October 2008 - Posts
I cried last Friday when I heard about the murders of Jennifer Hudson’s mother and brother. When I heard that her nephew was missing, I held out hope that he’d be found soon. When I read that a 7-year-old boy’s body had been found, I lost that hope. It’s been confirmed today – the boy they found was her nephew.
I keep thinking to myself “I can’t imagine … “ but I can. It’s because I can imagine that the tears come so readily. Thank God, I can’t know what it must be like for Jennifer Hudson to have lost her mother, brother and nephew. Thank God, I can’t know the hell of Jennifer Hudson’s sister, Julia, who lost not only her mother and brother, but also lost her 7-year-old son, Julian. For 72 hours her son was gone—not yet dead, just missing. For 72 hours before she knew for sure he was dead, she could only imagine, and try not to.
I’ve seen the TV news reports that show so many grieving Chicagoans. Like me, most of them never actually knew the family, so I know I’m not alone in my painful empathy. But I have a 7-year-old son, too. I’ve experienced those moments of immediate and extreme terror when the child who was right at by my side is gone. It takes just seconds for the adrenaline to flood a parent’s brain and fuel a crazed panic.
There was that one time at the mall when--for maximum entertainment value—Jack hid in a rack of clothes, laughing behind his hand while I spun around, calling his name. When his laughter overflowed his cupped hand and revealed his fine trick, my first impulse was to grab him and shake him, screaming “NEVER DO THAT AGAIN! NEVER! NEVER!” If I had given in to that impulse, and if I had ended up having to explain myself to a police officer, and if that police officer was a parent, I don't believe I would have been punished; I believe the officer would have nodded knowingly, sympathetically.
Last weekend we were at Sea World. We stood in line for 20 minutes with hundreds of other people waiting to ride the watery Journey to Atlantis. Then we lined up again to get some cold drinks. Then we returned to the Journey to Atlantis locker area to stand in line again before I could reclaim the purse I wasn’t allowed to carry on the ride.
When I came out of the locker area I saw my husband spinning in panic, calling our son’s name. Five seconds, maybe only three seconds, before Jack was back by our side, but that’s all the time it took for every imaginable horror to run through our minds.
With Jack's hand firmly in my husband's, we started off again for another exhibit. That’s when we saw the crying woman. She had let go of her 9-year-old son's hand 40 minutes earlier so he could stand in line and ride the watery roller coaster alone. She’d been standing there waiting and crying for 40 minutes. I'm sure that for 40 minutes every imaginable horror ran through her mind.
That's why so many of us cried again when Julia Hudson's son was found and confirmed dead: We could -- and had -- imagined it.
I’m thinking I might start another blog called “Butter-side down.” You know, like when you drop your toast and it lands butter-side down on your shirt … in the car … at 75 mph … on the way to a job interview.
My most recent butter-side down incident occurred today.
I’ve been waiting several long weeks to undergo a nasty bit of outpatient surgery. I took half a day off work yesterday to go to the hospital for all the pre-op stuff. I did the disgusting pre-op purge as ordered last night.
We failed to properly set the alarm clock last night, so overslept this morning. Spent 15 minutes screaming at our little boy to get ready in 15 minutes, and still had to take the poor kid to school late.
Got to the hospital late, and had to run (painfully) from the parking lot to the pre-surgical waiting room. Were quickly sent back to our little curtained-off waiting area. Clothes off. Gown on. IV in. And there I waited for almost five hours.
After five hours on the gurney, the anesthesiologist came in and listened to my lungs, which were clear. Then he asked about my wheezing. Yes, I’ve been wheezing for a couple of weeks since the weather changed, and my sinuses reacted. No fever. No chest congestion. He agreed that it was just sinus drip crud causing the sound effects.
They cancelled the surgery. My surgeon is out of town for three days next week, so it looks like it’ll be two more weeks before I can have this surgery. I’m still waiting for the date from the doc’s office, so I can arrange to take off more time from my job.
In the mean time, I’m working 10-hour days and another half day Saturday to make up the time I took off this week for the surgery that never happened.
The Association of Community Organizations for Reform Now, Acorn, has been linked to widespread voter registration fraud. Among the fraudulent registrations was one for a man in Orange County, Florida with 21 applications. And how about the industrious registrar who registered the entire starting lineup of the Dallas Cowboys … in Las Vegas …where none of them live. Yeah, that was a big, fat tipoff that something funny was going on.
In just over a week, the investigation has spread from Nevada, to Florida, Ohio, Wisconsin, North Carolina, New Mexico, Michigan, Colorado, Indiana and Missouri.
The McCain campaign, while professing outrage, is gleeful over this new “evidence” against Barack Obama. Because Obama conducted two one-hour leadership training sessions for ACORN in the ‘90s—without pay—the McCain campaign asserts that he’s paid for the organization to register thousands of phantom voters, thereby assuring his presidency.
I used to volunteer at voter registration drives, and I’m old fashioned and idealistic enough to believe that voting is a citizen’s responsibility. I support efforts to register more voters … real voters … one at a time.
But here’s the thing: The ACORN employees are minimum wage, hourly employees who have quotas; they aren’t highly trained, highly qualified organization leaders. Already, ACORN has identified and fired a number of employees involved in the fraud who were copying names, addresses and phone numbers from the phone book and turning them in as newly registered voters. And, it was ACORN who notified authorities of the fraud.
Does ACORN have some huge problems with vetting, training and supervising their employees? Obviously. Does that mean Barack Obama is trying to undermine democracy steal the election. No.
Sarah Palin poked fun at Obama’s community organizing resume, but the fact is, he was responsible for registering more than 150,000 voters from Chicago’s South Side—a predominantly African-American enclave of previously disenfranchised citizens. Because of Obama’s work, Sen. Carol Moseley Brown became the first African-American woman in the US Senate. And that was just cause for Palin’s derision?
McCain and Palin have gone too far in their accusations. At recent McCain-Palin rallies, their supporters have cried out “Hang him!” and said Obama is an Arab and a terrorist. The crowds have become so bloodthirsty McCain has admonished them. But the ACORN scandal is too juicy not to try to link it with Obama, even without proof.
The whole thing stinks, and it’s a big part of the reason so many people (including me) are swearing off political news until Election Day.
To say that Holly Lofland’s career has come to an inglorious end would be an understatement. The Tallahassee Police Department investigator was honored by Mothers Against Drunk Drivers in April of this year, after making 2,000 DUI arrests during her 18-year career. By summer’s end, she was being investigated by TPD and the State Prosecutor’s office. She’s now on an unpaid leave of absence that could last a year, and she's been sentenced to six months probation.
State Attorney Willie Meggs was so incensed by Lofland’s behavior, he fired off a three-page letter to TPD Chief Dennis Jones. In it he cited a “long and ongoing problem with Officer Lofland” and the egregious discrepancies between Lofland’s arrest reports and what can be clearly seen on the videos shot by the investigator’s in-car camera:
“Officer Lofland writes that the defendant … missed tip to tip 4 of 6 attempts” from the video it appears the defendant in fact touched his nose all 6 times.” Regarding another of Lofland's arrests, Meggs wrote
“…arm raised for balance, 29 shifts/hops” (that simply does not happen).”
But what finally caught up to Lofland wasn’t even the fabricated arrest records; it was the contempt of court charges that resulted from her talking to other witnesses during a trial. Among other things, she complained that another officer should have made something up to corroborate another officer’s story.
There’s a motion to investigate Lofland for perjury. More than 100 of her arrests are under review. The State Attorney's office and Police Department--already shamed by their part in the death of confidential informant Rachel Hoffman--have lost credibility in the community.
Rumors abound about the way Lofland targeted, intimidated and harassed young girls on their way into or out of local clubs. There are stories of her arresting a girl for drunk driving while the young woman was standing in a parking lot. She wasn’t even the driver! Other people say she planted evidence to get her arrests.
My friend’s brother was drunk when he crashed his motorcycle; age at death: 18. A friend of a friend killed a woman and her children last year when he ran a stop sign, drunk. I saw a bumper sticker on a minivan the other day that read “A drunk driver killed my daughter.”
A lot of her arrested drunk drivers were probably guilty, and the roads are safer with them gone. And we’re all safer with Lofland off the streets.
I consider myself an expert on penguins. After all, I saw “Happy Feet” and “March of the Penguins.” I even bought them both for our home collection. I actually got to feed penguins at a Sea World exhibit 20-some years ago.
A conversation arose in our office yesterday about where penguins live, with at least one co-worker asserting that Alaska was among their home places. My initial response to that was “No way! Are you nuts?!?” And then I went on to say that Antarctica is their only habitat; a few seconds later I expanded that to include Peru, Chile and the Galapagos Islands. (Have I ever admitted here than I can be smug and snotty about this kind of stuff?)
There’s a news story this morning about the 1,000 Magellanic penguins that have recently washed onto the beaches of northern Brazil. Brazil? (Apparently southern Brazil is a natural habitat for them.) That news story led to further research. That research led to further research on the total range of penguins.
Well, my apologies and mea culpa. All that research led to the humbling realization that not only do I know very little about where penguins live (There! I said it!), I know even less about geography. The good news is that I know more now than I did yesterday.
African Penguins live in South Africa and Namibia. I knew already where Africa and South Africa are, but had to research to find Namibia, which I now know is northwest of South Africa, on the southern Atlantic coast.
There are tropical penguins, including the Galapagos Penguins. Oh yeah, I knew that, but I had to research to find the Galapagos Islands. I now know that the Galapagos Islands are just off the eastern coast of Ecuador. Then I had to look up Ecuador. (Duh. Do you think it’s a coincidence that “equator” and “Ecuador” sound so similar?)
Penguins also live in Australia and New Zealand. I knew where those are, but didn’t know they have penguins. Other sites of penguin habitation include Peru, Chile, Patagonia, the Falklands and Argentina.
Along the way I also learned there are 16 species of penguins… or 13… or 18, depending on whom you ask. Other tidbits: the smallest penguin is the Magellanic, and the largest is the Emperor Penguin. Researches have found fossilized remains of a penguin that exceeded six feet in height.
I've long been aware of the importance of parental involvement in their child's school--some say it's the single most important parenting step to ensure a child's success--but this is the first year I've been able to to get involved through volunteering tutor time. It has turned out to be just as important to me as it to my son and the kids I tutor.
My tutor time is for an hour or hour-and-a-half every Thursday morning, and so far I'm three weeks into it. The kids I'm working with are from my son's first-grade class, and I think their knowing Jack makes them more comfortable with me. Some of the kids I've worked with every week, and some of them I just met this week. The school supplies all the materials we need, but I've added some of my own lessons that the kids seem to like. For instance, we're doing a lot of work with phonics so I'll let the kids know what letter sound I'm targeting before we start. Then, I'll sing a song and have them shout out the word that starts with the targeted sound. For the "b" sound I sang "Hey, Jude, Don't make it BAD. Take a sad song and make it BETTER...." Every once in a while I'll have the kids take turns (I work with two kids at a time) writing down a target sound and singing a song themselves for the other kid to respond to. It's a blast! And, as a special bonus for an aging hippie mom, I get to introduce them to classic rock, protest songs and folk songs that express peace and love. These kids aren't getting many of those messages in their lives.
One of the little girls does so well I've wondered why she's getting the special attention. After working with Ashley (not her real name) for three weeks I've realized that she need the special attention more than the tutoring. Her family situation is abysmal. She and her mom live in a cramped apartment in a complex where the police make nightly calls. Ashley's told me about her nightmares, but said she's not as scared as she was before her mom's boyfriend moved out. When one of the other kids asked if I was mom to both my little boy and Ashley, I thought it was because she and Jack are the only white kids in the class. Later I found out that Ashley told her classmates that I was her mom. I don't know why, but Jack went along with the story. Every week Ashley starts our time together with a reminder of something we said or did the week before. I guess it's a way for her to build stability and continuity.
I can see some improvement in the little boy I've worked with every week. (Call him Javon). He was very, very shy and struggled painfully with the work we were doing. Jack told me the teacher makes Javon stand up at his desk sometimes because he falls asleep when he's seated. Javon said his mom washes laundry for a living; he hasn't said anything about his dad yet. This week he did better with the phonics exercises, and proudly explained the games to another kid who was with us for the first time. The new kid's going to be a real challenge. For starters, I can't understand enough of his speech to even make out his name. I really hope that I get to work with him again next week, and that Javon can continue to help him along like he did this week.
Getting to know more about my son's classmates also gives me a better idea of what's going on in his world during the long days we're apart. I can compare his academic performance and general behavior to the other kids' (yep, they're all that chatty and unfocused). And now I know why he drew such big teeth in his self-portrait: I thought he was illustrating what a big boy he is now that he's lost so many of his baby teeth, until he asked "Do you like my gold teeth, Mommy?" He had drawn a picture of himself with a grill. For a few days he was saying Yo! Dog! a lot around the house. I'm all about multi-culturalism, but I told him he had to respect "my" culture as a white mid-westerner.
When I'm at the school, it's obvious that he's excited to have me there; he proudly introduces me to his friends and teachers, and he always steps outside the classroom to hug and kiss me goodbye one more time before I go. Jack and I share more of his world now, and that's opened up opportunities for conversation beyond "So how was your day at school?". Because I know his teacher better now, it's easier for me to communicate via written notes and emails. And when Jack sees me tutoring, chaperoning and attending School Advisory Council meetings, it's clear to him that I value his school and education. I hope that when Jack sees me spending time with kids who wear clothes that are torn or don't fit well, or whose hair hasn't been combed in days or weeks, it'll help him grow up valuing people who are different from him. I won't always be able to have a big affect on Jack's values, but at this age kids value what their parents value.
Volunteerism has always been very important to me, but this is the first time in a long time I've been able to make it fit within the long days of a full-time job and a full family life. (Thank you, God, for giving me a boss who understands and allows a flexible work schedule.) A lot of people have the misconception that volunteering is an altruistic, selfless activity. Not so. I look forward to Thursday mornings because I know I'll get smiles and hugs from kids who are desperate for a bright spot in their day, and a shot of self confidence. I can see that I'm effective, so it makes me value myself more highly. I'm living with integrity; integrating my values into actions.
It's working for me, my son, his classmates, his teacher, and the school that is such a huge part of our neighborhood and community.
If you read my earlier posts, you know my little boy and I have been trying to raise Eastern Black Swallowtail butterflies from caterpillars. Sadly, we haven't had a lot of success yet.
We started with three caterpillars, but lost one in the car before we even got home. The second one built its chrysalis right away, but the next day it fell from the branch and was presumed dead. Incredibly, weeks after my son stashed it in his treasure chest, he opened the chest to find a beautiful, perfectly formed female butterfly. It died the next day.
The third one built its chrysalis shortly after the first one, but after several weeks we had given it up for dead. This week we found a fluttering, stumbling, long-legged creature with small, black, blue-dotted wings on the bottom of the cage. We left it in the cage with fresh water and parsley, hoping that maybe its wings were fully developed and just hadn't completely unfolded. Last night, it had developed no further and was found on its back kicking its legs wildly, spinning madly around the bottom of the cage. I put in outside in a flower bed, not expecting it to live, but knowing that even in its sadly defective state it would at least contribute to a natural cycle.
We scrubbed out the cage last night, and my son took the last chrysalis to school this morning for show and tell. We've decided to plant more parsley and fennel for the Eastern Black Swallowtails, and whatever else will support other varieties of butterflies. When that's done, we'll go back to the nursery for more caterpillars--whatever type they have then--and try raising them outside.
If anyone knows what we've done wrong, or has suggestions for our butterfly garden, please let me know.