Dear liberal educators: STFU

It's been a while since I've blogged, but due to some recent events I've came to the conclusion that this needs to be said.

Dear public school educators,

Please stop shoving your liberal agendas down the throats of the students you teach. Please stop twisting current events in order to brainwash innocent kids. And finally, you can take all those white privilege lessons and remarks you made after the death of George Floyd and shove them up your lib asses. It's all bullshit, so stop trying to make my kids feel guilty for being white. 

My son's principal loves twitter. He loves it because he can post shit like this:

1. Nathan Philips wasn't shown any disrespect or hate. I do believe CNN is still paying out millions to Nick Sandmann for defamation. Why didn't Mr. Latvis remove his post on Philips? Does he want kids to believe it's ok to lie?

2. There was never a noose in Wallace's garage. Why leave that post up? He should have removed it and apologized for jumping to conclusions that were being fueled by the media.

3. Black lives matter is a terrorist movement, and actually statistics do show that more whites are killed by police than blacks.

4. All lives matter.

There have been a few instances in the past where I've felt that teachers and principles have overstepped their boundaries when it comes to teaching vs trying to push their own beliefs on my children. Like the time that my daughter was in 6th grade and had to take a quiz to see if she was a Democrat or Republican. If you're a teacher and you want to teach kids the differences between these two political parties, that's fine. However, when you word the questions on the quiz in such a way that it leads the student to always pick the answer you say is Democrat, now that's pretty fucked up. For example, on my daughter's quiz it asked the question, " Do you believe it's fair to let people die because they don't have healthcare?" If you answer no, congrats, apparently this makes you a Democrat. Or how about the question, "Do you believe it's fair to take away the right for a woman to choose what's best for her body?" Once again, answering no makes you a Democrat. In reality that question should have been worded differently, maybe throw in the real meaning of what they're saying. Do you think it's ok to murder babies would have been my choice. I'm sure a lot of kids would have answered that one differently.

I chose to look over these things. I simply explained to my daughter what the teacher's intentions were with that quiz. I went down the row of absurdly asked questions and explained the real meanings behind each one. This was nothing compared to what happened after the death of Floyd.

Just like every other school in the country, my kiddos' schools were closed and all learning was done online due to covid-19. The teachers would upload lessons daily and my kids would login and complete the assignments. It went from daily lessons on math, english, etc to every lesson being based around George Floyd. Hell, one assignment my daughter had to do was upload a song in tribute to Floyd. Seriously, what the fuck?!?!? The songs being posted were made public, along with comments from the students. Comments about being so heartbroken and sad, about Floyd being a hero, about how horrible racism is in America. It was all total bullshit.

Why should my kid be told to put this man on a pedestal? Just look at his criminal record:

• Floyd had more than a decade-old criminal history at the time of the arrest and went to jail at least 5 times
• George Floyd was the ringleader of a violent home invasion
• He plead guilty to entering a woman’s home, pointing a gun at her pregnant stomach and searching the home for drugs and money, according to court records
• Floyd was sentenced to 10 months in state jail for possession of cocaine in a December 2005 arrest
• He had previously been sentenced to eight months for the same offense, stemming from an October 2002 arrest
• Floyd was arrested in 2002 for criminal trespassing and served 30 days in jail
• He had another stint for a theft in August 1998

Now, I'm all for giving someone a second chance and overlooking shit that they've done in the past, but when George Floyd died his autopsy showed fentanyl and methamphetamine in his system. DUDE WAS HIGH ON DRUGS!! They recently released the entire police bodycam footage, and if you sit and watch the whole thing, it becomes clear early on that due to his drug use he was acting erratic and resisting arrest. He refused to get in the cop car, and the cops were actually being really fucking nice to him, even offering to sit with him and open the window. Do I agree with one of the cops shoving his knee into Floyd's neck? No. But that wasn't what killed him. Due to having all those drugs in his system he panicked and died of a heart attack. The autopsy even stated he did not die of strangulation. What's the lesson we should learn from this? Just fucking say no to drugs. 

And why wasn't the nation outraged when a white man named Tony Timpa died in 2016 in almost exactly the same way as Floyd? 

https://youtu.be/_c-E_i8Q5G0

Where were the looters and rioters then?? That's right, there weren't any. Did George Floyd's life matter more than Mr. Timpa's? The mainstream media says it did. 

Here's a fun fact-- Floyd is the third person after Michael Jackson and James Brown to be buried in a gold-plated casket. A man who pointed a gun at a pregnant woman's stomach, robbed her, has been in and out of prison on numerous charges, and was high on fentanyl and methamphetamine while resisting arrest received the gift of being buried in a fucking gold-plated casket. Unbelievable. 

And then I saw this article:

How can you possibly compare Floyd to Emmett Till?!?!?!? HOW?!?!? In 1955 Till was a 14 yr old black kid from Chicago visiting family in Mississippi. He whistled at a white woman and ended up getting tortured and murdered, beaten beyond recognition. I won't post the pic of him, it's horrific and gruesome. Google at your own risk. It fucking infuriates me that anyone would compare Floyd's story to the pure evilness that was inflicted upon Till, and it's extremely disrespectful to the Till family. What happened to him in 1955 was a result of racism, what happened to Floyd in 2020 is nothing compared to what poor Emmett Till endured. 

My kids are 10 and 13....when I was their ages I never talked about politics, and I don't remember having any teachers that ever spoke of politics. These teachers today keep talking about white privilege when in reality they themselves have lib privilege....they can sit in a classroom or go online and spread their liberal bullshit and hate without any ill consequences. And because they are doing this, we now have a country full of kids and teens that suddenly think they're fighting the good fight in the name of social justice. I can't count how many times my kids have been online playing video games and get asked by other kids if they "support Trump or Biden". When they say Trump they end up getting cursed out and called racists. What in the hell is happening to the youth in this country?? And why are we allowing teachers to brainwash our children with their liberal agendas???? 

Quandaries 

_____________

Misery, torture, agony, ache

Salty, rust colored tears 

Scars that will never heal

Lessons learned, mistakes made

Realizing what life really is

Hating yourself and others

But loving things like

The moon

Honeysuckles 

The smell of Halloween candy inside a plastic bucket

Dreams that make you smile when you wake up

Making someone laugh

Listening to Bowie, Bob Seger, and John Fogerty 

Loving Dylan's lyrics but disliking his voice

Being hugged by tiny humans who call you mama

There are bad things in life

Though there are also some good things

Don't forget the good 

Blah, blah, blah....bored.

My fondest memories are 

Climbing pear trees and falling out 

Only to pick myself up again to fall once more

I ran barefoot up gravel roads 

From sunrise to sunset

Until my feet bled

I vividly remember every 4th of July

When the hills smiled with lightning bugs

And the smell of firecrackers hugged us

I miss the summer thunderstorms I played in as a child 

When the rain would pour down from a sunny sky

I would stand in the yard as still as a statue

Closing my eyes

I remember feeling happy

Maybe true happiness only comes

From moments like that 

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

I've tasted truths that brought on sobs

Images of suffering have scorched my eyes

Through hate and love and sadness

Tears have burst open the dams of reality

Time ticks, but yet it doesn't

Time truly does not exist

We just hang on to the moment

Clinging with every ounce of strength

Some hang on longer, not because they are stronger

But because they are lucky

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

Torn pages with brittle paper, stained with tears

Smudges of sadness layered with specks of joy

Words strung together, some have meaning, a purpose

Though most sentences leave the reader quite flummoxed

The way Roman numerals are confusing to small children

Bittersweet phrases dance across the lines

Memories are reborn within their company

We gather our thoughts the way a shepherd gathers his flock

Careful not to lose one detail as the story unfolds

Each chapter bequeathed to the history which formed you

You'll be judged by your cover, as all books are

A weathered dust jacket means the story was worth reading more than once

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

The times I'm tied to unbearable panic

Leave me fatigued and unable to function 

Swallowed in this hole of darkness and fear

Clawing and reaching for that which is normal

I'm exhausted, I'm beaten down, I'm scared

No one understands

If only I could cry, but I cant 

Tears cant flow on demand like in movies

Life would be easier if it came with a script

We all find ourselves 

Trapped in the improv room 

Trying our best to make sense of what we are given

Screw it, just do it.

Dear Colin Kaepernick,
So you signed a deal with Nike, eh? Worth millions I hear. Obviously it was a poor decision on Nike's part to pull such a stunt. But hey, if Nike wants to take the gamble, that's their choice. Let's talk about your choices Colin.

Obviously, everyone knows you chose to kneel during the national anthem as a way to protest oppression of blacks. I won't get into that whole circus you created, it's old news and you lost your job, so whatever. Also, some people may be surprised to learn that in 2014 you were fined $11K by the NFL for using racial slurs during a game. Nice. What I'm interested in is knowing how much your merchandise will sell for at Nike. Will your shoes cost $200? You talk a lot about wanting to change the world, offer your opinion on what's "right and wrong", and you donate a lot of money to black communities. You wanna do the "right" thing or do you want to be a sell out? We shall find out.

You say you are against the senseless murders of blacks. Does that also involve people getting shot over a pair of shoes? Let's take a look at the story of Jawaad Jabbar. His isn't the only tragic tale involving violence over footwear, but it shows the insane actions some people resort to in order to own a pair of expensive basketball sneakers.

"The nation doesn’t remember Jawaad Jabbar of Columbus, Ohio, but it may remember how he was killed. Jabbar left as one of the empty-handed customers at a Dayton, Ohio shopping mall on 20 December 2014 after lining up for the release of limited edition Air Jordan sneakers. After seeing two men who had secured one of the coveted pairs, Jabbar drew a gun and demanded the merchandise. The man holding the sneakers then pulled out his own gun and killed the 16 year old. Jabbar’s death complemented armed robberies in both New Jersey and Louisiana, a tear-gassed dispersal of prospective customers in Toledo, Ohio, and an April shooting in Houston, all of which centered around attempts to acquire the shoes. Since Air Jordans debuted in 1985, occasional violent crimes have accompanied their release because of the shoes’ limited supply, volatile demand, and price tags that sometimes exceed $200."

Time out for a second.... $200 shoes?? Being pushed by millionaire athletes? Will Kaepernick's kicks follow this trend? I mean, the guy sits on his moral high horse talking about helping out the black community, I'm curious to know the price point of his gear. 

You know one athlete I truly admire? Hakeem Olajuwon. Not only because he was an awesome player, but because he actually tried to change the sneaker industry for the better. He wanted to combat the over-priced sneaker trend in the 90's by signing a deal with Spaulding. His shoes were priced at $34.99 and sold at Payless. I remember my mom taking my brother and I to Payless for school shoes, and my brother walking out happy as can be with his Olajuwon sneakers. 

“How can a poor working mother with three boys buy Nikes or Reeboks that cost $120?” Olajuwon said upon his shoe release in 1995. “She can’t. So kids steal these shoes from stores and from other kids. Sometimes they kill for them.”

Therefore, he tried doing something about it. He made his shit affordable. Here, some more statistics:

While the United States has an overall poverty rate of 12.7 percent, according to the U.S. Census, within the African American community, the poverty rate is 22 percent. This rate is even higher in African-American female-headed households at 34.2 percent. Almost 70% of black children are born to single mothers. 

Olajuwon was right, how can a single parent afford $200 shoes??? 

Will Nike give Kaepernick a say in what the price point will be? If so, will he do the right thing and make his shit somewhat affordable to whatever fans he still has left?? Or will he sell out, sit back, and collect the royalties off his $200 kicks? I bet when Nike put that multimillion dollar contract in front of him, he smiled and thought, "Screw it, just do it."

Words

 "If you’re having a bad day, just remember that you have managed to get through every bad day you’ve had. You’ll make it through this one too."

I think a lot. Actually, I think too much. I always wonder what's going to come around the corner next, and I find myself getting lost in memories of hard times. When I do end up in an endless loop of, "Let's remember that time when such and such bad thing happened", I stop and think about the day that two strangers changed my life.

In the summer of 2002 I was living in Scranton, PA. I was between jobs and didn't have a penny to my name. I hadn't paid my rent in two months, and my landlord had already started the eviction process. I ended up putting everything I owned outside to yardsale. The first person that stopped told me they would give me $40 for everything. Obviously, I took it. I was left with no furniture, only a few clothing items, my basketball, and a pillow. I slept on the floor, curled up into a ball, with a blanket that was given to me by an old lady at the hospital when my appendix ruptured the month before. My fridge was broken, which didn't make a difference, because I couldn't afford food to put in it anyway. Everyday I would walk to the local soup kitchen, and get my free peanut butter & jelly sandwich and bottle of water. 

One day, I noticed a stack of magazines and newspapers sitting outside. I didn't have a TV, so I sorted through them looking for a form of entertainment. While reading through a two week old newspaper, I saw an ad for plasma donors. I literally jumped up and down when I read that they paid $20 For plasma. 

The next day, I made the almost 4 mile walk to the plasma center. On the way there, I was thinking about what I was going to do with that $20. I planned on getting a Hershey Bar, and a bottle of diet coke. Damn, was I excited with the thought of that!

When I made it into the plasma center, I immediately took notice of the hoards of people already there. I approached the desk and told the receptionist that I was there to sell my plasma, and she gave me a form to fill out. I waited about twenty minutes, and a woman came and called for me to come into the back. She made me sit down and took a look at my arms. As she was pushing and poking my veins with her fingers, she yelled out for a man to come over and take a look. He then started feeling of my arms, then he shook his head no and let out a sigh, "Your veins are no good. They're too small." 

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means you're not a good candidate to donate plasma. I'm sorry." Then the man walked away, as the lady escorted me out. 

I found myself outside, walking slowly down the street. My eyes filled up with tears, and as much as I wanted to hold it in, I couldn't. I started to cry. I was a complete failure. I couldn't find a job, I couldn't pay my rent, hell, I couldn't even sell my plasma. 

About halfway home I noticed a man walking in front of me. He had to have been at least 15-20 feet away. His pace slowed, and eventually I was right behind him. Suddenly, without warning, he turned around and said, "Don't worry. Everything will be ok." Then he turned back around and walked off down a side street. Had he seen me crying?? Was that why he said those words to me? 

I was almost home when, again, I found myself walking behind another man. At this point my tears had dried, and I was keeping my head down with each step I took. Before I knew it I was right behind him, and again, this other man turned around and said, "Don't worry. Everything will be ok." Before I knew it, he was gone, walking off in a different direction. 

I didn't get my Hershey Bar or diet coke that day. I still didn't have a penny to my name. And I was still using the floor as my bed. But you know what? The words those two strangers spoke to me that day had made me feel a million times better. It was as if God put them in my path for the purpose of letting me know that everything would be ok. Times were definitely hard, but within a month I had finally found a job, and the first thing I bought with the money I made was a Hershey Bar and diet Coke. Best tasting Hershey Bar of my life! 

Scars

Have you ever heard of the old Celtic legend about hardships? Legend has it, that every person is given the opportunity to choose every hardship that they will experience in their lives. The point is to choose challenges that will push them to their limits, helping them to learn and grow along the way, while not becoming defeated by them. I guess it's a test, some pick more difficult obstacles to overcome, just to show that they can do it. If we go by this logic, then a lot of people must have picked crappy lives just to be showoffs.

When I read about this, all I could think about was what utter nonsense it was. We don't get to pick and choose what battles we must face, those battles are different for everyone, and they're just a part of life. Some people get dealt better hands than others. But the truth is, everyone goes through something at some point in their life. You can't play hide and seek with it. Pain doesn't discriminate, everyone experiences it.

So, now we move onto the subject of understanding. Some people think they have all the answers, when in reality, they don't even understand the question. There are those who choose to look but not see, to listen but not hear. I know a few like that. The important thing to know is that we have the power to create understanding from pain. How? By telling our stories. Whatever is imprinted on the pages of your storybook is yours to own, it's your story to tell. Don't be afraid to tell it. All those scars covering you from life experiences are priceless. Yes, pain sucks, but without it we wouldn't know joy. Pain shapes you, it molds your character, it teaches you something that cannot be taught from a book. Real learning doesn't come from reading about a particular subject, but from living it.

If given the chance to live a life with pain, or live a life of nothing, I choose the pain. Why? Because you can't learn anything from nothing.

No stranger to the rain....

I'm gonna be honest, I am utterly dreading the thought that my daughter will be entering middle school in the fall. For one, I still yearn for the days when she was wandering around the house in her pampers while carrying her bottle. Those days when "Dora the Explorer" and "Blue's Clues" dominated the television. However, my real reason for feeling such dread over her new journey into the world of junior high is because those puberty years are complete hell. Kids are cruel, life seems awkward, and the transition from a child to a teen is a short and bumpy road. One day you're playing tea party with dolls, and the next you're shopping for bras.

Ashley came out and asked me what middle school is like. Part of me wanted to lie and tell her it's better than eating a Snickers bar while surrounded by rainbows and glitter inside the magical unicorn forest. But I couldn't lie. Sure, I lied about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the tooth fairy. Those lies are harmless in comparison to lying about junior high life. I didn't go into specific details, but just reassured her that everything would be ok.

Thinking back to my days in middle school hell, I stumbled upon a memory that I haven't even thought about in decades. 

It was 1997 and I was in the 7th grade at Warfield Middle School, home of the red devils. I always hated that mascot, they should have chosen something more delightful...like the dancing dolphins or some shit. 

Anywho, one day it was pouring the rain. Crazy rain, the kind that is falling so hard it actually blinds you because it drowns your eyeballs. Funny thing is, I always loved that kind of rain.

The school was made up of two separate buildings. When you had to change classes you walked back and forth between them. When the bell rang I gathered my books and started my walk out of building #1 towards building #2. All the girls were screaming as they covered their heads with their books and acted as if the rain would melt their faces off. I mean, God forbid if the mascara that covered their 13 year old eyelashes happened to smear. Surely the world would end, right? (Insert eyeroll here).

So, as the girls screamed and ran, there I was, taking my sweet damn time and cherishing every single second of it. Actually, I do believe I walked a little slower that day, just to enjoy each and everyone of those blobs of rain drenching me from head to toe. 

Halfway to building #2 a boy was walking towards me on his way to building #1. As a pack of crying teen girls scurried past us both, books covering their heads, the boy stopped and looked at me. He said, "Lisa, you're the only girl I know who doesn't care to get soaked in rain like this." I looked at him, and as he walked on past me I wondered if he meant it as an insult or compliment. It really didn't matter, because to me it was, and probably always will be, the best compliment ever given to me. Why? Because it describes who I am. I'm the girl that doesn't care to be different, that lives for the moments when it rains so hard you can't open your eyes fully, and to stand in that rain and feel completely alive in a world that tries to kill you. 

That's exactly how I want my daughter to feel. That's exactly how I want her to see herself when she starts her adventure into young adulthood. Not to be afraid to be different.