You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them…you don’t choose…God’s gift to you…you are to them…choose your family…gift to you…you are to…family..God’s gift…you are…family…to them…God’s gift.
Family. It’s a word that wraps its arms around you. It comforts you; consoles you. It catches your tears in the palm of its hand. Raises the corners of your lips to make you smile. But, when its hands are weak, it makes you cringe.
Speaking of cringe, that’s exactly what Gene did when he touched her. She always cringed when he touched her. Well, at least ever since it happened. She was young then. But, not too young for her not to remember, and she is not old enough to forget. That is, if a person can even forget a thing like that.
Gene had just gotten home from a day of service at BT’s literacy program. She was sitting in the kitchen responding to text messages and emails from her Blackberry. She was bit of a neo-luddite, but she gave in when it came to her cell phone. Suddenly she felt a cold hand on her shoulder. She cringed before slowly turning her head to link a victim to the feeling.
Her father greeted her and asked her how her day went. In her usual bland voice, she told him that her day was fine. He continued inciting dialogue into the room. Her responses remained reserved. She refused to give him any of her emotion. She felt like he didn’t deserve it after what he’d done. And, he had the nerve to approach her in the kitchen—the scene of the crime.
It started years ago. Gene was just a little girl; 8, maybe 9. She was home singing songs in the mirror with her mother. Hairbrushes belie cordless mics. Her father came home from work, and he brought with him the vision for a new hobby. With zeal swarming his voice, Mr. Yus told his wife and daughter about his desire to cook “soul food”.
Now, Mr. Yus’s plan was not very typical for a young white man(well also one-eighth Asian) in the South. But, then again, neither was his marriage to a black woman. Moreover, the years of silent stares from his parents became exclamatory yells of disappointment. But, hey, her parents weren’t exactly throwing confetti either. It was an imperfect love story. A love story that took punch after punch from “loving” hands. Miscegenation was the devil’s work; evil-doing that must be beaten out through violence, whether loud or quiet.
From that day on he cooked. At first, everything tasted like a bad joke; sour, flat, and dry. Then, slowly, day-by-day, meal-by-meal, things got better. Collard greens got juicier. Neck bones got more tender. More salt. Pepper. This could use a bit more sugar.
Eventually, it was like watching a master at work. And, in fact, he was at work; on a mission. He made all of his wife’s childhood favorites, the stuff mama used to make. Grandmamma called them “old slave meals”. Gene called them weapons of mass destruction.
A few days before Gene graduated from high school, her mother died. They buried her the day after she received her diploma. People all over the city came out to console Gene and her father after their loss. Some of them ended up restraining Gene. Not from ranting in front of the casket, but from attacking . It was during the sermon, or at least the nostalgic journey through the memories of her mother, that she identified the actual cause of her mother’s death—her father.
Everyone insisted that Gene overreacted. Her mother died of natural causes. There was no murderer. She did it to herself. They tried to convince her. Besides, she’s in a better place now. A place, however, that none of those people were willing to go on their own. The blind cowardice of the believers.
From then on, Gene refused to eat her father’s cooking. He gave up soul food, however, after his wife passed away. And, Gene went off to Hughes College. It wasn’t her first choice. In fact, she only chose Hughes because her mother liked it, and her experience there had been lackluster. She was stuck with a choice made for her by someone who was gone. But, at least she didn’t pick up the freshman fifteen.
Now, she sits in the kitchen with the killer, as he talks about a meeting he had with Sidney. Gene is the last person to care. Her mind is drifting back to her mother. She needs a hug, but her father is too removed from her to realize it. A tear falls, but he doesn’t see it. No one catches it. No one raises the corners of her lips.
It’ll take someone strong. Strong enough to not have all the answers.
Or, maybe just strong enough to turn a brush into a microphone.
OxyJon
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Solution Series: Service
Struggle is a never ending process. Freedom is never really won, you earn it and win it in every generation….struggle…never ending process…freedom…never really won…you earn it…win it in every generation…struggle…freedom…never ending…win…every generation…struggle…earn…win…never ending…freedom…in every generation….every…generation.
Gravel pops from underneath tires. Some are chewed back into pavement , while others are spit across lots. Car, truck, mini-van, and SUV doors open and close. Vehicles fight for position in the drop-off line. The pretentious all decide to colonize two painted lines. The big vans retire to the back. They are the senior citizens—the backbone of the transporters. They carry a load other automobiles cannot.
Short legs stomp on the gravel. They race towards the entrance, all of them escorted—some by screams of anticipation and others by pouts of disdain. Another day with the folks from big people school. Poor lucky kids.
Taller legs usher in the stampede. They express their queered love for them; then give directions—usually passing them to teammates. Passing is the key to great offense. After the assist, the taller legs speak with the few line colonizers, reassuring them that their seeds are in the hands of capable planters.
Meanwhile, the seeds sit at tables and make commotion with each other and some of the taller legs. Some manage to stimulate small minds; others don’t. Everyone can’t handle the ball. Luckily, they’re a team.
A guy in slacks and a wrinkled button-up shirt comes to the front and talks. Everyone gets quiet, but no one really listens. A slender girl with long hair and glasses passes out books. Children pick them up with distaste. Most are genuine. Others try to fit in. Peer-pressure is a mountain.
They get things started. Ambiguous thoughts reshape the room. She keeps checking her cell phone. What is taking him so long to text back? Oh, she lost service. Ain’t that a…
He looks down at the boy sitting next to him. This kids things he’s dumb. He’s not really reading. Quiz him once he’s done. Yea, that’ll get him.
Two girls have discussions in-between administering pedagogy to the 5 kids at their table. They secretly remember being in love. His name always seem to come up over Dasani water bottles and Doublemint chewing gum. Memories of the most painful bliss.
Still no service…
The name the little girl wrote on the paper traps him. It brings back memories of everyone laughing at him. He always made everyone laugh at him. He snaps back into reality. That was then. This is now. They are in different places now, but he contemplates stealing the admiration of that bully’s little sister. That would almost be as sweet as revenge.
The little girl keeps complaining. “This book is too hard.” She is always making her do what she can’t do. She thinks taller legs are mean, especially her. She wants her mama. Her mama never makes her read….
Still no service…
They stick her with most of the kids from the church bus. How is she supposed to care about them when they’re own parents don’t even have the decency to drop them off. As soon this session is done, she’s out! None of the kids from their neighborhood ever do anything right anyway. She’s just wasting her time.
It’s hard for him to focus on the task at hand. He keeps thinking about her. He has that funny stomach feeling and everything. She’s gone now. She left his life last night. She finally got fed up with all the traffic. She could never find a parking space.
Still no service….
He’d be cute if he ironed his shirt.
She think she knows everything.
They’re nothing but a bunch of college kids.
Still no service…
They end up off schedule. They always start and end late. Everyone is irritable, hungry, or just anxious to leave. She steps outside to use her phone. Hopefully she can get some service. Everyone is in searching of something.
It’s community service.
OxyJon
Gravel pops from underneath tires. Some are chewed back into pavement , while others are spit across lots. Car, truck, mini-van, and SUV doors open and close. Vehicles fight for position in the drop-off line. The pretentious all decide to colonize two painted lines. The big vans retire to the back. They are the senior citizens—the backbone of the transporters. They carry a load other automobiles cannot.
Short legs stomp on the gravel. They race towards the entrance, all of them escorted—some by screams of anticipation and others by pouts of disdain. Another day with the folks from big people school. Poor lucky kids.
Taller legs usher in the stampede. They express their queered love for them; then give directions—usually passing them to teammates. Passing is the key to great offense. After the assist, the taller legs speak with the few line colonizers, reassuring them that their seeds are in the hands of capable planters.
Meanwhile, the seeds sit at tables and make commotion with each other and some of the taller legs. Some manage to stimulate small minds; others don’t. Everyone can’t handle the ball. Luckily, they’re a team.
A guy in slacks and a wrinkled button-up shirt comes to the front and talks. Everyone gets quiet, but no one really listens. A slender girl with long hair and glasses passes out books. Children pick them up with distaste. Most are genuine. Others try to fit in. Peer-pressure is a mountain.
They get things started. Ambiguous thoughts reshape the room. She keeps checking her cell phone. What is taking him so long to text back? Oh, she lost service. Ain’t that a…
He looks down at the boy sitting next to him. This kids things he’s dumb. He’s not really reading. Quiz him once he’s done. Yea, that’ll get him.
Two girls have discussions in-between administering pedagogy to the 5 kids at their table. They secretly remember being in love. His name always seem to come up over Dasani water bottles and Doublemint chewing gum. Memories of the most painful bliss.
Still no service…
The name the little girl wrote on the paper traps him. It brings back memories of everyone laughing at him. He always made everyone laugh at him. He snaps back into reality. That was then. This is now. They are in different places now, but he contemplates stealing the admiration of that bully’s little sister. That would almost be as sweet as revenge.
The little girl keeps complaining. “This book is too hard.” She is always making her do what she can’t do. She thinks taller legs are mean, especially her. She wants her mama. Her mama never makes her read….
Still no service…
They stick her with most of the kids from the church bus. How is she supposed to care about them when they’re own parents don’t even have the decency to drop them off. As soon this session is done, she’s out! None of the kids from their neighborhood ever do anything right anyway. She’s just wasting her time.
It’s hard for him to focus on the task at hand. He keeps thinking about her. He has that funny stomach feeling and everything. She’s gone now. She left his life last night. She finally got fed up with all the traffic. She could never find a parking space.
Still no service….
He’d be cute if he ironed his shirt.
She think she knows everything.
They’re nothing but a bunch of college kids.
Still no service…
They end up off schedule. They always start and end late. Everyone is irritable, hungry, or just anxious to leave. She steps outside to use her phone. Hopefully she can get some service. Everyone is in searching of something.
It’s community service.
OxyJon
Sunday, June 27, 2010
The SOLUTION continues...
On June 12th, SOLUTION had its second official event entitled "No Excuses". I want to give a shout out to all the volunteers and supporters that made our event possible. Thank you for being a part of the SOLUTION!
OxyJon
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Solution Series: Magic
There’s a bit of magic in everything and some loss to even it out….bit of magic in everything…some loss to even it out…bit of magic…everything…some loss…even it out…magic…everything…loss…even it out…magic…in…everything…
A young man darts from the sidewalk right into the middle of the street and picks up a coin. A speeding driver coming towards him slams on his breaks, missing him by inches. After getting across his derision for the young coin philately by way of sailor swears, he drives onward, maneuvering his car around the young man with coin in hand, barricading through the worn leash filled with rips and bite marks that was being torn in two directions by struggle—holding together the remains of a bittersweet friendship between a man and his German Shepherd. Scared by the vehicle and overjoyed by his newfound freedom, the man’s pet companion jolts off. The dog-chase led the owner to the shopping complex across the street, passing the entrance of a local clothing store, which gives a young girl running with a hand full of colorful jewelry just the moment of interference that she needs to get away from the security guard that cursed the dog sprinting in front of him.
Meanwhile, the young kleptomaniac makes it to the street just in time to catch the next bus going East, which gives the elderly woman trudging through the parking lot enough time to get on the bus as well, instead of waiting five minutes for the next one. On the bus, the girl sees a guy that spread nasty rumors about her all over their school. She greets him with a whirlwind of finger points and threats backed by breath that smelled of Starbursts and Jungle Juice. Things escalate. The driver stops the bus. He kicks the kids off. The old woman now has a bad headache from the noise. Her head throbs as the bus passes her stop.
The old woman finally realizes that she passed her destination. She sinks into her seat. She takes the bus to the closest stop near her house. She unlocks the door, walks in, and sits in her favorite chair. She cries.
“Is your grandma gonna be ok?” BT asks with uncomfortable concern.
Ed shook his head and made a stroboscopic shrug, “I don’t know, man. Some crazy girl got on the bus with her and started a fight with some dude and made her miss her stop. So ,she was gonna be late for work. She said her boss told her that if she was late again, they’d fire her. She was so upset she decided to just come back home instead of showing up late. “
“Aw man, that’s terrible!”
“Who you tellin? We’re already struggling enough as it is. I just lost my job when I went to jail last month…”
“Jail last month? You went to jail? For what?”
“Yea man, domestic violence. My ex girl is crazy. I come over trying to see my kid, and she starts cursing me out for no reason, telling me im no good and all this other stuff. She gets all up in my face, and next thing you know, she’s tryna hit me. So I grab her hands and wrestle her down. She gets mad, calls the cops, and tells them that I hit her. Can you believe that?
“What? Are you serious?”
“Yea man, I couldn’t believe it either. But, the cops did. They locked me up, and it was a Friday so I couldn’t go to work on Saturday…”
“Oh yea, because they hold you over the weekend.”
“Exactly! So I missed work, and they fired me. “
“Wow, so what are you gonna do now?”
“I’m going back to my first love—magic. I got a show lined up next week. Im really riding on this one, BT. I put every last dollar I had into this to rent out that old building off of Jackson St.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. In the background, BT could still hear Ed’s grandmother sobbing in-between the screeches of the plastic covering the furniture—the typical cry from those trapped in a world of antiquity and must. If the walls of Ed’s house could talk, they’d need inhalers first.
Ed pulled out a deck of cards and starting shuffling them around.
“Ed”
“Yea?” Ed said as he looked up at BT, showing the abyss filled with burden in his eyes.
“Do you believe in magic?”
Ed chuckled, “Naw, man. I do it. So, I know it aint no such thing as it. It’s just entertainment. Magic is just all about playing with people’s imagination. Everything that happens has an explanation for it. Here, I’ll show ya…”
Ed start doing magic tricks for BT and explaining how they work. Ironically, as Ed did more to convince BT that there was no such thing as magic, BT started to believe more and more that it must exist. It wasn’t because of Ed’s tricks. It was because of Ed.
BT had been friends with Ed for over ten years, but their lives were so different. BT was a student at Hughes College. He was squeaky clean. On the right path—if there is such a thing. How was their friendship possible? After all that Ed had been through, why wasn’t BT afraid of him or judging him? Why did BT still believe in Ed? Magic.
Why did BT still believe that his literacy program could make a difference? Why did he still have faith in the volunteers? Why did they always seem to come through? How did Gene know to text him? How did Gene always know? Magic.
It started getting late. So, BT decided to head out. He and Ed exchanged good-byes and BT walked to his car, which was parked on the street. On his way, he saw a coin in the road. He picked it up. A car slammed on its brakes a few feet in front of him. He looked up. As the driver gawked at him, he got into his car and looked at the coin. It was just like the one he accidentally dropped out of the window earlier that day. When that guy was struggling with his dog.
He made it come back. Maybe he never even lost it. It depends on your imagination.
Good or bad. He’s magic.
OxyJon
A young man darts from the sidewalk right into the middle of the street and picks up a coin. A speeding driver coming towards him slams on his breaks, missing him by inches. After getting across his derision for the young coin philately by way of sailor swears, he drives onward, maneuvering his car around the young man with coin in hand, barricading through the worn leash filled with rips and bite marks that was being torn in two directions by struggle—holding together the remains of a bittersweet friendship between a man and his German Shepherd. Scared by the vehicle and overjoyed by his newfound freedom, the man’s pet companion jolts off. The dog-chase led the owner to the shopping complex across the street, passing the entrance of a local clothing store, which gives a young girl running with a hand full of colorful jewelry just the moment of interference that she needs to get away from the security guard that cursed the dog sprinting in front of him.
Meanwhile, the young kleptomaniac makes it to the street just in time to catch the next bus going East, which gives the elderly woman trudging through the parking lot enough time to get on the bus as well, instead of waiting five minutes for the next one. On the bus, the girl sees a guy that spread nasty rumors about her all over their school. She greets him with a whirlwind of finger points and threats backed by breath that smelled of Starbursts and Jungle Juice. Things escalate. The driver stops the bus. He kicks the kids off. The old woman now has a bad headache from the noise. Her head throbs as the bus passes her stop.
The old woman finally realizes that she passed her destination. She sinks into her seat. She takes the bus to the closest stop near her house. She unlocks the door, walks in, and sits in her favorite chair. She cries.
“Is your grandma gonna be ok?” BT asks with uncomfortable concern.
Ed shook his head and made a stroboscopic shrug, “I don’t know, man. Some crazy girl got on the bus with her and started a fight with some dude and made her miss her stop. So ,she was gonna be late for work. She said her boss told her that if she was late again, they’d fire her. She was so upset she decided to just come back home instead of showing up late. “
“Aw man, that’s terrible!”
“Who you tellin? We’re already struggling enough as it is. I just lost my job when I went to jail last month…”
“Jail last month? You went to jail? For what?”
“Yea man, domestic violence. My ex girl is crazy. I come over trying to see my kid, and she starts cursing me out for no reason, telling me im no good and all this other stuff. She gets all up in my face, and next thing you know, she’s tryna hit me. So I grab her hands and wrestle her down. She gets mad, calls the cops, and tells them that I hit her. Can you believe that?
“What? Are you serious?”
“Yea man, I couldn’t believe it either. But, the cops did. They locked me up, and it was a Friday so I couldn’t go to work on Saturday…”
“Oh yea, because they hold you over the weekend.”
“Exactly! So I missed work, and they fired me. “
“Wow, so what are you gonna do now?”
“I’m going back to my first love—magic. I got a show lined up next week. Im really riding on this one, BT. I put every last dollar I had into this to rent out that old building off of Jackson St.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. In the background, BT could still hear Ed’s grandmother sobbing in-between the screeches of the plastic covering the furniture—the typical cry from those trapped in a world of antiquity and must. If the walls of Ed’s house could talk, they’d need inhalers first.
Ed pulled out a deck of cards and starting shuffling them around.
“Ed”
“Yea?” Ed said as he looked up at BT, showing the abyss filled with burden in his eyes.
“Do you believe in magic?”
Ed chuckled, “Naw, man. I do it. So, I know it aint no such thing as it. It’s just entertainment. Magic is just all about playing with people’s imagination. Everything that happens has an explanation for it. Here, I’ll show ya…”
Ed start doing magic tricks for BT and explaining how they work. Ironically, as Ed did more to convince BT that there was no such thing as magic, BT started to believe more and more that it must exist. It wasn’t because of Ed’s tricks. It was because of Ed.
BT had been friends with Ed for over ten years, but their lives were so different. BT was a student at Hughes College. He was squeaky clean. On the right path—if there is such a thing. How was their friendship possible? After all that Ed had been through, why wasn’t BT afraid of him or judging him? Why did BT still believe in Ed? Magic.
Why did BT still believe that his literacy program could make a difference? Why did he still have faith in the volunteers? Why did they always seem to come through? How did Gene know to text him? How did Gene always know? Magic.
It started getting late. So, BT decided to head out. He and Ed exchanged good-byes and BT walked to his car, which was parked on the street. On his way, he saw a coin in the road. He picked it up. A car slammed on its brakes a few feet in front of him. He looked up. As the driver gawked at him, he got into his car and looked at the coin. It was just like the one he accidentally dropped out of the window earlier that day. When that guy was struggling with his dog.
He made it come back. Maybe he never even lost it. It depends on your imagination.
Good or bad. He’s magic.
OxyJon
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Texas Re-Makes History
Recently, the Texas Board of Education passed a law allowing politicians to rewrite history by making changes to the state-mandated history, social studies, and economics textbooks. Their Board of Education has called for changes that are considered politcally conservative--leaving out the writings and philosophies of Thomas Jefferson, focusing more attention on the conservative resurgence of the 1980's and 90's, justifying McCarthyism, highlighting the violent efforts of the Black Panther Party during the Civil Rights Movement, and leaving out a number of major hispanic figures from the curriculum being taught in a state with an extremely high hispanic population.
Texas is showing us what happens when politics gets too tightly entangled with education. Telling the truth about our country and molding the minds of future generations should not become a battle between the right and left. The crazy thing about the truth is that it knows no political ideology. Hopefully, we can learn the value of education outside of the classroom. Texas shows us that the truth has been, is, and will probably always be missing from the classroom. So, instead of debating over what our kids learn at school, lets counter the politics with what our kids learn, once they step out of the classrooms. Education is about more than textbooks. Be a part of the SOLUTION.
OxyJon
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Solution Series: Spirits
Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done. On Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And, lead us not into temptation. For, thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory forever. Amen. Our Father...hallowed be thy name...thy kingdom come...thy will be done...on Earth...in Heaven...give us this day...forgive us our trespassors...forgive those who trespassed against us...lead us not into tempation....kindom, power, glory forever...give us this day....forgive our us our trespasses...lead us not into temptation...forever...lead us...forever....Amen.
BT turned around to see who had requested his attention. It was none other than Sidney Carter—the mysterious man that sneaked into the back towards the end of the meeting. Sidney was a local minister ,who had gained a reputation as very a intimidating and authoritative leader. It was his way—which in his eyes was “God’s way”—or the highway.
“Oh, Pastor Carter! Sure! What can I do for you?”
“Well, first of all, brother, I really want to let ya know how much I like what you doin’ with the college kids. It sho’ is a blessing to see what ya’ll tryna do for our young folks.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that. We are just trying to do our part, ya know?”
“Yea, I know. I know. I just have a few concerns about ya program. It’s good that you got the college kids and all, but it would probably be better if you had some adults workin’ with ya too. I just would hate for stuff to go wrong. I mean yall’s meeting just about got outta control. I just think ya could use a lil help from some older folks.”
“I’ll…I’ll think about it. I think we’re fine though. Everything is under control.
“I really don’t think it is. Look, this is what I’m willin’ to do for ya. I’ll let you move ya program over to the church and have a couple of my ministers help ya take control of things. Then, you can have me and Councilman Hicks come and speak to the kids and…”
“I’m sorry, Pastor, but with all due respect, we will not be needing your services. We will be fine with what we are building on now. But, again, thank you for the offer.”
“Look, boy can’t you see im tryna help you? Now, I heard about what you don done last year, and God done put it on my heart to save your lil project and take it to the next level. This is bigger than you and me. This is about doin’ God’s work. Don’t you know failure to do God’s work is a sin,boy?
At that moment, BT started boiling on the inside. For that moment in time, he hated Sidney, and he hated God. No, he hated the God that Sidney created—not the God that created Sidney. Yet, as that deep-seeded hatred spewed through BT’s body, infusing into his blood and wrapping its claws around his bones, his spirit calmed him. And, he responded to the minister by saying:
”Ok. Well, I will think over a plan that we can work on, and I’ll get back to you soon. I look forward to doing God’s work with you, pastor. “
BT had walked a tightrope between being respectful and being a coward. After all, Sidney was his elder and a leading figure in his community. He could not disrespect him. But, BT also knew that Sidney had no right to use God as a weapon. Or, at least not his God anyway.
As BT turned and headed back towards his car, he saw none other than Gene standing next to his driver’s side mirror with her arms folded and opprobrium written all over her face.
“What?” said BT with a sweet-and-sour blend of vexation and apathy in his voice.
“You know what”,said Gene as she stood with her arms still tightly folded, almost as if she foolishly believed that she could physically guard her heart.
They stared at each other for a moment. The tension grew like a magic beanstalk. Then, Gene muscled the courage to do what the bravest men have often feared to attempt. She talked.
She talked about the conversation that she had just witnessed between BT and Sidney. She talked about how they both looked like fools. She talked about how Sidney had no business talking to BT in such manner and how BT was a coward for letting it happen. She just kept talking.
“You walk around campus and all through Alexandria in a daze all the time, having all these dreams. You’ve been dreaming about this program for so long, and this man tries to take your dream from you, and you want to be a nice guy. Of all times, BT, now you want to be a nice guy!”
And, she was not done, yet. She kept talking. She talked about Sidney. She talked about his ulterior motives—how he cared more about the interior in his car than the kids of Alexandria. She talked about how Sidney just wanted to gain favor in the community because he has ambitions of running for mayor in the next election. She talked about his thirst for power, pride in himself, and abuse of the people.
“BT, he is against you! It makes no sense for you to run a literacy program and not be able to read the signs.”
She kept talking. BT knew that she was right. Yet, he would never admit it. That would give her too much power. And, when he admitted that to himself, he realized that, for that single moment in time, he was just like Sidney. At that moment, BT wanted to confess to Gene. He wanted her to pour out his fears and inundate her in his trials. He wanted to stop swimming upstream and, instead, ride the current.
But, he didn’t. He almost did. But, he didn’t. He just couldn’t. So, he didn’t.
The next moment came. BT started changing. His spirit started burgeoning again. He started thinking of what he could do to stop Sidney from taking over his program. Then, he thanked Gene for inspiring him, but he hid his praise behind a frustrated head shake, a head rub, a deep breath, and the words , “Yea, whatever”.
BT finally got into his car. He drove off. Gene still standing there—arms folded. As he gripped the steering wheel and his car glided down the street, he thought about God. He thought about Satan. He thought about the battle between these two ideas that he had heard stories of since he was a child. With his eyes open and staring at the road in front of him, he prayed. He prayed that he was on God’s side. He prayed that he would hear God’s voice and get all the answers. He prayed for the easy way out. Then, he thanked God. For what? He did not know. But, he thanked God.
By the time BT finished his prayer, he was halfway across the town from that old building at which they held the meeting. But, Gene was still there—arms folded. She kept talking. BT heard an alert from his phone. He had a text message.
“U R welcome [Gene Yus]”
BT smiled and shook his head. She kept talking.
OxyJon
BT turned around to see who had requested his attention. It was none other than Sidney Carter—the mysterious man that sneaked into the back towards the end of the meeting. Sidney was a local minister ,who had gained a reputation as very a intimidating and authoritative leader. It was his way—which in his eyes was “God’s way”—or the highway.
“Oh, Pastor Carter! Sure! What can I do for you?”
“Well, first of all, brother, I really want to let ya know how much I like what you doin’ with the college kids. It sho’ is a blessing to see what ya’ll tryna do for our young folks.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that. We are just trying to do our part, ya know?”
“Yea, I know. I know. I just have a few concerns about ya program. It’s good that you got the college kids and all, but it would probably be better if you had some adults workin’ with ya too. I just would hate for stuff to go wrong. I mean yall’s meeting just about got outta control. I just think ya could use a lil help from some older folks.”
“I’ll…I’ll think about it. I think we’re fine though. Everything is under control.
“I really don’t think it is. Look, this is what I’m willin’ to do for ya. I’ll let you move ya program over to the church and have a couple of my ministers help ya take control of things. Then, you can have me and Councilman Hicks come and speak to the kids and…”
“I’m sorry, Pastor, but with all due respect, we will not be needing your services. We will be fine with what we are building on now. But, again, thank you for the offer.”
“Look, boy can’t you see im tryna help you? Now, I heard about what you don done last year, and God done put it on my heart to save your lil project and take it to the next level. This is bigger than you and me. This is about doin’ God’s work. Don’t you know failure to do God’s work is a sin,boy?
At that moment, BT started boiling on the inside. For that moment in time, he hated Sidney, and he hated God. No, he hated the God that Sidney created—not the God that created Sidney. Yet, as that deep-seeded hatred spewed through BT’s body, infusing into his blood and wrapping its claws around his bones, his spirit calmed him. And, he responded to the minister by saying:
”Ok. Well, I will think over a plan that we can work on, and I’ll get back to you soon. I look forward to doing God’s work with you, pastor. “
BT had walked a tightrope between being respectful and being a coward. After all, Sidney was his elder and a leading figure in his community. He could not disrespect him. But, BT also knew that Sidney had no right to use God as a weapon. Or, at least not his God anyway.
As BT turned and headed back towards his car, he saw none other than Gene standing next to his driver’s side mirror with her arms folded and opprobrium written all over her face.
“What?” said BT with a sweet-and-sour blend of vexation and apathy in his voice.
“You know what”,said Gene as she stood with her arms still tightly folded, almost as if she foolishly believed that she could physically guard her heart.
They stared at each other for a moment. The tension grew like a magic beanstalk. Then, Gene muscled the courage to do what the bravest men have often feared to attempt. She talked.
She talked about the conversation that she had just witnessed between BT and Sidney. She talked about how they both looked like fools. She talked about how Sidney had no business talking to BT in such manner and how BT was a coward for letting it happen. She just kept talking.
“You walk around campus and all through Alexandria in a daze all the time, having all these dreams. You’ve been dreaming about this program for so long, and this man tries to take your dream from you, and you want to be a nice guy. Of all times, BT, now you want to be a nice guy!”
And, she was not done, yet. She kept talking. She talked about Sidney. She talked about his ulterior motives—how he cared more about the interior in his car than the kids of Alexandria. She talked about how Sidney just wanted to gain favor in the community because he has ambitions of running for mayor in the next election. She talked about his thirst for power, pride in himself, and abuse of the people.
“BT, he is against you! It makes no sense for you to run a literacy program and not be able to read the signs.”
She kept talking. BT knew that she was right. Yet, he would never admit it. That would give her too much power. And, when he admitted that to himself, he realized that, for that single moment in time, he was just like Sidney. At that moment, BT wanted to confess to Gene. He wanted her to pour out his fears and inundate her in his trials. He wanted to stop swimming upstream and, instead, ride the current.
But, he didn’t. He almost did. But, he didn’t. He just couldn’t. So, he didn’t.
The next moment came. BT started changing. His spirit started burgeoning again. He started thinking of what he could do to stop Sidney from taking over his program. Then, he thanked Gene for inspiring him, but he hid his praise behind a frustrated head shake, a head rub, a deep breath, and the words , “Yea, whatever”.
BT finally got into his car. He drove off. Gene still standing there—arms folded. As he gripped the steering wheel and his car glided down the street, he thought about God. He thought about Satan. He thought about the battle between these two ideas that he had heard stories of since he was a child. With his eyes open and staring at the road in front of him, he prayed. He prayed that he was on God’s side. He prayed that he would hear God’s voice and get all the answers. He prayed for the easy way out. Then, he thanked God. For what? He did not know. But, he thanked God.
By the time BT finished his prayer, he was halfway across the town from that old building at which they held the meeting. But, Gene was still there—arms folded. She kept talking. BT heard an alert from his phone. He had a text message.
“U R welcome [Gene Yus]”
BT smiled and shook his head. She kept talking.
OxyJon
Friday, May 21, 2010
Solution Series: The Meeting
We cannot sit by and simply watch from the sidelines. There are no sidelines. Under the laws of Physics, in order to maintain the same relative position to a moving body, one cannot stand still. As others change, so must we…we cannot sit by…we cannot…simply watch from the sidelines…there are no sidelines…laws of Physics…one cannot stand still…as others change, so must we…cannot watch…no sidelines…cannot stand still…as others change, so must we…so must we…must we…we…must…change.
“Alright, it’s 10 minutes past; so I’m going to go ahead and get this thing started.”
“For those of you who don’t know or may have forgotten, My name is BT Solution, and I am the Founder and Director of the ‘Read For the Stars’ Program—the reason for which I assume that you all are here. I would like to take this opportunity to introduce you to my Co-Director, Ms. Gene Yus. I would also like to recognize returning volunteer and this year’s volunteer coordinator, Ms. Rose McCauley. Become familiar with these three faces. If any needs, concerns, or issues arise, feel free to pull one of us aside and address them. That is why we are here—to serve you as a volunteer.”
BT continued to lay out the foundation for how the summer was going to work. Then, Gene came to the front of the room and effortlessly went over all of the critical points that BT had forgotten. Gene had been spending hours and hours prior to the meeting talking on the phone and sitting down face-to-face with BT getting his program organized. BT outlined out his plan to Gene and told her of the issues he had had the previous year.
Of course, Gene did not let BT know so bluntly, but she could see why BT had so many problems. There were so many holes in his plans that needed to be filled. Not to be confused, Gene was impressed by BT’s vision. He made it clear to her that he wanted to dream—and dream big! She knew BT found something he believed in with this literacy program. But, like the old book told her, faith without works is dead. So, in order to keep his dream alive, that is just what she supplied—work.
Unfortunately, the group of volunteers sitting in the seats of that old school, where they held their meetings, did not know how much effort in which Gene had put forth. If they had, maybe Gene would have received more respect, as she addressed them. But, the clamor of whispers, bathroom exits and returns, and cell phone ringtones said otherwise. Yet, she did not let the people know that it bothered her. She just kept right along, talking and mapping out the masterplan to inspire the next generation.
Gene could never understand it. The volunteers hated BT. He was blindly optimistic and insensitive. He was garrulous and pompous. However, when he spoke, they listened. He commanded their attention. No one loved him, but for some strange reason, they all respected him. There goes that name, again.
Gene continued going over the specifics of lesson plans and activities that were going to be implemented. As she spoke, the disrespectful clamor escalated. Minutes later, mayhem erupted. Meanwhile, a man walked in from the back of the room and took a seat in the very back row. He crossed his legs and cracked a smile, as he watched what was soon to be an apocalypse.
But, soon never happened. As BT stepped back to the front of the group to try to assuage the situation, a voice spoke out,
“I can’t believe you all are acting like this. Don’t you know what’s at stake? I think all you all need to take a good look at yourselves and ask yourselves why you are here. And, if it is not for the right reason, then you should get up and leave! I don’t know about any of you, but I’m here to change some things around in this town.”
“I made it to college just like all of you, but—for me—it was hard. I got rejected by every school I applied to because my test scores were too low. Why was I having problems with the tests? In high school, I was reading at an 8th grade level. So, after high school, I had to spend an extra year working on my reading skills in order to try and get into a school. All I did was work and read. And, it paid off—it got me into Hughes College.”
“Imagine if people like me, who are our age, had had a program like this when we were coming up. Imagine if a few college students from the area had decided to care during the summer, when they came home. But, you can’t imagine, if you’re distracted. And, you can’t imagine, if you don’t listen to the dream.”
“This is not something we can do. This is not even just something we should do. This is something we must do! We can’t just continue to sit around and watch the kids in Alexandria fail. There ain’t no seats! So, all we can do is stand up and make something happen or lay down and get ran over. And, that’s all I got to say.”
Rose sat back down, after speaking words of passion. The room was silent for a moment. The only sounds were Rose’s words still echoing off the walls. BT, standing in awe, moved to the front the room and brought the meeting to a close. He stayed after and congregated with the other college students for a while. Then, he headed to his car, and as he put his backpack in the backseat, he looked up and from his side view mirror, saw Gene and Rose.
They were talking about something. BT didn’t ponder on the topic of their conversation for too long. He was too busy rejoicing. For once, he finally felt like was not alone in the battle.
This time, BT had others latched onto his dream, and he prayed to God that they would not let go.
“BT, I need to talk to you for a minute” yelled a strange voice from the other side of the parking lot.
OxyJon
“Alright, it’s 10 minutes past; so I’m going to go ahead and get this thing started.”
“For those of you who don’t know or may have forgotten, My name is BT Solution, and I am the Founder and Director of the ‘Read For the Stars’ Program—the reason for which I assume that you all are here. I would like to take this opportunity to introduce you to my Co-Director, Ms. Gene Yus. I would also like to recognize returning volunteer and this year’s volunteer coordinator, Ms. Rose McCauley. Become familiar with these three faces. If any needs, concerns, or issues arise, feel free to pull one of us aside and address them. That is why we are here—to serve you as a volunteer.”
BT continued to lay out the foundation for how the summer was going to work. Then, Gene came to the front of the room and effortlessly went over all of the critical points that BT had forgotten. Gene had been spending hours and hours prior to the meeting talking on the phone and sitting down face-to-face with BT getting his program organized. BT outlined out his plan to Gene and told her of the issues he had had the previous year.
Of course, Gene did not let BT know so bluntly, but she could see why BT had so many problems. There were so many holes in his plans that needed to be filled. Not to be confused, Gene was impressed by BT’s vision. He made it clear to her that he wanted to dream—and dream big! She knew BT found something he believed in with this literacy program. But, like the old book told her, faith without works is dead. So, in order to keep his dream alive, that is just what she supplied—work.
Unfortunately, the group of volunteers sitting in the seats of that old school, where they held their meetings, did not know how much effort in which Gene had put forth. If they had, maybe Gene would have received more respect, as she addressed them. But, the clamor of whispers, bathroom exits and returns, and cell phone ringtones said otherwise. Yet, she did not let the people know that it bothered her. She just kept right along, talking and mapping out the masterplan to inspire the next generation.
Gene could never understand it. The volunteers hated BT. He was blindly optimistic and insensitive. He was garrulous and pompous. However, when he spoke, they listened. He commanded their attention. No one loved him, but for some strange reason, they all respected him. There goes that name, again.
Gene continued going over the specifics of lesson plans and activities that were going to be implemented. As she spoke, the disrespectful clamor escalated. Minutes later, mayhem erupted. Meanwhile, a man walked in from the back of the room and took a seat in the very back row. He crossed his legs and cracked a smile, as he watched what was soon to be an apocalypse.
But, soon never happened. As BT stepped back to the front of the group to try to assuage the situation, a voice spoke out,
“I can’t believe you all are acting like this. Don’t you know what’s at stake? I think all you all need to take a good look at yourselves and ask yourselves why you are here. And, if it is not for the right reason, then you should get up and leave! I don’t know about any of you, but I’m here to change some things around in this town.”
“I made it to college just like all of you, but—for me—it was hard. I got rejected by every school I applied to because my test scores were too low. Why was I having problems with the tests? In high school, I was reading at an 8th grade level. So, after high school, I had to spend an extra year working on my reading skills in order to try and get into a school. All I did was work and read. And, it paid off—it got me into Hughes College.”
“Imagine if people like me, who are our age, had had a program like this when we were coming up. Imagine if a few college students from the area had decided to care during the summer, when they came home. But, you can’t imagine, if you’re distracted. And, you can’t imagine, if you don’t listen to the dream.”
“This is not something we can do. This is not even just something we should do. This is something we must do! We can’t just continue to sit around and watch the kids in Alexandria fail. There ain’t no seats! So, all we can do is stand up and make something happen or lay down and get ran over. And, that’s all I got to say.”
Rose sat back down, after speaking words of passion. The room was silent for a moment. The only sounds were Rose’s words still echoing off the walls. BT, standing in awe, moved to the front the room and brought the meeting to a close. He stayed after and congregated with the other college students for a while. Then, he headed to his car, and as he put his backpack in the backseat, he looked up and from his side view mirror, saw Gene and Rose.
They were talking about something. BT didn’t ponder on the topic of their conversation for too long. He was too busy rejoicing. For once, he finally felt like was not alone in the battle.
This time, BT had others latched onto his dream, and he prayed to God that they would not let go.
“BT, I need to talk to you for a minute” yelled a strange voice from the other side of the parking lot.
OxyJon
Friday, May 14, 2010
Solution Series: The Dark
I find it hard to say that everything is all right.
Don’t look at me that way, like everything is all right.
Cause my own eyes can see through all your false pretenses,
But what you fail to see is all the consequences.
You think our lives are cheap and easy to be wasted,
As history repeats so foul that you can taste it.
And, while the people sleep too comfortable to face it.
Your lives’ are so incomplete and nothing can replace it.
...hard to say…everything is alright…while the people sleep…you think our lives are
cheap…while the people sleep…easy to be wasted...while the people sleep...nothing can replace it…while the people sleep….the people sleep…people sleep….sleep…the people…
“Hey mama, I finally made it in town.”
“I should be home in about 15 minutes.”
“Ha! Yea, I know it’s past your bedtime, but you told me to call you once I made it in.”
“Yea, you’re glad alright! You’ll be glad once I hang this phone up, and you can back to sleep.”
“I know, I know, I’m just joking, mama.”
“Well, I’m back now. “
“So you can get some rest.”
“See you in a few.”
“Ok. I love you too.”
“Bye.” BT hung up his cell phone and placed it back in the cup holder that sat between him and the passenger side—the gateway between the controller and the controlled.
It was less than a week after BT had taken his final exams. Moreover, it was around two o’clock in the morning, and BT had finally made it back to his home—Alexandria. Alexandria was a mid-sized suburban city with rural tendencies. It had a slow pace, and not much ever changed there. If something did change, it happened slowly. It was met with distaste and cynicism, or it happened so quickly that no one could control it. So, the Alexandrians did the one thing they do best—judge.
By the time of BT’s summer visit, Alexandria was two generations removed from the movement. BT was far too young to be able to witness what took place, but he could still hear the screams echoing off the old City Hall building at night. You could still see the shadows of young men and women thrusting through the air, as the fire hoses faithfully did their masters’ work. It made BT remember when the kids from that old college were heroes—a retro Justice League with the power to save the day from the city’s arch foe. This is the Alexandria that BT saw at night. Well, except for that other part.
BT called it “Hell”, but only in one of the closets tucked neatly inside the back of his mind. It wasn’t a specific district or block, but BT would sometimes drive through the flames. And, that night he had to in order to get home. Undoubtedly, he would see them again—the fallen angels—dancing to the beat of Satan’s drum. They were all under a spell—hypnotized by sips taken of the Devil’s brew.
BT wanted to judge them, but he couldn’t. I guess because when the Sun swapped places with the Moon the people did it for him. Then, he found himself wanting to defend the creatures of the night. For some strange reason, BT understood them. In actuality, he was almost one of them. The only thing that kept him from becoming them was the heat; he couldn’t take it nor could he dish it out. He heard stories of men dying with their hands on burners underneath dark skies that blazed only for the single moments that would usher the dead into eternity. Forever called them, she came knocking at their doors. With her plodding around the dark, there was no need for BT to judge.
So, since he could not judge, he figured he would come to the rescue. There goes that name again, giving a young man messianic thoughts about himself. He figured that, if he could catch the angels before they fell to the ground, they might just have a chance; maybe then they wouldn’t feel the wrath of the flames and get addicted to the stimulated rush of the inferno. If he could only get them to realize that they are why the people shot us with hoses in the first place—this is what they hoped we’d become. BT figured they could change all that and rewrite their own destinies, if they would just read.
Fifteen minutes had past. BT pulled into the driveway of his house, just as he told his mother he would. He went inside the house, dashed straight to his room, and splashed onto his bed. He didn’t bother to take in his bags. He would do that when the Sun swapped places with the Moon again. For now, it was still dark, and he had his first meeting of the summer with his group scheduled for that day. He needed to figure out what he could say to get his peers to realize why his literacy program was so important. He needed them to have the strength of the ones who marched, protested, took beatings, and fought through the water hoses.
BT stayed up a few more hours that night wondering, envisioning, and thinking, while the people were asleep.
OxyJon
Don’t look at me that way, like everything is all right.
Cause my own eyes can see through all your false pretenses,
But what you fail to see is all the consequences.
You think our lives are cheap and easy to be wasted,
As history repeats so foul that you can taste it.
And, while the people sleep too comfortable to face it.
Your lives’ are so incomplete and nothing can replace it.
...hard to say…everything is alright…while the people sleep…you think our lives are
cheap…while the people sleep…easy to be wasted...while the people sleep...nothing can replace it…while the people sleep….the people sleep…people sleep….sleep…the people…
“Hey mama, I finally made it in town.”
“I should be home in about 15 minutes.”
“Ha! Yea, I know it’s past your bedtime, but you told me to call you once I made it in.”
“Yea, you’re glad alright! You’ll be glad once I hang this phone up, and you can back to sleep.”
“I know, I know, I’m just joking, mama.”
“Well, I’m back now. “
“So you can get some rest.”
“See you in a few.”
“Ok. I love you too.”
“Bye.” BT hung up his cell phone and placed it back in the cup holder that sat between him and the passenger side—the gateway between the controller and the controlled.
It was less than a week after BT had taken his final exams. Moreover, it was around two o’clock in the morning, and BT had finally made it back to his home—Alexandria. Alexandria was a mid-sized suburban city with rural tendencies. It had a slow pace, and not much ever changed there. If something did change, it happened slowly. It was met with distaste and cynicism, or it happened so quickly that no one could control it. So, the Alexandrians did the one thing they do best—judge.
By the time of BT’s summer visit, Alexandria was two generations removed from the movement. BT was far too young to be able to witness what took place, but he could still hear the screams echoing off the old City Hall building at night. You could still see the shadows of young men and women thrusting through the air, as the fire hoses faithfully did their masters’ work. It made BT remember when the kids from that old college were heroes—a retro Justice League with the power to save the day from the city’s arch foe. This is the Alexandria that BT saw at night. Well, except for that other part.
BT called it “Hell”, but only in one of the closets tucked neatly inside the back of his mind. It wasn’t a specific district or block, but BT would sometimes drive through the flames. And, that night he had to in order to get home. Undoubtedly, he would see them again—the fallen angels—dancing to the beat of Satan’s drum. They were all under a spell—hypnotized by sips taken of the Devil’s brew.
BT wanted to judge them, but he couldn’t. I guess because when the Sun swapped places with the Moon the people did it for him. Then, he found himself wanting to defend the creatures of the night. For some strange reason, BT understood them. In actuality, he was almost one of them. The only thing that kept him from becoming them was the heat; he couldn’t take it nor could he dish it out. He heard stories of men dying with their hands on burners underneath dark skies that blazed only for the single moments that would usher the dead into eternity. Forever called them, she came knocking at their doors. With her plodding around the dark, there was no need for BT to judge.
So, since he could not judge, he figured he would come to the rescue. There goes that name again, giving a young man messianic thoughts about himself. He figured that, if he could catch the angels before they fell to the ground, they might just have a chance; maybe then they wouldn’t feel the wrath of the flames and get addicted to the stimulated rush of the inferno. If he could only get them to realize that they are why the people shot us with hoses in the first place—this is what they hoped we’d become. BT figured they could change all that and rewrite their own destinies, if they would just read.
Fifteen minutes had past. BT pulled into the driveway of his house, just as he told his mother he would. He went inside the house, dashed straight to his room, and splashed onto his bed. He didn’t bother to take in his bags. He would do that when the Sun swapped places with the Moon again. For now, it was still dark, and he had his first meeting of the summer with his group scheduled for that day. He needed to figure out what he could say to get his peers to realize why his literacy program was so important. He needed them to have the strength of the ones who marched, protested, took beatings, and fought through the water hoses.
BT stayed up a few more hours that night wondering, envisioning, and thinking, while the people were asleep.
OxyJon
BP: The Oil Has You Slippin'
As you can see, the oil spill caused by the multi-million dollar fuel corporation, BP, has devastated the Gulf Coast. We will, in the near future, see how volatile of an effect this tragedy will have on our entire nation and possibly even our entire ecosystem. BP, you need to step up to the plate take the advice our friend has presented to you in the sign above, "Clean up the Gulf"--be a part of the Solution.
OxyJon
Monday, May 10, 2010
Saturday, May 8, 2010
You Make Me Proud, Sun!
I just want to take time out and applaud the Phoenix Suns’ owner, Robert Sarver. A few days ago on Cinco de Mayo—a Mexican holiday, Sarver decided to take a stand against the newly implemented piece of Arizona legislature known as the “Senate Bill 1070” by having the Suns play in their home playoff against the San Antonio Spurs wearing their "Los Suns" uniforms. Off of the court,this immigration bill has been met by much scrutiny because of the fact that it gives Arizona Police Officers the right to make “lawful contact” with people within our borders, when “reasonable suspicion exists that the person is an alien who is unlawfully present in the United States”(S.O.L.N.A).
We are all aware of the fact that illegal immigration is a major problem in the US; it has been for decades. I agree that desperate times often call for desperate measures, but they also call for just measures. This bill takes our country over 150 years backwards, past the Dred Scott Decision. I believe this is a problem, and I commend the actions of Sarver, the Phoenix Sun players and fans, and even the man who has adopted more causes than Angelina Jolie has kids—Rev. Al Sharpton. Thank you for deciding to be a part of the SOLUTION!
To read more on the Senate Bill 1070 click the link:
OxyJon
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Solution Series: History
But as I was thinking about the words to share with this class, about what’s next, what’s possible, and what opportunities lay ahead, I think it’s not a bad question to ask ourselves: “What will my place in history be?”…what’s next…what’s possible…what opportunities lay ahead…not a bad question…ask ourselves… “What will my place in history be?”…next…possible…opportunities…place in history be….in history be…history be…be… history….
“Gene”, BT earnestly muttered only to take a life-quenching deep breath afterwards.
“I’m going to need your help with this thing”
Are you going back to Alexandria this summer?”
Gene paused and stared at BT for a moment before she answered, stretching time past its limits. She needed that long moment. She thought that maybe—just maybe—she would be able to understand BT, for just one moment. But, no matter how long she would stare and how far she bent the laws of space and time, she would not understand him and what he had become. So, she finally answered:
“Yes, I’ll be there for part of it, at least. “
“I’ll help you.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Well, I don’t know if this would be possible or not, but I would really like for you to play a heavy role in the planning and organizing process.”
“I need you to help me be the brains of the operation,” said BT with a smile to let her know of the intended pun in his statement.
Gene was the smartest person BT knew, out of the people close to him in age. Secretly, BT wished to have her level of intelligence. He wished he could recognize the things in the world around him in such a way as Gene. But, his biggest wish of all, was that he wished Gene knew she had this power; maybe then she would understand him.
Gene was beautiful too. She would never be a fashion model or a pop icon. Actually, you wouldn’t really know she was beautiful unless you got to know her. Then, you could see the sunset in her eyes and glow of sunrise on her skin. BT saw this. In fact, BT almost loved her. But, he knew that, to her, he was just another guy. And, a girl can meet an army of guys in half a lifetime.
Besides, there was too much pressure for him even to have time to love someone. Most of his time was occupied by battles and the war. The war started when he was born. The two young lovers gave him that name—BT Solution. From then on life was a struggle. The symbol used to identify him became what they expected him to be. They didn’t even understand what his name would mean, unaware of the trouble they’d caused. BT couldn’t blame them, though. They were just two young lovers accidently making miracles and reshaping the world.
The struggle started when he had to step out from under the covering of the two lovers. All he had then was his name. As he excelled in life, they started believing those words were not a name, but some type of divine ordinance—a prophesy being fulfilled by the Most High through him. They all wanted him to be something so badly! And, secretly, half of the time he wanted to be that something too.
The other half of the time, he wished he didn’t have to live up to his own name. He wished they would just stop calling him that. He wished he did not have to have all the answers—solve all the problems. Damn, those two lovers! They made everyone think he was something he could never become—the solution.
“BT Solution”, a voice spoke.
“BT Solution!” the voice thundered loud enough to shake a dead man’s soul
BT blinked sharply, snapping back into reality.
“You can stop smiling now.”
“I get it.”
“I’ll think about all the information you’ve given me so far, and I’ll call you later with my ideas.”
Gene was crazy. She was not schizophrenic or compulsive. She had no multiple personalities. She had no major psychological disorders—at least no more than the next person. But, she was insane. There were people, who owed her nothing but were being dealt bad hands in life. There were people whose futures' were being determined for them and not by them. And, deep down, she was crazy enough to care about that.
This is why BT almost loved her.
OxyJon
“Gene”, BT earnestly muttered only to take a life-quenching deep breath afterwards.
“I’m going to need your help with this thing”
Are you going back to Alexandria this summer?”
Gene paused and stared at BT for a moment before she answered, stretching time past its limits. She needed that long moment. She thought that maybe—just maybe—she would be able to understand BT, for just one moment. But, no matter how long she would stare and how far she bent the laws of space and time, she would not understand him and what he had become. So, she finally answered:
“Yes, I’ll be there for part of it, at least. “
“I’ll help you.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Well, I don’t know if this would be possible or not, but I would really like for you to play a heavy role in the planning and organizing process.”
“I need you to help me be the brains of the operation,” said BT with a smile to let her know of the intended pun in his statement.
Gene was the smartest person BT knew, out of the people close to him in age. Secretly, BT wished to have her level of intelligence. He wished he could recognize the things in the world around him in such a way as Gene. But, his biggest wish of all, was that he wished Gene knew she had this power; maybe then she would understand him.
Gene was beautiful too. She would never be a fashion model or a pop icon. Actually, you wouldn’t really know she was beautiful unless you got to know her. Then, you could see the sunset in her eyes and glow of sunrise on her skin. BT saw this. In fact, BT almost loved her. But, he knew that, to her, he was just another guy. And, a girl can meet an army of guys in half a lifetime.
Besides, there was too much pressure for him even to have time to love someone. Most of his time was occupied by battles and the war. The war started when he was born. The two young lovers gave him that name—BT Solution. From then on life was a struggle. The symbol used to identify him became what they expected him to be. They didn’t even understand what his name would mean, unaware of the trouble they’d caused. BT couldn’t blame them, though. They were just two young lovers accidently making miracles and reshaping the world.
The struggle started when he had to step out from under the covering of the two lovers. All he had then was his name. As he excelled in life, they started believing those words were not a name, but some type of divine ordinance—a prophesy being fulfilled by the Most High through him. They all wanted him to be something so badly! And, secretly, half of the time he wanted to be that something too.
The other half of the time, he wished he didn’t have to live up to his own name. He wished they would just stop calling him that. He wished he did not have to have all the answers—solve all the problems. Damn, those two lovers! They made everyone think he was something he could never become—the solution.
“BT Solution”, a voice spoke.
“BT Solution!” the voice thundered loud enough to shake a dead man’s soul
BT blinked sharply, snapping back into reality.
“You can stop smiling now.”
“I get it.”
“I’ll think about all the information you’ve given me so far, and I’ll call you later with my ideas.”
Gene was crazy. She was not schizophrenic or compulsive. She had no multiple personalities. She had no major psychological disorders—at least no more than the next person. But, she was insane. There were people, who owed her nothing but were being dealt bad hands in life. There were people whose futures' were being determined for them and not by them. And, deep down, she was crazy enough to care about that.
This is why BT almost loved her.
OxyJon
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Solution Series: The Trouble
This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity for all of God’s Children. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood…Now is the time…make real the promises…rise from the dark…open the doors…lift our nation...now is the time…quicksands of racial injustice…sunlit path of racial justice…now is the time….the time…time…is…now...
“Mr. Solution,” said a stern voice.
“Mr. Solution,” the voice repeated.
“Mr. Solution!”
“Wha?...Yes?” BT said shaking his head as he snapped out of a trance.
“You had some really good comments today in class, but next time don’t be so pessimistic and cynical. I understand that the topic gets you a bit stirred up, but you need to be able to look for the good as well.” Said Dr. Robinson with the firm, yet gentle, approach she always used with her students.
“Yes ma’am. I’ll work on it.”
“That’s all I ask.”
BT then gave Dr. Robinson a courteous smile. She gave him a smile and head nod in return. Then, he turned and continued down the hallway. He would carry Dr. Robinson’s words with him; he would contemplate them on later moments. Now, wasn’t the time. The summer was quickly approaching, and he needed volunteers.
BT started a literacy program for elementary kids back in Alexandria last summer, and it did not end up being the success he hoped it would be. But, it was a start. Moreover, as much as BT was looking forward to working with the kids in Alexandria on raising their reading levels, people living in his community wanted his program much more.
The only ones, who seemed not to want the program, were BT’s peers. For them, the summer meant beach vacations, retail jobs, summer camp counseling, office internships, summer school, and more play after the work was done. No one seemed to have time for BT and his cause. And, the few who did were not interested in dealing with his idealistic dreams and—at times—crude personality just to help 20 or 30 kids read better. Gene Yus, Rose McCauley, and all the other students from Alexandria couldn’t look past his wrinkled button-downs, ragged loafers, and steel-plated ego to see a young man in fatigues with his eye on a target.
BT was at war. Being a very peaceful person, he did not want to battle. But, he had no choice. He had been drafted, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had one option—fight.
BT was in a battle against a wide range of adversaries. It was by the fault of Hughes College that BT formed these enemies. Hughes enlisted him into the service and threw him in the trenches. Standing atop the hills above him were the ideals he had to confront—injustice, miseducation, racism, classism—standing tall and heavily armed. Yet, as mighty as they stood, they were only his enemies in battle. He was at war with a force more powerful than all the ideals fused together.
This evil predator confronted BT every day. He was constantly reminded of this arch foe. It laughed at what BT was—mocking him for what he could never become. So, like the kid who finally stands up to the class bully, BT decided to fight back. He was fighting for his self-worth, his pedigree, and his destiny.
At two decades old, BT was at war with his name.
OxyJon
“Mr. Solution,” said a stern voice.
“Mr. Solution,” the voice repeated.
“Mr. Solution!”
“Wha?...Yes?” BT said shaking his head as he snapped out of a trance.
“You had some really good comments today in class, but next time don’t be so pessimistic and cynical. I understand that the topic gets you a bit stirred up, but you need to be able to look for the good as well.” Said Dr. Robinson with the firm, yet gentle, approach she always used with her students.
“Yes ma’am. I’ll work on it.”
“That’s all I ask.”
BT then gave Dr. Robinson a courteous smile. She gave him a smile and head nod in return. Then, he turned and continued down the hallway. He would carry Dr. Robinson’s words with him; he would contemplate them on later moments. Now, wasn’t the time. The summer was quickly approaching, and he needed volunteers.
BT started a literacy program for elementary kids back in Alexandria last summer, and it did not end up being the success he hoped it would be. But, it was a start. Moreover, as much as BT was looking forward to working with the kids in Alexandria on raising their reading levels, people living in his community wanted his program much more.
The only ones, who seemed not to want the program, were BT’s peers. For them, the summer meant beach vacations, retail jobs, summer camp counseling, office internships, summer school, and more play after the work was done. No one seemed to have time for BT and his cause. And, the few who did were not interested in dealing with his idealistic dreams and—at times—crude personality just to help 20 or 30 kids read better. Gene Yus, Rose McCauley, and all the other students from Alexandria couldn’t look past his wrinkled button-downs, ragged loafers, and steel-plated ego to see a young man in fatigues with his eye on a target.
BT was at war. Being a very peaceful person, he did not want to battle. But, he had no choice. He had been drafted, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had one option—fight.
BT was in a battle against a wide range of adversaries. It was by the fault of Hughes College that BT formed these enemies. Hughes enlisted him into the service and threw him in the trenches. Standing atop the hills above him were the ideals he had to confront—injustice, miseducation, racism, classism—standing tall and heavily armed. Yet, as mighty as they stood, they were only his enemies in battle. He was at war with a force more powerful than all the ideals fused together.
This evil predator confronted BT every day. He was constantly reminded of this arch foe. It laughed at what BT was—mocking him for what he could never become. So, like the kid who finally stands up to the class bully, BT decided to fight back. He was fighting for his self-worth, his pedigree, and his destiny.
At two decades old, BT was at war with his name.
OxyJon
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Solution Series: The Setup
When I was a child, I thought as a child. I spake as a child. I understood as a child. But, when I became a man, I put away childish things…when I was a child…put away childish things…when I became a man…put away childish things…away childish things….childish things…I became a man….
She was supposed to be done five minutes ago, but Dr. Johnson never let them on out of class on time; so she wasn’t surprised. Besides, her thoughts were elsewhere. She could no longer be distracted by the aroma of musk and chalk that hovered over Douglass Hall like the ghosts of athletic lockerooms past. The end of the semester was steadily approaching, and the small fliers with information about summer programs and internships, which she passed every day, now seemed to be billboards—gigantic signs foretelling a summer full of wasted time. These were the thoughts of Gene Yus as she left macroeconomics and the voices called her.
“Gene”, said a faint and slightly nasal voice.
Gene said nothing as the hallowed voice escalated to an almost insistent clamor.
“Gene!”, “Are you ok?”
“Yeah”, “Yeah, I’m fine” said Gene as she shook herself out of mild trauma. “ I just need to get my life together. It’s almost April and I have no idea what I’m gonna do this summer. What are your plans, Rose?”
“Well, you remember the issues I had with my Spanish class last semester, right?”
“Ha! How can I forget? And, World Lit., and Psychology, and…
“I GET IT, GENE! Well, the point is I need to make up ground so I’ll probably go back home to Alexandria and take some summer classes to get caught up.”
“I’m sorry, Rose, but I can’t go back home this summer! I won’t last another summer sitting around seeing all that ridiculousness! The people we graduated with aren’t doing anything, and the kids there now are just getting worse! I can’t deal with that this summer. ” Gene said giving her usual Jeremiad.
“Yea, I know what you mean, but it might be different this summer. Besides, I told BT I’d help him with that thing he wants to do back home while we’re all there” , says Rose as she makes the innocent shrug of a kindergartner reluctant to reveal the culprit of a classmate’s mischievous act.
Slowly and distastefully, Gene shook her head. She was tired of reluctance. She didn’t care about culprits. She had no time for mischief. And, these were the facets of life that reminded her of BT.
In almost choreographic fashion, BT cut a corner and began walking down the hallway towards Gene and Rose, while he sternly gazed at the cover of a book in his hands. BT was an average-sized guy with smooth brown skin and the type of facial features that would either make you run the other way or pull you almost magnetically in his direction. But, BT had one main imperfection that bothered Gene. BT was a very smart young man, who only enjoyed one thing more than learning—showing off everything he learned.
He was not the same person she knew in high school. He used to be so lackadaisical, and he was so bent on fitting in; never did he try to stand out. He was the class clown of the honors classes. He thought he was cool. Then, they went off to Hughes College, and he changed.
BT came to college to study Business, but he changed his areas of study when he found a love for politics. He was always going on about movements, social change, and problems in society. In Gene’s eyes, BT was an idealistic know-it-all, who only woke up from his sleep to fall from reach of his dreams. In fact, she thought of him always to be asleep; dreaming. As he walked by, he did not disappoint Gene, cordially addressing her and Rose for a moment before again fixating his eyes on the book in his hands; Dreams of My Father. He was never in reality—always dreaming. He dreamed about people he didn’t even know and things that weren’t even possible. He was egotistical, naïve, and childish to do such things—constantly dreaming.
And, for some strange reason, Gene admired that about him.
OxyJon
She was supposed to be done five minutes ago, but Dr. Johnson never let them on out of class on time; so she wasn’t surprised. Besides, her thoughts were elsewhere. She could no longer be distracted by the aroma of musk and chalk that hovered over Douglass Hall like the ghosts of athletic lockerooms past. The end of the semester was steadily approaching, and the small fliers with information about summer programs and internships, which she passed every day, now seemed to be billboards—gigantic signs foretelling a summer full of wasted time. These were the thoughts of Gene Yus as she left macroeconomics and the voices called her.
“Gene”, said a faint and slightly nasal voice.
Gene said nothing as the hallowed voice escalated to an almost insistent clamor.
“Gene!”, “Are you ok?”
“Yeah”, “Yeah, I’m fine” said Gene as she shook herself out of mild trauma. “ I just need to get my life together. It’s almost April and I have no idea what I’m gonna do this summer. What are your plans, Rose?”
“Well, you remember the issues I had with my Spanish class last semester, right?”
“Ha! How can I forget? And, World Lit., and Psychology, and…
“I GET IT, GENE! Well, the point is I need to make up ground so I’ll probably go back home to Alexandria and take some summer classes to get caught up.”
“I’m sorry, Rose, but I can’t go back home this summer! I won’t last another summer sitting around seeing all that ridiculousness! The people we graduated with aren’t doing anything, and the kids there now are just getting worse! I can’t deal with that this summer. ” Gene said giving her usual Jeremiad.
“Yea, I know what you mean, but it might be different this summer. Besides, I told BT I’d help him with that thing he wants to do back home while we’re all there” , says Rose as she makes the innocent shrug of a kindergartner reluctant to reveal the culprit of a classmate’s mischievous act.
Slowly and distastefully, Gene shook her head. She was tired of reluctance. She didn’t care about culprits. She had no time for mischief. And, these were the facets of life that reminded her of BT.
In almost choreographic fashion, BT cut a corner and began walking down the hallway towards Gene and Rose, while he sternly gazed at the cover of a book in his hands. BT was an average-sized guy with smooth brown skin and the type of facial features that would either make you run the other way or pull you almost magnetically in his direction. But, BT had one main imperfection that bothered Gene. BT was a very smart young man, who only enjoyed one thing more than learning—showing off everything he learned.
He was not the same person she knew in high school. He used to be so lackadaisical, and he was so bent on fitting in; never did he try to stand out. He was the class clown of the honors classes. He thought he was cool. Then, they went off to Hughes College, and he changed.
BT came to college to study Business, but he changed his areas of study when he found a love for politics. He was always going on about movements, social change, and problems in society. In Gene’s eyes, BT was an idealistic know-it-all, who only woke up from his sleep to fall from reach of his dreams. In fact, she thought of him always to be asleep; dreaming. As he walked by, he did not disappoint Gene, cordially addressing her and Rose for a moment before again fixating his eyes on the book in his hands; Dreams of My Father. He was never in reality—always dreaming. He dreamed about people he didn’t even know and things that weren’t even possible. He was egotistical, naïve, and childish to do such things—constantly dreaming.
And, for some strange reason, Gene admired that about him.
OxyJon
Friday, February 26, 2010
A Matter of Life and Death
Almost two weeks ago, I ventured down to New Orleans, LA to witness one of the greatest annual celebrations that takes place in the United States—Mardi Gras. Although it has become an ornamented secular event, Mardi Gras started through religious means as a festive ceremony for one last indulgence before entering a time of sacrifice, or we what they refer to as Lent. However, Mardi Gras is now associated with immoral indulgences and debauched activity, but while I was there, during a historic moment in which the New Orleans Saints celebrated their first ever NFL Super Bowl Championship victory, all I could see was life and death.
All throughout downtown New Orleans, exuberance filled the people! I could hardly walk a block without hearing jubilant screams and joyous chants of,”Who Dat!” I witnessed a moment in time in which the bliss from fellowship and victory (and maybe also inebriation) brought people together of different colors, creeds, socioeconomic class, and places to which they call home. After all, is life not supposed to be about union, community, and happiness? Many of you may not condone actions that take place every February in New Orleans, LA, and there are some that with too I do not agree. However, we cannot deny the type of life that breathes in this atmosphere, especially in a place that has endured so much pain for the last few years.
This snowballing of pain came as an aftershock of Hurricane Katrina, and through this pain, I saw death. New Orleans sits at an elevation so low that people cannot dig the grounds. Therefore, the people are forced, ironically, to entomb the dead atop the Earth’s surface. Meaning, I spent those jubilant moments occupying New Orleans’s swampy coast alongside the dead—men, women, boys and girls ceremoniously decorated in beds that lie on the same surface on which I stepped . Then, before leaving I saw the Ninth Ward Community, and witnessed another type of death on the surface. Through the battered and abandoned houses, poverty-stricken and malnourished environment, and signs of endless struggle, I saw the death of a “more perfect union”, a death in community and happiness, and a death in hope.
This snowballing of pain came as an aftershock of Hurricane Katrina, and through this pain, I saw death. New Orleans sits at an elevation so low that people cannot dig the grounds. Therefore, the people are forced, ironically, to entomb the dead atop the Earth’s surface. Meaning, I spent those jubilant moments occupying New Orleans’s swampy coast alongside the dead—men, women, boys and girls ceremoniously decorated in beds that lie on the same surface on which I stepped . Then, before leaving I saw the Ninth Ward Community, and witnessed another type of death on the surface. Through the battered and abandoned houses, poverty-stricken and malnourished environment, and signs of endless struggle, I saw the death of a “more perfect union”, a death in community and happiness, and a death in hope.
If I learned nothing else from my trip down to New Orleans, I came away with a deeper sense of urgency. I do not believe a human being could and should be able to see other people drowning and feel nothing, and that is what I saw in the Ninth Ward. The floods were long gone, but people were still drowning. Something needs to be done for these people, and people like them all over the world who lie dead atop the Earth’s surface. I believe I saw life and death in New Orleans because it sums up the situation of our generation. We are in the midst of a matter of life and death! Be a part of the Solution!
OxyJon
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Vision Meets Distance: A Reflection on the Death of a Friend
Vision is an interesting concept. We are commonly unable to see things when they are too far away, but we often forget the other difficult part of Vision—trying to see things that are too close. Just as things are difficult to make out from afar, things get blurry when right in front of our eyes. Therefore, often, I have to take a step back in order to see things clearly. Distance is where true Vision begins.
Distance is now one of the things that stand between my current thoughts on the death of my former classmate, teammate, and friend, Jerome Ellington. Two years ago from yesterday, he was murdered by a firearm. Even in the tragic act by which he was killed, Distance played a role. According to the police reports, Jerome was shot with a shotgun from a close range. Therefore, Jerome stood toe-to-toe with Death—so close that it became blurry.
Now, a year later, what is our position? How clear is our Vision? Ironically, when I was close to Jerome physically—shaking hands in the hallways, cracking jokes on the team buses, and running up and down the court alongside one him—I was actually the farthest removed from him. I failed to see the other dimensions he possessed as a person—dimensions we all possess as people—the ability to affect people’s lives. My Vision was blurry.
Then, January 28th happened. And, I received a series of calls and text messages that confirmed the misfortune—Jerome was murdered. After tragedy happened, I moved closer. I saw and heard friends, classmates, and his family members mourn. I , myself, mourned. As most do when events such as these occur, we posed questions, both to the natural and the supernatural, asking why. Emotions began to run rapid, as they should in such an emotional time, I began to see his dimensions, and I got close to Jerome—too close. My Vision was blurry.
A year later, I am still in search of the right amount of Distance. We need a place, especially in situations like these, where we are far enough to move with courage and clear purpose but close enough never to forget. I believe this is why Vision is so important. Clear Vision is what Jerome’s loved ones will need to keep peace and sanity. Clear Vision what motivates myself and dedicated members of the SOLUTION to want to do all we can to keep Jerome’s story from being told with the use of different names—making sure Jerome did not die in vain. Clear Vision is caring just enough to make a difference. Tonight, I pray that we all find the right position that will give us clear Vision—not just to handle the loss of loved ones—for our futures. Blurred Vision is the problem. Be a part of the SOLUTION!
OxyJon
Distance is now one of the things that stand between my current thoughts on the death of my former classmate, teammate, and friend, Jerome Ellington. Two years ago from yesterday, he was murdered by a firearm. Even in the tragic act by which he was killed, Distance played a role. According to the police reports, Jerome was shot with a shotgun from a close range. Therefore, Jerome stood toe-to-toe with Death—so close that it became blurry.
Now, a year later, what is our position? How clear is our Vision? Ironically, when I was close to Jerome physically—shaking hands in the hallways, cracking jokes on the team buses, and running up and down the court alongside one him—I was actually the farthest removed from him. I failed to see the other dimensions he possessed as a person—dimensions we all possess as people—the ability to affect people’s lives. My Vision was blurry.
Then, January 28th happened. And, I received a series of calls and text messages that confirmed the misfortune—Jerome was murdered. After tragedy happened, I moved closer. I saw and heard friends, classmates, and his family members mourn. I , myself, mourned. As most do when events such as these occur, we posed questions, both to the natural and the supernatural, asking why. Emotions began to run rapid, as they should in such an emotional time, I began to see his dimensions, and I got close to Jerome—too close. My Vision was blurry.
A year later, I am still in search of the right amount of Distance. We need a place, especially in situations like these, where we are far enough to move with courage and clear purpose but close enough never to forget. I believe this is why Vision is so important. Clear Vision is what Jerome’s loved ones will need to keep peace and sanity. Clear Vision what motivates myself and dedicated members of the SOLUTION to want to do all we can to keep Jerome’s story from being told with the use of different names—making sure Jerome did not die in vain. Clear Vision is caring just enough to make a difference. Tonight, I pray that we all find the right position that will give us clear Vision—not just to handle the loss of loved ones—for our futures. Blurred Vision is the problem. Be a part of the SOLUTION!
OxyJon
Sunday, January 17, 2010
All Shook Up: Haitian Tragedy
On January 12, 2009 at around 5:00pm eastern time, the Earth shook in Haiti. Then, people screamed, and then they cried. Then, many of them died—at least hundreds of thousands did according to the estimate of Haiti’s Prime Minister. And, ever since that day, people of many nations, races, and creeds have stood by the people of Haiti by offering their support. I am amazed, once again, by the hearts of people when touched by tragedy.
The best way to understand tragic nature of what happened in Haiti is to start where the event started for each one of us who heard about what took place. When I heard the news, I was at a Mexican restaurant eating dinner with an old friend. Ironically, I received word through her during a time that was supposed to be allocated for catching up on past events in our lives. She heard something about a tragedy in Haiti and, in an unsure fashion, passed word to me, as the arroz y pollo sizzled on the table. When I got home, I saw new stories on what had happened , and I was shocked.
This is where tragedy begins. The irony of the position I was in when I heard about the earthquake is the similarity it has to the position of people in Haiti right before the Earth shook. This does not mean that all the people of Haiti were sitting around Haiti eating Mexican food. However, I imagine many of them were going through a normal day; talking to a loved one, coming home from a hard day’s work, working on a homework assignment, shopping, playing a game, or maybe even catching up with a friend over a nice meal. I hope that you can think about where you were when you heard about Haiti—be it watching the news, riding in the car, or talking to a friend or loved one—and think about what it would have been like had the Earth shook at that moment causing you to lose everything. This is what makes tragedy so shocking.
Comparing the Haitians’ tragedy to the American experience, however, is in a way an injustice. Looking at Hurricane Katrina that struck New Orleans, LA in 2005, some of the poorest people in the country lost their homes, loved ones, and thousands lost their lives. This time, the poorest people on this side of the planet lost what little they already had for which to live. Now, we turn on our televisions, radios, computers, and cellular phones to see and hear the people, who already had nothing, continue to lose. It as if life decided the drowning man was not sinking fast enough. Therefore, he decided to tie an anchor to his foot. Haiti’s tragedy is unique.
We need to keep the people of Haiti in our hearts and prayers. They have endured an experience that we can only begin to imagine. It is hard for many of us to grasp what it is like to go throughout our days having literally nothing, and it almost impossible for us to fathom what it must be like to for tragedy to strike us while standing on the bottom. So, what better reason do we have to step in and donate our money and/or our time to help these people? I applaud the people around the world who have shown their support as much as, and often much more than, I. Lastly, I hope that this makes your heart shake, and you decide to help these people. Tragedy is the problem. Be a part of the SOLUTION.
OxyJon
The best way to understand tragic nature of what happened in Haiti is to start where the event started for each one of us who heard about what took place. When I heard the news, I was at a Mexican restaurant eating dinner with an old friend. Ironically, I received word through her during a time that was supposed to be allocated for catching up on past events in our lives. She heard something about a tragedy in Haiti and, in an unsure fashion, passed word to me, as the arroz y pollo sizzled on the table. When I got home, I saw new stories on what had happened , and I was shocked.
This is where tragedy begins. The irony of the position I was in when I heard about the earthquake is the similarity it has to the position of people in Haiti right before the Earth shook. This does not mean that all the people of Haiti were sitting around Haiti eating Mexican food. However, I imagine many of them were going through a normal day; talking to a loved one, coming home from a hard day’s work, working on a homework assignment, shopping, playing a game, or maybe even catching up with a friend over a nice meal. I hope that you can think about where you were when you heard about Haiti—be it watching the news, riding in the car, or talking to a friend or loved one—and think about what it would have been like had the Earth shook at that moment causing you to lose everything. This is what makes tragedy so shocking.
Comparing the Haitians’ tragedy to the American experience, however, is in a way an injustice. Looking at Hurricane Katrina that struck New Orleans, LA in 2005, some of the poorest people in the country lost their homes, loved ones, and thousands lost their lives. This time, the poorest people on this side of the planet lost what little they already had for which to live. Now, we turn on our televisions, radios, computers, and cellular phones to see and hear the people, who already had nothing, continue to lose. It as if life decided the drowning man was not sinking fast enough. Therefore, he decided to tie an anchor to his foot. Haiti’s tragedy is unique.
We need to keep the people of Haiti in our hearts and prayers. They have endured an experience that we can only begin to imagine. It is hard for many of us to grasp what it is like to go throughout our days having literally nothing, and it almost impossible for us to fathom what it must be like to for tragedy to strike us while standing on the bottom. So, what better reason do we have to step in and donate our money and/or our time to help these people? I applaud the people around the world who have shown their support as much as, and often much more than, I. Lastly, I hope that this makes your heart shake, and you decide to help these people. Tragedy is the problem. Be a part of the SOLUTION.
OxyJon
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