Alumni Day 2019 For Me (pt 1)

I woke that morning with a song stuck in my head.  "What is and What Should Never Be" by Led Zeppelin.  I wasn't sure why until I arrived at the JCCA Alumni Day event.  Taking some time alone, before joining the crowd, I chose to wander off to my last Cottage.  Pleasantville Cottage School (PCS or P-Ville as we refer to it) was always such a beautiful place… something we didn't really appreciate then.

Arriving at the front porch of Cottage 6 (the green benches that used to be on either side are no longer there), I took a seat on the steps and allowed it all to sink in.  The other buildings, the trees, the grass of the square, bushes, the benches…  wait…  the benches around the square are gone now too… wow.

For me, today, the quiet where I am sitting has the same feeling that of sitting on the sail of a surfaced submarine far from land in the middle of the night (no light pollution).  Then it started coming to me.

Randy Oliphant would sitting behind me, reading something and smoking a cigarette.  Other faces then come to me; some still around, and others who have gone home:  Tarsha Holmes, Mindy Solinsky, Michele Kaplan, Dawn Hochman, April Savino, Denise Leone, Carmen Lopez, Maria Ortiz, James McCoy, Kweku, Bradley Dwork, Billy Loredo, Luz Rodriguez, Charlie Montoya, John Lebowitz, Brian Lane…  that song again.

"What is and What Should Never Be" by Led Zeppelin...  Spotify blesses me

https://open.spotify.com/track/3jeXQBg0hRn4H1vI8PDGnI?si=1SDpcLUoSeCCyNf-IbH6iQ

Well, I probably shouldn't stay away from the others too long.  Besides, I can reflect on names and faces all day. 

As I get up, I decide to send my geographical location to Brian Lane who lives fairly close by.

20 seconds later my phone chirps…

10 seconds after that…  it rings.

To be continued...

Sent from my iPhone

Nullius in verba -- A Luta Continua

Doris “Dorie” Miller

On this day in 1942, Mess Attendant 2nd Class Doris Miller receives the Navy Cross for his heroism at Pearl Harbor. On 07 Dec 1941, during the attack, Miller manned anti-aircraft guns (despite having no formal training) and assisted with attending to the wounded.

Adm. Chester W. Nimitz personally presented the medal to Miller on board USS Enterprise (CV 6). The Citation read as follows:

"For distinguished devotion to duty, extraordinary courage and disregard for his own personal safety during the attack on the Fleet in Pearl Harbor, Territory of Hawaii, by Japanese forces on December 7, 1941. While at the side of his Captain on the bridge, Miller, despite enemy strafing and bombing and in the face of a serious fire, assisted in moving his Captain, who had been mortally wounded, to a place of greater safety, and later manned and operated a machine gun directed at enemy Japanese attacking aircraft until ordered to leave the bridge."

Miller would later be killed when his ship, the USS Liscome Bay (CVE-56), was torpedoed during the invasion of the Gilbert Islands on 24 Nov 1943.

Dorie Miller was one of my inspirations for joining the navy...  Long before I knew his whole story

"All gave some, and some gave all"

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doris_Miller

JOURNALING SAMMICHES

Today, I was struck by an interesting combination of things that mysteriously inspired me to do this writing thing again. Only now with a more definitive purpose and even a format. 

Birthdays...  I'm always reminded of people's birthdays; but how do these people fit into my life... and, why do they endure?  This will be a challenge...  but a good way to start and continue. The real challenge?  NO NEGATIVES. 

When I ran this idea by my oldest, she was like:  

"Why are you doing this?  Are you seeing a psychiatrist?"

No. 

Then she was like:  "Okay, now I can take the heat but umm... don't burn bridges...  you going to need somebody to take care of you when you get old...  young buck". LOL

I really am going to stay positive with this. Especially for the blog. The Journal is a different story. 

The combination:

First, today is my oldest daughter's mother's birthday. After years of road rash and speed bumps, she and I have become pretty cool. We've been learning some real things about each other lately too. But I'm not going to talk about her today...  I have my reasons which I will reveal over time. 

Second, my youngest daughter told me "Momma found some pictures of you and your family that you left at her house. Do you want them mailed to you?"  After thinking about it for a minute, I told her to send them to my oldest since she's been wanting to know more about the family she doesn't know. 

A good place to start. 

Third, I talked about and heard from who I still consider my BFF.  I'll leave that at that for now. 

Forth and lastly, a rush of different thoughts of people, places and things have consumed me throughout the day. Music teachers and neighbors and buddies and trips and adventures and experiences and.....

Memories. 

Soon I will begin the journey of my 49th year.   I've already outlived my father and now I'm approaching the age that my mother went home. 

Memories. 

I often wished I'd gotten my parents and grandparents to tell me more stories. I do know some things. I remember some of their stories; but nowhere near what I wish I knew. 

Memories, that will one day disappear like tears in the rain...  If only you've seen the things I've seen through these eyes...  (two quotes from one of my favorite movies). 

Over the next eighteen months, I intend to share (and record) some of my deepest feelings and most intimate experiences with and about all kinds of people, places and things. There will be some grit, maybe a few laughs and perhaps even a tear or two. 

For those of you who choose to follow, if you feel like something is missing, it probably is...  

If it's not in the Blog, it's more than likely in the Journal. 

That's all for now...  

"The music I'm hearing tells a story in itself" ~ me

https://open.spotify.com/track/63vk4OtcYNo75866dNW3oe?si=AMwYE6gPSym9-VDBV-SJ7A

Sent from my iPhone

Nullius in verba -- A Luta Continua

Not So Smart Trip

Okay, so the DC Metro is going through this maintenance project where they are shutting down chunks of the system to make sure they don't kill anybody else with smoke and fire issues (Safe Track).

In my opinion, this work is pointless. Unless they are going to do this on a regular basis, the same issues will continue through wear and tear.

But that's not what's bugging me.

See, in my experience using the red line, they would have several busses going express to get folks through the troubled area faster without wasting time stopping at the stations in between.

Not in the hood tho.

To make that fact even worse... Here's my conversation in front of the shuttle bus:

ME: Is there an express bus?

COP: Where are you going?

ME: Eastern Market

COP: Well the Metro isn't running there, you'll have to take the shuttle bus...

I haven't had my coffee yet so my patience ain't engaged yet... Short prayer and then...

ME: Is there an express bus?

COP: The shuttle bus stops at Stadium Armory, Potomac Avenue and Eastern Market...

ME: (Deep Deep Breath) Is there an express bus?

COP: This bus is next (pointing at the bus I'm standing in front of).

The fact that I have to ask a yes or no fucking question more than once boils my blood... and the week hasn't been a good one.

Let me speak in "Crayon" and maybe, just fucking MAYBE I will get an answer.....

ME: Is there a bus that skips Stadium Armory, skips Potomac Avenue and goes straight to Eastern Market?

COP: ummm...

ME: Never mind... I'll just get on this one.

COP: Olay, but don't smoke that (referring to the Vape Mod I'm slipping into my pocket).

I don't know what it is that people can't seem to understand about what I'm saying. I'm speaking in clear plain English much like what I'm typing and you are reading. My conversation with this Metro Cop should not have lasted more than four seconds:

Is there an express bus?

No.

Thank you.

What the fuck is WRONG with people?


Sent from my iPod
Nullius in verba -- A Luta Continua

Incarceration Rates, Employment Rates, and Marriage Rates Among Church-Going American Black Men - The Atlantic

http://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2016/02/soul-mates-black-church-marriage/470760/

How the Church Helps Black Men Flourish in America

From Barack Obama to Rand Paul, Ta-Nehisi Coates to Jason Riley: Across the ideological spectrum, scholars, pundits, and politicians seem to agree that black men are floundering. As the president observed in 2014, "by almost every measure, the group that is facing some of the most severe challenges in the 21st century in this country are boys and young men of color."

In some ways, Obama is right. Rates of poverty, unemployment, and incarceration are higher among black men than among white men. Young African Americans are also far more likely than young white men to become victims of violent crime. But the conversation about black men often glosses over the fact that most African American men are not poor, out of work, or destined to spend time in prison.

Why do some black men flourish while others struggle? One answer is faith. African American men attend church at rates notably above the national average: 37 percent of those aged 18 to 60 attend several times a month or more, compared to 30 percent of non-black men, according to the 2008-2014 General Social Survey. And compared to their less religious peers, these 6 million or so black men are significantly more likely to thrive. Our new book, Soul Mates: Religion, Sex, Love and Marriage Among African Americans and Latinos, shows they are more likely to be working, avoid crime and incarceration, and get married.

Liberals and conservatives have different explanations for the racial divide in the United States. Conservatives like Jason Riley argue that dysfunctional values and norms have helped create America's racial disparities in crime, incarceration, and employment. Conversely, Ta-Nehisi Coates contends that unjust and racist structural forces—including poor job opportunities, unsafe neighborhoods, failing schools, and discriminatory housing and policing policies—have produced America's racial disparities.

These don't have to be mutually exclusive explanations. Our analyses of trends in work, crime, incarceration, and family indicate that both structural and cultural factors have shaped the differing life experiences of white and black men. But focusing on racial differences can obscure the fact that many African American men are doing well. One of the reasons why some black men flourish is their participation in the black church. (We focus on the black church because there are not enough black men in other traditions, such as Islam, to make statistical claims about in the surveys we analyzed for our book.)  

The messages of the black church afford black men a sense of dignity, purpose, and inspiration.

Churchgoing black men are significantly less likely to participate in what the sociologist Elijah Anderson has called the "code of the street": an ethos marked by violence, criminal activity, a live-for-the-moment mentality, and a desire to protect oneself by projecting strength. This culture has emerged partly from the structural disadvantages black men face, including racism, concentrated poverty, police brutality, and fatherless households. Coates has written about the code in his reflections on his own life growing up in West Baltimore. Here, in a letter to his son:

The streets transform every ordinary day into a series of trick questions, and every incorrect answer risks a beat-down, a shooting, or a pregnancy. No one survives unscathed. When I was your age, fully one-third of my brain was concerned with whom I was walking to school with, our precise number, the manner of our walk, the number of times I smiled, whom or what I smiled at, who offered a pound and who did not—all of which is to say that I practiced the culture of the streets, a culture concerned chiefly with securing the body.

This culture, and the injustices from which it flows, helps explain why some young black men end up struggling in America.

Yet millions of black men in the U.S. live in communities with different norms, including industriousness, honesty, respect for the law, and temperance. For many of these men, faith is a defining feature.

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Take criminal activity. Twenty percent of young, church-going black men report having committed a crime, compared to 24 percent of their peers who were not regular attendees, even after controlling for demographic factors like education and family background. Likewise, only 4 percent of young black men aged 22 to 26 who attended church earlier in their 20s ended up in prison, compared to 6 percent who did not regularly attend church, again after controlling for a wide range of social and economic factors. This suggests that churchgoing young black men are about one-third less likely to be incarcerated than their peers who don't regularly attend church. Although these percentages may seem small, they represent tens of thousands of men.

One 32-year-old African American man from Harrisonburg, Virginia, who we interviewed said he became a Christian while in prison. "I only came to know Christ when I got locked up," he said. "God met people like Paul on the Damascus road. He met other men on the crack pipe. He met me when I was selling drugs in prison. So, you know, that was a big thing for me, knowing that I have a relationship with God." (We interviewed him while researching our book in 2006, and are withholding his name to comply with Institutional Review Board standards.)

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This man hasn't broken the law or used drugs since getting out of prison, he says, and gives credit for his transformation to his local Baptist church. He goes every Sunday, helps lead the men's group at his church, and attends a Wednesday night Bible study. "I get a prayer in every day," he said. "I'm delivered on a daily basis and my delivery is like this: 'Lord, get me through the next 30 minutes. Lord, get me through the next hour. Lord, get me through this day.'"

Faith also seems to reinforce black men's connections to work and marriage. As this chart shows, young black men who regularly attended church were about eight percentage points less likely to be neither working nor attending school compared to their peers who didn't attend frequently. More recent data from the 2008–2014 General Social Survey show a similar trend: 15 percent of 18-to-40-year-old black men who don't attend church were unemployed and not attending college between 2008 and 2014, compared to just 9 percent of churchgoing black men. All of this probably translates into higher incomes for churchgoing black men later in life, as our research and the work of others suggests.

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Finally, regular religious practice helps make black men more marriageable—a term social scientists use to explain why some men are more likely to get married than others. Generally, employed men are more marriageable. African American men who attend church regularly are eight percentage points more likely to get married than their peers who rarely or never attend church. Why is this noteworthy? Social science has produced considerable evidence on the benefits of marriage. Compared to their single contemporaries, married African American men have more money and are happier and healthier.

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The comparative success that churchgoing black men enjoy, from employment to marriage, is partly attributable to the work the black church does to emphasize certain values. As one pastor, Revered Calvin Butts III of Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem, put it one Sunday:

[Most civilizations] are destroyed from within. The outward manifestations of this inner decay have been threefold. Three things that you see outwardly. One is drunkenness. . . . [or] getting high. I don't mean a sip here and there; I mean getting high all the time. [Another is] idleness. . . . And finally, immorality. This means that strong civilizations, those that are able to endure, and withstand attacks from without [have] sobriety, industry, and clean moral living. . . .

Who among us would . . . eschew drunkenness, idleness, and immorality? Who would dare to stand in the face of the onslaught of the culture of sin that has enveloped our nation and say, "I refuse to succumb. I will not yield to the temptation"?

This is just one example of the rhetoric that's often heard from pulpits in primarily black churches. The ideals, images, and attitudes held up in services, Bible studies, and fellowship halls in congregations across the country have a powerful effect on black men who regularly attend church.

But talking is not enough. Men need to be integrated into their church communities. Our research has led us to conclude that the men who are most active in their churches are those most likely to be employed, married, and out of jail. And this varies somewhat by denomination. Pentecostal churches have a slight edge in fostering good outcomes for men compared to mainline black churches, perhaps because the men in those communities tend to participate more actively, according to data from the General Social Survey. In turn, churches that pay attention to men's employment—either through formal jobs ministries or informal efforts to connect members to existing work opportunities within their communities—seem to have the strongest communities of committed men.

The black church's success validates the cultural arguments made by conservatives and the structural arguments made by liberals regarding race in America. The messages of the black church afford black men a sense of dignity, purpose, and inspiration. Church life is an alternative to what Coates calls the culture of the streets. Likewise, the support the church offers to black men, from men's fellowship groups to employment ministries, is crucial to their success, whether in finding jobs or having a community to support them in the face of racism and other adversity.

Not surprisingly, most of the black pastors and churchgoers we spoke to believed the church's commitment to strong norms and values within the black community complements its equally strong commitment to social justice. As Thabiti Anyabwile, the pastor of Anacostia River Church in Washington, D.C., put it:

The men and families facing their brokenness and the world's brokenness don't have the luxury of pretending life can neatly be chalked up to either 'the man is trying to get me' or 'I need to pull myself up by my bootstraps.' They understand that some bootstrapping is necessarily precisely because of injustices . . . People have to be strong enough personally to face the onslaught, but also have to have enough fair play and support to be strong enough. It's no surprise to me that both those needs get met in faithful Black churches with one eye on the souls of their members and one eye on the assaults of Caesar.

Conservative and liberal commentators, take note: making progress in the fight for racial justice in America may require acknowledging the other side has a point.

Sent from my iPad

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.

 

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

 

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

 

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

 

Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.

 

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

 

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

 

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

 

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

 

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

 

"Desiderata" (Latin: "desired things")

 

-Max Ehrmann

The Walk

So you and I are sitting on a bench at Riverbank State Park which overlooks the Hudson River and gives an awesome view of the George Washington Bridge 2.8 miles to the North.  I look directly across the river where I can see what’s called the Horizon House Building and decide that I want to go and get a closer look.  When I mention it to you, quickly you agree that you want to as well.  I explain to you that we don’t have a car or money for any type of transportation and then adding “but we can walk”.  When you ask how, I point to the bridge and say “we can go that way”.  Your response is “We can do this…  Let’s go”.

 

After walking about a mile, you decide to change your mind.  You don’t want to go over there.  When we get about a quarter of the way across the bridge, you decide that you want to go back.  I know that it’s worth going, but you stopped believing that the trip is worth it.  SO….

 

Should I go it alone?

 

Should I turn back too?

 

Of course the choice is mine….

 

The point here is…  Why bother to share with someone who wants to partake in a thing when just prior to reaching the halfway mark they’re going to decide that it’s not worth it.

Something Learned the Hard Way…

Day One Entry: Dec 15, 2013

It Is interesting trying to live after all of the people who have been closest to you have done nothing but take advantage. When seen from the outside, all that you've been through appears to be your own fault. The people surrounding you will continuously remind you just that.

They will say things like "well you chose to lay with that person" while continuously throwing in-your-face everything you may or may not have done wrong. Even as you move forward with your life, you will continuously be reminded of everything that bites at you. My shoes are heavy with all of the shit that I've had to walk through; yet when I ask for a hand, I'm  looked upon as though I'm dirty.

Just today someone told me to "let it go". My reply was that already have. This individual will never understand what it is I've gone through and more importantly what I continue to go through. I don't expect anyone, even people going through the same shit as myself, to understand any of the turmoil I'm forced to endure.

No matter where I go or what I do I'm always looking from the outside in. Seeing people enjoying life, enjoying themselves, enjoying each other while I'm forced to pretend that I'm fitting in. That is the way I live today.

When I do the time to explain what I'm going through in detail to anyone, if I get a response at all it will be the go and seek counseling or some bullshit like that. Counseling so someone can tell me that my belief system is fucked up, or that I'm not experiencing what I am experiencing.

I had someone sit in front of me and tell me that I'm not seeing what I am seeing. In fact they'd argued with me about the bullshit. I remember writing the word "Purple" on a piece of paper, even in purple fucking ink so that they wouldn't get it confused, and I use this as an example of the shit that I've been experiencing.

I asked if they were SIRE that it is not green or red or orange or other motherfucking color. Anything other than purple. This person says "no" that is purple and is written in purple ink. I went on to explain to this individual: that, for example, there have been people who have told me that it is another color. Anything other than the color purple. After this individual realized what I was saying to them, they literally tried to get me to believe that it wasn't the color purple… Hypothetically, of course, and in consistency with the other shit I've been through and trying to explain to them I over the course of maybe an hour.

"That's just the way it is", this motherfucker tried to explain to me.

Basically, I am crazy for seeing something for what it is. Especially if there is someone deliberately trying to put me at a disadvantage. Written rules, even Laws, twisted into insignificant bullshit just to try to make me look fucked up.

So now I'm left with this……

1) I am guilty simply because of the shit that I've gone through.

2) I am crazy because of the way I view the shit that I've gone through.

3) I am delusional because of the way I choose to deal with the shit that I've gone through.

and

4) I am alone going through the shit I continue to go through.

Attempting to change any of the first three will cause nothing but more stress and frustration, therefore I'm alone or going through the shit I continue to go through.

If I do manage to change the fact that I'm alone, it will do nothing more than cause additional stress and frustration that will simply lead to me being alone…. as I continue to go through the shit that I'm going through.

Trying get someone to understand the path I have been forced to walk will only lead to One, Two and or Three. Ultimately leading to me being alone as I continue to go through the shit that I'm going through.

To anyone, who might take time to read this, if you have a solution to this never ending cycle…..

Please let me know.

52° Cloudy
SE, Washington D.C., DC, United States

Sent from my iPod

Nullius in verba -- A Luta Continua

Homeless Veteran 1

There is no reason for there to be a homeless veteran ANYWHERE in this country.

But there are...

I met one today.  This one did his time in Nam AND Korea. He had a plan like I did.  And like mine, his plan fell apart. He managed to last for a while on his savings too.  From 2009 to January this year.

This man isn't on drugs or strung out.  He wasn't an alcoholic.  He wasn't even asking for money. He was just sitting there with his sign.  That sign almost caused me to just walk on by. But there was something odd about this guy.

No cup.

Sharp eyes...  even if he was tired.

And, by all appearances,  for 65 years old and not one to be trifled with.

He was either new in town or just didn't have the need...  but he didn't know where the VA is either...  and he doesn't have his ID yet.

But I believe that will change tomorrow.

He was grateful for the info I shared with him.

But, I think, more than anything.....

He was glad to know that he's not.........

Invisible

After The Fact...

After the one who I KNEW was the one tossed me aside like a snotty napkin, there has been three contacts made. 

One was on me...

"Thank You..." that was all. 

Thank you for setting the stage to let me know who my REAL peoples are. 

Two was just pointless... 3.5 months later. 

She sends me a text message asking me to get a hard drive I'd left behind. 

Meanwhile, I'm in the second of the three homeless shelters I would occupy over a three month period. She knows me well enough to know that if I hadn't contacted her about that shit then I'd written it off. 

I did take it as an opportunity to let her know that there was nothing that would make me put my hands on her violently. Well, no one told her to allow her fear to dictate what to do with me. 

I think she may have even realized that for, in her response, she called me an "asshole". 

Three...  I felt a little bad about that last encounter. And since I was in a state of emotional repair I gave her the closest thing she will ever get to forgiveness from me...

...an address to send my shit if she held on to it. 

In all reality, I never expected to see any of it again anyway. 

By now, with the exception of the stray memory, I didn't think much about her.   

Then, suddenly, a blog from one of her friends shows up in my inbox. It had been WELL over a year since he'd used that blog. 

Initially, I was going to just ignore it. But, out of curiosity, I read it...  and then I read it again. 

This blog entry was either a message about me......  Or two me. 

I took it both ways.......

...and ignored that one AND the one that followed. 

What the fuck did they expect?

Now, less than a month ago...  I get a strange Facebook friend request. I don't know who it is; but, before I delete a motherfucker, I try to make sure I don't know them. 

After a while, I take a little time to dig into this friend request, only to find.....

...that it was her oldest sister. 

W. T. F. 

I hovered over the "BLOCK" button...  But, then I thought about it for a minute.

What does ANYONE from that village have to say to me?  I certainly don't have anything to say to them. 

So I accept the friend request, open up my profile a bit... and wait. 

and I wait...

and I wait some more. 

After a couple of weeks of reading my posts, I guess they realized they really didn't have anything to say to me. 

Maybe they just wanted to see how I'm doing. What I'm doing. If I am really where I said I am. Perhaps even get a glimpse at what I am doing. 

I gave them all of that along with what I am thinking. 

The next motherfucker to contact me will get an immediate response. 

Nullius in verba