If you are perceived as harsh and want not to be perceived this way, how can one change?
Limiting words?
Filtering thoughts?
I believe the answer may be a revolutionary change in one's perceptions of all people and their idiosyncrasies.
Could I achieve this revolution?
How?
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Hope-tober
A handful of months ago it seemed to me that Hope was a chill-worthy word. Every time the word Hope echoed through the media, goosebumps danced upon my skin. It may have been audacious, but people were banning together around this most powerful and Pandoraic word.
Since then, debates and hate, apathy and passion, mud and guts have smudged and scraped the Hope campaign. Today I was at Wendy's Tortas in East L.A., down the street from Gates Elementary where I'm stationed as a "pre-service teacher." This eatery seems to take pride in nearly pristine white tables, a glass-case displaying candy-bars and granola, and their large, flat screen T.V. While eating my lunch a group of four men were engaged in Spanish Language TV: a Jerry Springer-like show, the news in which a story of a mother drowning her baby and a Latino man getting beaten up by the cops were head lining, and Barack Obama speaking at a convention.
I ended up starting a conversation with Wendy's grandpa, the owner, about who he hopes will become president of the country. I decided to ask him who he planned to vote for. His response was, "I'm not enabled the right to vote."
"If you were, who would you choose?"
"Obama, I would vote for Obama. But I'm afraid. I'm afraid if he gets elected someone might shoot him. Were you around here during the L.A. riots? If Obama were killed, the Blacks would be affected. The L.A. riots were bad, people stealing and breaking everything. That could happen again. It would happen again."
I nodded my head while listening to this man's fears about the future of our country and his community, thinking now how Obama's campaign of having the "audacity to hope" responds to this very world-view. I walked on down the sidewalk, passing the neighbors' eviction notice, some graffiti, and a pungent smell coming from a dumpster, to the colorful school yard of Gates.
Once in class it happened that the curriculum for the day was to read two newly published children's books; one entitled "My Dad, John McCain," the other "Barack." Both books spoke of the protaganists' struggles to develop their identities, and their will to serve America. Yet while "McCain" focused on being one deserving man in a line of soldier men, "Barack" focused on having many places to call home, and all of them contributing to feelings of struggle and hope.
It was incredible how powerful these books seemed. I can only imagine reading them to a class of American youth, empowering these students to devote a critical eye to each planned page. By the time I am through being immersed in this intense educational community of hopeful justice for all, I hope to be teaching in a classroom that makes strides, in part because of me and my hope, and in part because they have a genuine African American leading their world.
Since then, debates and hate, apathy and passion, mud and guts have smudged and scraped the Hope campaign. Today I was at Wendy's Tortas in East L.A., down the street from Gates Elementary where I'm stationed as a "pre-service teacher." This eatery seems to take pride in nearly pristine white tables, a glass-case displaying candy-bars and granola, and their large, flat screen T.V. While eating my lunch a group of four men were engaged in Spanish Language TV: a Jerry Springer-like show, the news in which a story of a mother drowning her baby and a Latino man getting beaten up by the cops were head lining, and Barack Obama speaking at a convention.
I ended up starting a conversation with Wendy's grandpa, the owner, about who he hopes will become president of the country. I decided to ask him who he planned to vote for. His response was, "I'm not enabled the right to vote."
"If you were, who would you choose?"
"Obama, I would vote for Obama. But I'm afraid. I'm afraid if he gets elected someone might shoot him. Were you around here during the L.A. riots? If Obama were killed, the Blacks would be affected. The L.A. riots were bad, people stealing and breaking everything. That could happen again. It would happen again."
I nodded my head while listening to this man's fears about the future of our country and his community, thinking now how Obama's campaign of having the "audacity to hope" responds to this very world-view. I walked on down the sidewalk, passing the neighbors' eviction notice, some graffiti, and a pungent smell coming from a dumpster, to the colorful school yard of Gates.
Once in class it happened that the curriculum for the day was to read two newly published children's books; one entitled "My Dad, John McCain," the other "Barack." Both books spoke of the protaganists' struggles to develop their identities, and their will to serve America. Yet while "McCain" focused on being one deserving man in a line of soldier men, "Barack" focused on having many places to call home, and all of them contributing to feelings of struggle and hope.
It was incredible how powerful these books seemed. I can only imagine reading them to a class of American youth, empowering these students to devote a critical eye to each planned page. By the time I am through being immersed in this intense educational community of hopeful justice for all, I hope to be teaching in a classroom that makes strides, in part because of me and my hope, and in part because they have a genuine African American leading their world.
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