. To see all of these people at once--together-- was unbelievable. My own little Rosa Parks and I clapped together, bowed our heads together and laughed together, too.

As I left, I thanked her for spending the day with me--I don't know what compelled me to go to that funeral, but meeting this woman was just what I needed--.

Rosa Parks Service

I'm going to try to get into Greater Grace tomorrow for Rosa Parks service--somehow the civil rights movement has framed and embraced my life. I was born in the south and raised in the north--but my grandmother's Mississippi farm was very near the river where the three civil rights workers were found--and although I don't have clear memories, I was very aware of the "race problem" as I was growing up. Barefoot black kids came into my grandmother's grocery store during the summers I spent there.

It upset me that America was mired in hypocracy--and ultimately, my most important experiences were involved with teaching in this city. I gravitated to this challenge. Most of my students are African American and I'm very interested in how they view the world. I'm also aware of how I can help them negotiate college if only they'll believe in themselves. I wrote them all emails today saying we needed to work harder together. Detroit faces a mayoral election this next week--and it's all about trust.

Imperial Democracy

If you haven't met Arundhati Roy, you need to. . .she says it better than anybody. http://www.chitram.org/mallu/ar.htm

A Trip to the Fabric Store

I had almost an hour to kill between a class and a haircut, so I ducked into a really nice fabric store just to look. What washed over me was the realization that I had mostly done the fabric store thing with my mother when I was a too-tall teenager and the 1960's style skirts were really short. That meant I could not buy much off the rack, so my mother used to make my clothes. We would pour over the pattern books and then the creativity began. She was such a good sport! I'll never forget the pink paisley jump suit, the royal purple Yves St. Laurent maxi coat (down to the ground!) and a wonderful three piece donegal tweed suit--mini-skirt, waistcoat and cuffed pants! And the Mary Quant dresses--psychedelic patterns and all. What I wouldn't give to have those clothes now to give to my daughter--who could actually wear them. But 40 years later and too many moves have pared down my collection.

A friendly saleswoman asked if I needed help and I started to launch into a nostalgic reminiscence--but it suprisingly caught in my throat. I wasn't nearly appreciative enough to my mother, so I think I'll call her tomorrow and tell her.

Fall on Campus

If you ever want to feel young and frisky again, just take a walk in the fall across a Midwestern college campus. Strolling among the students, cutting between the Engineering Building and a funky diner, and warming in the autumnal sun--there is no better elixer. But the students appear tired, and they seem uncommonly burdened with their backpacks--distracted by the cell phones glued to their ears. I feel a little silly carrying my 30-year old leather satchel--which actually used to be diaper bag--and breathing in the cool air while admiring the architectural details of the oldest building on campus. They have no idea where they are in the scheme of things, I think. They have no idea how absolutely precious this time is. They have no idea...

Let's Hear it for the Boys!

After 7 years of teaching girls exclusively, I'm finding my young male students to be surprisingly well mannered and cooperative. I'm not sure what I expected--maybe hands on hips, eyes rolling--I got used to being challenged, almost comically so, by my young female students. Now, all I have to do is pat my head and these young men remove their hats; I tug on my ear, and they speak up so I can hear. If I put a finger to my lips, they stop the chatter. If I chide them for being tardy, they apologize! They willingly revise poorly edited papers--and eagerly listen to my advice.

Perhaps we've had an alien invasion here in Detroit--or just a lot of young men raised by high spirited, strong-talking women have entered college. I wish the images of these young men were as prominent in the media as those of the foul-mouthed thugs they listen to on their I-pods. They are learning to read and write at a college level and hopefully to dream the dreams that will take their lives in new directions.

Trust the Process

As a writing teacher, I often tell my students to just "trust the process." Whenever I assign a challenging essay, they trip over themselves with trivial questions which reveal their fears as well as their intense preoccupation with the end result, and of course, grades. I want them, instead, to immerse themselves in the joy of inquiry and the exhilaration of creative work. I want them to discover their voices. . . they want to know when it will all be over. "Am I done, yet?" When I sit down every day to write this blog, I don't know what will happen. Some days, I'm burning with an issue that has gotten under my skin, and other days I simply agree to discipline myself. I try to "trust the process." Some days the words flow so fast that my fingers can't keep up and other days, each line is a struggle. I guess I should be teaching them to love the struggle.

Go to Operation Eden

I was sent a link to http://operationeden.blogspot.com/ and it is amazing. The photography is outstanding and the writing is moving, too.

Did You Get the Message????

I went to the funeral of a former student today in a very modest storefront church on the east side of Detroit--a neighborhood that needs more than God and gospel. The atmosphere was so different than at white folks funerals--kids ran around in t-shirts emblazoned with the picture of the deceased on the front and the music, save the lyrics, would have been great to dance to. People got up and spoke as the spirit moved them and told tales about Katrina, and there was laughter and poetry and tears. I saw many of my former students, grown up, some with babies in arms. As we wandered outside, I hugged them each and said, "Did you get the message?" They looked at me curiously. "What message?"

Katrina was shot because she was in an after hours club--a place she had no business being with too many desperate people with nothing to lose. This community just accepts that violence and early deaths are a natural part of life. But we failed her--we all failed to pull hard enough to jerk her back from the brink. I saw too much celebration today and not enough anger. . .