Racism, Patience and Education - A first hand story.

GASP!  Nobody Told Me!  Why did nobody mention it?!  I cannot believe I didn’t know!

Someone just told me my daughter is not white!

Oh.  My.  Gosh.   Really?  (Heavy Sarcasm).

 

I look very much like a potato farmer in honour of my Irish and English heritage, and the person who I look most like is my Irish Grandad.

 

My daughter is half from me, and half from an English chap whose parents were Jamaican. 

So, he is dark skinned, born here in England, is English, but his ancestry is Jamaican. 

He is not Jamaican per se, can you see the difference? 

His heritage, of which we are all proud, is Jamaican.

 

So Missy, she was born with a very tanned complexion, beautiful straight nose and straight black hair.

Over the years her hair curled, but it is European hair in spiral curls, not so much afro as Irish-fro, which is a real thing, ask any Irish woman with crinkly hair on a blustery morning.

 

When my daughter straightens her hair, she looks Indian (dots, not feathers – to quote the beloved Robin Williams).

Indian parents of her school friends speak to her in Urdu and for a while got miffed with her when she would not realise she was being spoken to.

In the end, when it all came to light what was happening, they all laughed and are now on speaking terms again J

She’s a firm favourite with other children’s parents which pleases me no end.

 

When my daughter leaves her hair natural, she looks like a Diva.

Total Gone Crazy Big Old Spiral Curl Adornment.

She looks like she should be in a Beyoncé video or an 80’s Brat Pack film.

It is awesome!

 

So back to the shock revelation.

Several times people have told her “Why don’t you go back to where you came from”.

She’s had most of her classmates in junior school try to persuade her she was adopted, because the kids hadn’t seen her dad, only me!

She’s been mistaken for an asylum seeker but I assured people it was only Grunge Rock Fashion, not hobo-refugee chic.

She’s been mistaken for an immigrant and accosted by knuckle heads.

She’s been spoken to in Greek when we go to Greece.

She’s been spoken to in Spanish when we went to the Spanish Islands.

She’s been spoken to in Jamaican English when we go to Jamaica.

She’s been followed by security staff in the shopping centres.

She’s been yelled at for “being racist” by overly concerned, politically correct, liberal leftie white people when joking with friends whether she should sit at the front or the back of the bus after a history lesson on the American Civil Rights movement.  (This was a bumpy one... in a back and forth, supported by a friend who confirmed she was part Jamaican... Missy advised Leftie-Lady "You clearly thought I was Indian, which is presumptuous on your part.  I am black and I can joke about 'those darned civil rights activists always getting on the bus' if I want to").

And was yelled at to stop lying!

She’s been refused service in a Bible Bookstore because, even though she was holding the money in her hand, she was told “these books are not for your kind”.

 

And the kid laughs it off!

 

Now I have a lovely little generation of children in my class, when I tell them that the teenagers will be teaching Sunday school this week, confused and unable to hide it, that I introduce Missy as my daughter.  Their little children brains are perplexed that this curly haired, very tall, all makeup’d up and glamorous girl could possibly be related to me.

 

Then the next week we chat about the people who shared their feelings from the pulpit, my daughter being one of them, and the kids get confused again, still unable to make the leap of how potato farmer me could have a daughter like Missy.

 

One of the children leans in to me and whispers, as though it is a secret, “She wears a lot of make up”, and I reply, “Yes, isn’t she beautiful” and they nod.

Then the next week that the child is in class again, I see the whisperer wearing bright red lipstick in honour of Missy, and I smile at her, and she smiles back, thrilled I’ve noticed.

Acts of Random Kindness

Last night I came home after a long and hard day at work.


On the table, collected from the doorstep by the child, was a lovely gift bag containing a pot plant of daisy type flowers.


Through the letterbox was an envelope with my name on it.


In the envelope was no card or identifier, but a cash gift in £'s (I'm English, we use real pounds).


So, if you are reading this, that was very sweet and lovely, thank you.  You are far too kind.


The plant is now pride of place in our living room, it is the only living non-human thing in our home so makes a bright difference.


Whoever you are, consider this a thank you hug. x




Picture is Morgan Freeman with a quote from the movie Evan Almighty.

Being in the Photograph.

A tremendously good friend forwarded me some photos she snapped of a group of us girlfriends at the beach a couple of years ago. We live in different cities far from the coast and had all travelled in for the weekend.  The photos were a lovely surprise and a welcome gift.  I think it was a late September day in the UK which should have been wet and dreary but we caught a heatwave bubble and basked in glorious weather.  We almost had the beach to ourselves, our favourite seals popped their head up out of the water to say hi again, we had beach chairs and beach blankets, full tummies from breakfast and it was our final day at the coast.


Now, on first glance I look like a person who perhaps would or should have body issues.  I'm a little more round than tall although great boobies help me carry off an hourglass-ish look!  I have a little more latitude than longitude.  My face is quite round.  Without makeup - which I hardly ever wear - I look a little lived in... happy but lived in.  I am not particularly photogenic at all.


BUT... here's the important bit... I LOVE THE PHOTO'S.


They capture a group of friends all relaxed in each others company, laid out on the sand, laughing, making sand castles, spending time, reading books, resting before returning home later that same day to demanding families and demanding jobs in demanding cities.  There had been a couple of differences of opinion that weekend, that's what you get when you have 7 independent and strong willed women together.  The photos captured how much it was important to us all that we were still all together the morning after the disagreement.  It was perfect in it's imperfection, to me, at least.


What was photogenic is the love we have for each other.
Even when the object of the image is blinking in the photo (me) or is in repose in a chair in a not very flattering fashion, or when we've got our hair in an informal bun with no loose bits for framing the face, and no make up and so forth, the love we have for each other is clearly present.


I used to shy away from photos but nowadays for the most part I welcome them and it is all because I read a story of a lady reminiscing about her life.


The lady had said that she wished she'd been in the pictures, that she'd captured the moments of her husband and children but that she wished she had something to look back on in photographic form to capture the moments that she was in the image with them, that they'd shared it all together.


So, when someone points a camera in my direction nowadays I think to myself


"This is who I am, this body is kind to me, it nurtures and sustains me with good health, stamina and ability, and in 20 years time I'll wish I had this picture, scraggly hair day and all, and in 20 years time I'll wish I looked as good then as I do now, so take the picture and make sure I get a copy!"


Dear friends, please be in the picture. 


Let people capture the wonderful moments and the moments which turned out to be wonderful after all.  The ordinary times together are valuable.  Be glad you have a body, be glad of it's strength, be happy in the opportunities to share memories with great companions.  Don't pose, live a life of poise.  There's a lot of happy to be had. 

Phone-less in a phone soaked world

Phone-less.
A brick of glass and plastic.
A low-resolution camera and phone book.
That's all this bit o'kit had been reduced to.


I'm in between contracts and a keep-my-number transfer which should have taken a couple of hours is currently running at 5 days.


I could get shirty with the folks on the helpline, but they were nice and that's not how I roll.


I could troll their Facebook pages stating how awful they were, but on the scale of awful, this doesn't even begin to measure.


Folks on the telephone were horrified that this thing had gone wrong but it wasn't their fault, it's just a thing gone wrong and which is rectifiable. 


I must admit to being a little "pully face-y" in a grimace because


a) the school always phone, all the time
b) the kid memorised the number
c) I drive a beautiful clunker of a car and have breakdown cover
d) safety and quick dials to the authorities
e) I like phones


so it's all a bit rubbish, but it is only a bit rubbish, it'll pass, it'll work itself out, it'll be fine.


So, I'll see you when we've no longer gone dark. 


If you need me, I'll be the one talking to people and reading a paper book and drawing with pencils and learning the guitar and cooking new recipes and so forth because there's nothing better to do.  Hard life, eh?

Friends, Buddies, the Squad, The Tribe.

The past 4 years have been a colossal change for me and my little family.
Some things are great,
Some things are still challenging and an ongoing project.
Some things are just life, like bills and taxes.


What has made the difference between existing vs. living is pretty simple.
a) steely determination
b) my people.


Now when everything surprisingly and in catastrophic fashion hit the fan one Sunday evening, within 2 hours when the environment was made safer I texted my girls, my squad, just saying something like:
"I really need some love and support, I think my marriage just ended".


Not prone to any form of melodrama, they knew immediately that it was serious and they were as shocked as I, and were as supportive as any person in the history of humanity. 
I've never known better people. 
My heart sings at the thought of them, they're magnificent.


We were offered safe places to sleep (which I should have taken but was in too much shock), we were told we were believed, and we were told we were loved, and we were trusted to take the next steps - whatever they ended up being - they trusted in my ability when I didn't know if I did anymore.


I think in pictures then translate to words in order to communicate.
When I think of my people, my tribe, I get a picture of a cute little house and a white picket fence with a sturdy gate.  Then there is a second perimeter picket fence and a third.  My buddies are in the picture as walking straight through the outer, middle and inner gates.  They have permission to come and go, my house is their house, their hopes and dreams are my hopes and dreams for them.  Strangers and baddies are outside the outer perimeter, various levels of acquaintances are within the other gates.


Over the last 4 years it has gotten to the point where we need a bigger mental first garden, there are so many great and wonderful people in our lives.  The image that comes forth is of a garden party with pitchers of cool drinks and pretty chairs and blankets on the lush green grass.


But the image of the cute home is the grounding force, that is permanent, the fences move to accommodate new people but the house doesn't move, it represents known values, permanence, steely determination and grit.


You find your tribe through shared values, living up to the declaration of who you say you are, and by being kind even when there are other options available, by being willing to learn and grow, by listening to your elders in experience and years, by acting on what needs to be done, and sometimes people join you in those possibilities.


There is no space for wishy washy engagement here, time is short, life is urgent, it can be taken away and with that knowledge in the first person all the other priorities fall into place. 


If you are contented, be contented.  If you are upset, tell a friend, they can listen.  If you are pensive, excited, overjoyed... be those things, sometimes two or three of those things at once!  It gives other people permission to experience their life too.  It's awesome and contagious.


Some days have been ugly, authentic, raw and unfiltered.  A couple of people have sometimes been around when those days occurred but mostly it is a retreat to the house and wait for it to pass experience for me.  So, sorry to those people who were around when I couldn't filter the feelings for polite company anymore... I'll try and learn from those times. Or maybe, next time I won't try to spare you from it.  Let me know your preference on a self addressed envelope and I'll get to it.


Be willing to go it alone and be willing to accept company if others are headed in the same direction.


In advance of 2nd International Platitude Day, we only get 72 goes around the sun if we are lucky... if you are going to waste a day, realllly waste it.  Do it justice.  If you are facing something unpalatable, face it, get it done, endure it, grow and develop.  This too shall pass.  And look sideways sometimes to see and recognise who is at your shoulder, sustaining and supporting you.  It may be surprising who you find there. If they look sideways, do they see you?  Are you sustaining and supporting them too?  I think you are. 

School Reunions, we used to be 16 yrs old.

This weekend is a school reunion, our first en masse reunion.
It's a milestone year for us, some might say 10 years, some might say 20, but we know better.
School happened for us during an unenlightened period, our teachers were tired, we made our teachers even more tired, who knows if they saw some glimmer of hope in us but for the most part it was a dynamic and tumultuous time economically, politically, musically and artistically.
We were so lucky to be coming of age in 1986, the whole world just opened up to us in ways that had never been available to our parents, a form of social mobility suddenly became attainable, life felt dynamic, and for the first time we had a chance to define our futures rather than live out the life that had worn down our parents.
I think that we've aged remarkably well from the times I've bumped in to a handful of people in town, what with town being 98.6 miles from where I live now, there must have been something good in the water in 1986, some kind of elixir of the eternally youthful soul.


My family moved to The Shire in 2002, I followed my heart and stayed for the good schools and cheap housing so I didn't get to keep in touch with people as one might have hoped and during that time a lot of things changed.
We changed from shy to whatever the heck this is nowadays.
We worked in the City of London in the 80's - A-mazing!
We moved into the digital age.
We ushered in a new millennium.
We learned to drive and bought cars.
We became gainfully employed.
We may have started families, or we may have been wise and not done so!
We moved from dial up to broadband.
We all bought home computers, then laptops, then "devices".
We weathered the storms of life.
We matured like a fine wine.


Now, we get to dance on table tops and celebrate that we know each other and it all worked out in the end. 
We had no idea what we were doing back then, and probably very little has changed in that aspect but it's still dynamic and exciting and I am glad to have the opportunity to catch up with these good folks who were there during the formative years.  Here's to another 30.

The ugly side of friendship

Don't even know where to begin.
Friendship.  That tricky beast.
So long as people are at arms length and have no influence in a persons life, things run along swimmingly. 
More like friendly acquaintances.
It gets more tricky fun when people start to shape your world along with you. 
Shared experiences become your own history book, your own reference book. 
The lines of where you end and they begin become blurry. 
Loyalty. Dedication. Laughter. Love. Evolution. Devotion. Celebration.
Then one gets mardy.  Do you know that word?  It's a good word.
When the one gets mardy, the others look at each other with a "huh? was that just me? did I cause that?"  but no, it wasn't them, it was Mrs Mardy in a moody.
Then the moody mardy episode turns to a year long way of being and the others are all still concerned.  They refer to their friendship history book.  Wonder if there's anything they can do to help.  Offer genuine help.  Then they get resigned to the fact that Mardy now has new friends she can be a buddy with who don't know that she is being a cow to the older group.  They've yet to meet Moody Mardy.
You tell yourself that mardiness is born of fear, anger, upset, unfulfilled expectations, jealousy.
You try again to hash it out to little avail, while adding more love to the mix.
And you know what, you wish them well and you make sure you keep a plate in the cupboard for if they ever sort themselves out in the future, so that you know they'll be welcome at your table if they ever want or need to.

Going all Les Mis & 24601

I frequently ponder what it means to be human. What makes me me verses what makes you you.


I often find my ol' noggin gets itself stuck in a loop like a poorly constructed VLookup #N/A. (Jeepers, those annoy the sausage's out of me).


I think I have the answer boiled down to 1 million factors.
One of those factors has had the most lasting impact on my wellbeing.
In times of happiness or times of trial, I have to be able to answer at a moments notice, the question "Who am I?"


The Landmark Forum started me on this particular path, they run classes in most major cities in Europe and North America.  What I liked about their approach is that no two people came away from the class with the same answer. 
"The Forum" was the start, but that was a long time ago, probably 17 years or so.


The question evolved in my little ol' noggin over the years and the only answers that would satisfy me were based around attributes and values, rather than who I was to someone else or what I did for my job, or where I go on holiday, or how many grandchildren I had or wanted to have. 


The "who I am to other people, what do I have, what do I do?" answers were transient, prone to be taken away - particularly in the case of unemployment or relationship changes, house moves, new friendships and so forth.  I need the answer to the question "if you were not here, who would I still be?"


17 years ago, my answer to the question was "Passion, Inspiration, Empowerment, Commitment".
To this day, that answer covers most questions and how I choose to respond.  Other attributes have joined the list.


My answer covers my attempts at raising a Daughter, my Employment, Life in General, and Relationships. I am committed to the idea of there being a relationship out there which is healthy and happy and beneficial to all parties involved.


To me, humanity is born of our physiology, our advanced brains, our dexterity, our teamwork, the development of language and communication, our inventive nature, our problem solving skills, our moral code and conduct of acceptable behaviour, our instincts embedded for thousands of generations.


My humanity is enriched by my core values and attributes.


When times get dark, as they frequently do, I am blessed to not get lost for very long. 
Sometimes remembering that I stand for Commitment helps me stay the course.
Sometimes remembering that I stand for Empowerment helps me in meetings where I need to negotiate a way to meet the needs of the person I am representing.


If I am lucky, I get 70+ years on this planet. 
That's 70 free goes around the Sun.
They're going to have to take me from this life kicking and screaming because I love it so much.
They're going to have to distract me with something shiny so I quieten down for a minute.
Even the crummy days are worth it.


If someone were to ask you what you stand for, and you were not allowed to answer in anything that is corruptible (buildings, organisations, relationships and such) who might you be?