Live, from the kitchen...

Current mood: annoyed 

I'm in the kitchen multitasking... cooking dinner and on the phone with reservations to change Ro's itinerary and check on the company's policy on emergency travel for employees.  I'm holding patiently while Ms. Fabulous Reservations Agent it searching the policy (made me feel less dumb, I couldn't find it either). 

 

Daija appears.

 

Momma, I am so tired of Halle.

 

Really, Daija?

Yes.  I am JUST SO TIRED of Halle.

Why are you tired of your sister?

Because I told her two times to clean up the poop.

Daija... what poop?

THE POOP.

Daija, where is the poop?

In you room.

Daija, can you show momma the poop?

O-tay...

Damn dog.  Anyone want a Shih Tzu?  Ms. Fab Res Agent declined as politely and professionally as one can while choking on laughter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

death, dignity, and a last HURRAH with family

I got an email followed by a phone call shortly after I arrived home yesterday afternoon.  My dad's sister has will be going into hospice next week, and the call has been put out for all available family to travel to Minnesota for a last hurrah.  Aunt Diane is currently in the hospital due to dehydration.    After putting up with Crohn's Disease for close to 30 years, and numerous surgeries, they have finally taken out so much of her intestines that she is unable to maintain enough fluids in her system even with being fed intravenously and receiving IV fluids.   Coupled with this the arthritis in her hands has made it hard for her to take care of herself.  She has become so weak that she can hardly walk even with her walker.   

She will be released from the hospital Monday, for a couple days, during which we (my wife and I) will be taking her out to a Casino so she can try to enjoy herself for a day or two.   After which she will return to the Hospital and enter the Hospice... and At this time she is going to refuse all medications and IV feeding, except for pain killers, so she can pass quietly into the hereafter with no more pain and her dignity intact. 

 

 

Having spent my childhood doing the military family moves every three or four years, my visits to Minnesota were few and far between. I don't really have any memories of Diane beyond hearing my parents talk about her and seeing an occasional picture.  But she's expressed a desire to see everyone in the family, so I am trying to go.  I'll need to fly to MN Sunday and would return last Monday or Tuesday, but Ro's flight home wasn't till Monday.  I thought I had a plan to send the kids on sleepovers with friends whose parents would be taking their own children to the bus stop Monday morning... but that plan is starting to look sketchy.  Ro called this morning to see how things were going and I told him about plan B because I wasn't sure plan A was going to work... bless him, he called back about an hour later and told me to change his flight to Sunday.  I'll probably be leaving before he gets in, but at least I'll only need to get a sitter for the day. 

 

Halle was only two when my grandfather passed in 2001, so aside from Herbie (RIP), she doesn't have much experience with the actual loss, even though she talks about "Boppa" like she remembers him.  Last night we had about an hour talk... very tearful.  When Halle last spent the night with Chaz (her best friend until the day they die), she saw something on TV that got her worried about dying.  I think she cried more about Aunt Diane, who I don't think she really knew existed, than Tyler did when Boppa died.  But I told her... like First Woman in Grandmother's Gift... Aunt Diane has lived a long life, and a good life, and she is not afraid.  It is her time to die, and she wants to see her family and then cross over to the other side... making room for new life here on Earth.

******************

Wednesday, November 07, 2001 11:25 PM

I spoke with Tyler after I picked him up from school today. The conversation flowed smoother than I expected, and I know he is forewarned, but I am sure that as the reality of this sets in he will have questions or maybe some acting out or depression. I asked him if he remembered what was in his body, and he said yes, his spirit, and that spirits held love and care. We talked about how bodies sometimes got old and stopped working or sometimes they could get hurt really badly and stop working, and he said, yes, and then the body dies. We talked about how the spirit is forever, and that when a person dies it is their body, but the spirit doesn't die. Tyler said spirits are stronger than any bad things and they are even stronger than houses. I asked Tyler where he thought spirits went when the body dies, and he said, up there. I figured I could work with that theory, and I said yes, the body becomes part of the earth and that the spirit goes to the spirit world. I reminded Tyler of the verse in our bedtime prayer...

Mother Earth, bless & father sky keep
Ancestors watch me while I sleep
Protect my heart, protect my home,
Protect my spirit as I roam (this references dreaming)
Sister moon and brother star watching over us from afar, bless (and then we list family)

I reminded Tyler that ancestors are members of our family who have already died and whose spirits have gone to the spirit world, and that they watch over us, protect us, and guide us, particularly through our dreams. I asked him if he remembered what the Great Spirit was, and that it was the thing that makes life, the force that is in every living thing. I reminded him of a conversation we had long ago when he picked up a meal grace I didn't approve of, where I had explained that God wasn't a man sitting in the sky deciding who deserved food and who didn't, but that God is a great spirit that is everywhere and in everything that lives, and that the great spirit is in the earth and the sun and the stars and the sky, that the great spirit lives in him and me, that the spirits inside us that make our bodies work and our minds think are all part of the same great spirit so god isn't 'out there', the Great Spirit is 'in here' and that we are all a part of the great spirit and the great spirit is a part of everything. I said to him, you know boppa is pretty sick right now. Tyler responded yes, and that Boppa was going to die. I explained, as we have discussed before, that everything living has a time to die (we've lost several fish), but that Boppa's body had been getting older and older and some parts of it were very worn out and that his body was really hurting badly. I explained that his spirit might have to leave his body soon, I told him that when our spirits have to leave our bodies that they go back with the great spirit so that they can be everywhere, that we can't see or touch their bodies anymore, but the spirits are always wherever we need them and that we can always tell them we love them. I explained that boppa was a little confused about the changes in his body, and a little nervous about his spirit, but that right now he really needed to know that we loved him, and that we don't want Boppa to be worried right now. We went to the hospital tonight, and I told Tyler that I knew he might have questions, but that we would need to talk about them later... I told Tyler that if I squeezed his arm or hand, that I needed him to help me out by telling Boppa that he loved him.

Daija and Halle, Live from the back seat...

I'm editing this post because the back seat entertainment really started this morning. 

the trailer

I have several books that I had as a child, that I've had so long I don't know quite how I got them, but whenever that was, they were already old.  I've been trying to get Tyler to move away from paperbacks he's read over and over and trying a couple of these classics.  Monday night, I found success and he chose Black Beauty for his nightly read & respond.  Daija, not to be outdone, chose Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.  I put Huck away, but I keep finding him all over the house.  Daija gets him out, I put him back, Daija gets him out, I put him back... not so much because it's inappropriate literature for a child of three years, nine months... but because Huck is 58 years old.  OK, so not the story itself, but this book, is 58 years old.

the opening act

This morning we leave for preschool, and Daija smuggles Huck out to the car.  I reminder her that the contraband (she always has contraband) must be left in the car when we get to the preschool.  She agrees (she always does) and announces she is going to read to me.  I buckle her into her booster seat, she opens the book in her lap, and we start our commute.

I don't remember Mark Twain writing much about an octopus... but Daija is aware that "O" stands for OCTOPUS, therefore, if there is an "O" in the book, the book is about an OCTOPUS.

Daija likes the story, and expresses her desire to take the book into the preschool.  I express my desire the book stay in the car.  She screams NO.  We have a brief discussion about how Momma's are to be spoken to.  She says, in a more favorable tone of voice, that she doesn't want to leave the book in the car.  I explain that I do not want the book to get broken or lost.  Daija responds, in her "Silly Rabbit" voice, that the book will not get lost.  I restate that the book must stay in the car. 

Momma

she says as she lays the book in the center seat.

Look at this book.  Someone will take it out of our car.

I frantically yank the plastic off my bottle of starbucks and pray the caffeine kicks in quickly enough to make a strong rebuttal that no one will break into our car to steal a 58 year old copy of huckleberry finn... and wonder how much it's going to cost me to put Daija through law school.

the final act

I wound up leaving work early because Tyler was in the nurse's office twice complaining of head and stomach aches.  We went home, where I was almost immediately hit with an extended family crisis, then went and picked up Halle & Jelani from the community center and Daija from daycare. 

On the way to daycare, Halle and Jelani are chatting in the back seat.  I'm preoccupied with the family issue so I didn't catch the whole conversation, especially since Jelani tends to mutter.  But here are the snippets I did catch out of Halle's mouth...

Real mermaids don't have those things up here.  But mermaids are real.

I think by up here, she was referencing the bikini top or seashells often depicted on mermaids' breasts.  I leave that alone, and interject that no one has ever been able to take a picture of a mermaid to prove they exist.

That's because we live in a DESERT.

I don't hear much because I'm choking back laughter.  When I manage to tune in again, Halle seems to be theorizing that God created mermaids.

[static, static, static]

God... [pause] Who VOTED for God?

[static, static, static]

I wish I knew what was in the clouds.

[static, static, static]

Jesus is like... Jesus is just like awesome.

[static, static, static]

How am I supposed to drive in these circumstances?  And poor Jelani, having to hold the other end of that conversation!

The objectification of multiracial youth

One of the things that disturbs me about the infamous "What are they?" questions from complete strangers, or the "Oh, just look at hair hair!" exclamations, where people are not complimenting "her" so much as they are talking about her like she's not there or can't hear them, is not that I think the people who initiate this kind of dialogue are ill intentioned... it's the objectification and the sense of "otherness" that comes with it. Even though the oohing and aahing is intended to be a compliment, and maybe for the parents it is... it's an affirmation that we are accepted... and since many of us in multiracial relationships have experience rejection in some fashion... perhaps just from thoughtless comments made by strangers, but in some cases, outright rejection by friends or family members.  I know people who have been the recipients of outright hostile stares to people who have been disowned from their families.  Speaking from my racial perspective, which of course won't apply to every white mother of biracial children... I experienced a loss of some of that white privilege when I started dating interracially.  It was immediate and pronounced... so I can see how it might be tempting, after experiencing that loss and rejection, to want to bask in that acceptance.

But from the perspectives of our children, what is it like for them to be asked or to overhear their parents being asked (with whatever frequency) to justify their existence?  Quoting from Does Anybody Else Look Like Me?, psychologist Maria Root says, "It is the combination of inquisitive looks, longer than passing glances to comprehend unfamiliar racial-ethnic features... and comments of surprise .. along with disapproving comments and nonverbal communication that begin to convey to the child that this otherness is undesirable or wrong."

This is, of course, a sensitive area in our home right now, where one of my three children is expressing unhappiness with her appearance, with her ethnic name, and questioning whether or not she belongs to me, in terms of whether or not I really gave birth to her.

I find myself wondering more and more, about how this affects children.  In Hate Hurts: How Children Learn and Unlearn Prejudice, the authors write, "Often, our children find themselves fed up with being the "answer-givers" - with having to serve as the cultural educators.  This is particularly the case when your child is one of only a few like herself (or the only one) amid a larger populating of people who share a common race, culture, or religion.  This frustration is very real.  As educators in classrooms across the country can attest, some kids are asked the same question umpteen times a day by their peers, adding up to an incredible number of times they are forced to give the same answers over and over."

This is something that my 10yo son has expressed - he indicates he is frequently asked by friends, including his closest friend, about his race.  Part of me resents society expecting my children to educate a racialized society.  Yeah, I knew it wasn't going to be easy to be in a multi racial/cultural/faith relationship... didn't expect that raising multi racial/cultural/faith children was going to be a walk in the park.

But that doesn't mean that I signed myself, or my children, up to carry the collective racial baggage of American history, or to somehow heal society with our existence.  My family is not a traveling educational exhibit.  My children are not part of a petting zoo.

Rather than intrude on my privacy, usually because I caught them staring (which was considered rude back in my day), by pumping me for personal information... if a complete stranger really wants to learn more about multiracial children, why not walk up and ask me if I could recommend any books or internet sites?  Are the personal and individual combination of my children's ethnicities, relayed in 30 seconds or less, really going to truly give this stranger a better understanding of race relations, where we are, how far we still need to go, or what it's really like to be a "racial other?"  One can mask it as an attempt at understanding, but it's just as likely to be morbid curiosity or an attempt to fit my children into a preconceived notion... aka a stereotype.  Why should my children be singled out as 'others' just to appease the need of a stranger to fit them into a category, and apply whatever internalized stereotypes they have about [Africans, Muslims, white women/black men who date outside their race].

 

 

Bill of Rights
for Racially Mixed People
By Maria P.P. Root

I HAVE THE RIGHT...
Not to justify my existence in this world.
Not to keep the races separate within me.
Not to be responsible for people's discomfort with my physical ambiguity.
Not to justify my ethnic legitimacy.

I HAVE THE RIGHT...
To identify myself differently than strangers expect me to identify.
To identify myself differently from how my parents identify me.
To identify myself differently from my brothers and sisters.
To identify myself differently in different situations.

I HAVE THE RIGHT...
To create a vocabulary to communicate about being multiracial.
To change my identity over my lifetime -- and more than once.
To have loyalties and identification with more than one group of people.
To freely choose whom I befriend and love.

Thoughts on children's media, sexual objectification, and racial stereotypes

So when we last talked, I was just about to go see Disney Live at Dodge Theater. Daija enjoyed it, until it was time to go... she was definitely tired and started melting down. I wasn't real impressed with the venue (the seating wasn't stadium style enough, which makes it hard for little people to see), and I didn't think the show was much better. I mean it was cute, but it was no Disney on Ice. I also noticed something that bothered me... Cinderella (fairy tale origin is Chinese... how did she turn blonde?), Snow White (fairy tale origin is German), and Belle (fairy tale origin is French) were all dressed in the traditional apparel they're usually portrayed in, but with very modest necklines... not a hint of cleavage. So when Jasmine (fairy tale origin purported to be Arabic or Persian) came out in the low rider genie pants and push up bra... well... given other things on my mind lately it was just glaring that only the brown skinned Princess was dressed like a tramp... essentially portrayed as an object of sexual gratification. In the original fairy tale as well as the Americanized version, Aladdin marries a princess, not a concubine... and this story originates from a period of time in culture that still today does not permit women to parade around half nude. If anything, with the locale supposedly in the middle to far east, one would logically expect a woman of elevated social status to wear clothing of the era... like Aurora, Belle, Cinderella, Mulan, and Snow White wear clothing that is in keeping with what women of their station traditionally wore during the time period of the story.

Note that although it is considered an Arabic tale either because of its source, or because it was included in The Book of One Thousand and One Nights, the characters in the story are neither Arabs nor Persians, but rather are from the far east. The Far Eastern country in the story is an Islamic country, where most people are Muslims. There is a Jewish community, regarded by others with a prejudice. There is no mention whatever of Buddhists or Confucians. Everybody in this Far Eastern Country bears an Arabic name and its King seems much more like an Arab ruler than like an actual Chinese emperor. The Country of the tale was a mythic far-off place, definitely eastwards.

Last weekend, I watched Walt Disney Pictures: The Wild, which was much cuter than Madagascar (2005) (which I really didn't care for). But I noticed a similarity between The Wild and Madagascar that I found bothersome when I first saw Madagascar, which was before I resurrected my dormant interest in such racial issues and was consciously thinking about where and how some children are picking up the message that it's better to be white.

In both movies, a group of (American) animals escape from New York City and inadvertently sail off to Africa. In Africa, the Animal Americans are met by hostile or off-balance native Animal Africans, with fanatical and/or cannibalistic religious beliefs. Additionally, the Animal American at the top of the food chain in Madagascar begins to lose his civility in this environment and begins to regress into baser Animal African behavior. The movies both end with the Animal Americans, along with some Animal Africans they have rescued, sailing off just as quickly as they can, to return to their lives of captivity in a zoo in America.

It really made me wonder what the kids are getting from this subconsciously. I wonder, especially with Halle, whether these story lines are becoming part of her internal perspective on Africans. Yes, she understands that not everything on TV is real... but at the same time, everything she sees is being catalogues in that little brain. While none of the movies that she's watched have pointedly said, "it's better to be white", she's picked up that message from seeing repeatedly in media that the standard of beauty is white... despite all the books and dolls we have that depict other races. So she's seeing these animals with human characteristics who appear to believe that would rather live in cages on display in America than to live in Africa. How is that going to impact her perspective of Africa and Africans, and how will she internalize messages like this with her heritage? I know that some African Americans don't really identify with being 'african' american because the significance of any particular culture has been lost. But that's not the case with our family, since Ro is adamantly African, or Sudanese, but does not consider himself African American... to the point that if he will check 'black' on forms, but will check 'other' before he will check African American. So on the one hand the kids get these negative messages about Africa, and on the other they have this role model that is fiercely proud of his culture and adamant about retaining it.

Wish I had conclusions for some of these posts... most of the time I just find more questions.

What ARE they? (Follow Up)

So Christie asked if I'd come up with any good responses to the infamous "What are they?" question, or ways to handle the zooing/petting. No pressures, she says.

When the kids (and I) were younger, I rarely hesitated to respond with a snappy comeback or snide response. Where'd my 2yo get his curly hair? I permed it. Is she yours? No, I just thought she was cute so I snatched her from a cart outside.

But as the kids are growing up, so am I. As tempting as it is to fight fire with fire (a dumb (or rude) question deserves a dumb (or rude) answer)... something about it just doesn't quite sit right with me.

First of all, there may come a time, particularly for my son, when a smart answer *I* encouraged might come out of his mouth at an inappropriate time. And it may jeopardize his physical well-being. I can't afford to bank on the fact that I live in a changing society... there are some situations where what my child says, and the manner in which he says it, may have a profound impact on the outcome of that situation. I'm thinking of something Tim Wise wrote about, that I've heard echoed from Black friends, in regards to corporal punishment, to the effect that the lesson is better taught at home by the hand that loves the child, than by the (White) establishment. This isn't corporal punishment, but better my children learn from me that race isn't something we can afford to be flip about, than the hands of some racist who has the power or authority to mete out their brand of justice.

That's probably a little paranoid. God/ess willing, there will never be a time where my son or daughters is standing at the wrong end of a gun or knife, or across from a racist school official or police officer, where how they answer that question will determine what happens next. Even so, stereotypes abound... and I don't want anything that I taught my children to reinforce any negative stereotypes someone else holds about 'mixed' children, their mothers, their fathers, or how they are parented.

I'm one of those mothers who has 'gotten old' and is appalled by the lack of manners in kids today. I was raised to respect my elders, and in a military family at that. Yes ma'am, no ma'am. Regardless how thoughtless or intrusive 'those' questions and compliments are, I cannot bring myself to teach my children to respond with a smart answer. I've also become very aware of how my children process and record my every reaction, my every word, and every opinion I voice. So that leaves me in a conundrum with the smart answer... I have to be the change I want to see in the world, right?

So I've actually given this topic a lot of thought, and Christie gave me just the right amount of pressure to try and organize my thoughts. I want to be able to answer, and teach my children to answer, questions and reactions from others in as graceful a manner as possible, in a manner that is respectful not only to our family and our right to privacy, but in a way that is respectful to the asker, who is usually well intentioned.

Does Anybody Else Look Like Me gives several good suggestions.

"Where did you get your (straight/curly hair, blue eyes, Asian eyes)... "From God" (godess, nature... DNA)
In response to the petting... "Thank you, but I feel uncomfortable when people touch her hair."
In response to Where is s/he from, is s/he adopted, "This is a personal matter I don't care to discuss." or "WE are adopted."

For us, I'm encouraging the kids to talk about how they see themselves, and how they feel comfortable answering. Last week at school, I peeked into Halle's classroom, and a little boy (who was dark skinned, but I didn't look closely enough to determine what his race might be) commented to Halle, "But she's white and you're brown." To which Halle responded, "So? It doesn't matter." I had seen them talking just after Halle spied me by the door. Right before I left, Halle ran up to me to relay the conversation... and to confirm that she had been right in her answer. I told her, "You're right, it doesn't matter. You are black AND white and loved all over." She asked, "What is daddy again? just African?" and I replied, "Daddy is Sudanese. Mommy is American. You are Sudanese AND American."

And she smiled.

"Violence merely increases hate... adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.