One Wedding and a Funeral

While you were celebrating the joys of love at your friend's wedding, SM, I was celebrating the life and mourning the death of my cousin. He was actually the husband of my cousin, but family is family. He was killed in a vehicle-related accident, struck by an oncoming car as he performed his job as a trash worker for the city.

Each time I think about him and the wife and three young children he left behind, I am saddened. He really cared about his family and now they must find a way to move on without him.

At the funeral I learned several things about him. One, when he first met my cousin, he told her that he had a heart for a family. From the beginning, he knew that he wanted to be a husband and father and he was never derelict in this duty. He took care of them.

Two, he was an artist who tried to impart his passion to his children. I already knew that he was a painter; I have two of his works hanging up in my home and office. I did not know that he taught his children art every Saturday morning. During the service, my cousin shared with us a painting that his 5-year-old son did that morning called "Daddy's Office" which was in fact a picture of his casket. And while I was there his son showed me another picture he drew called "Hot Hand." It was not only pretty good work, but also an encouraging symbol that his father's passion and legacy can live on in him.

Often when one person survives a tragedy and someone else doesn't there is some guilt in the survivor. Although intellectually I know that I shouldn't, I do feel some guilt each time that I find myself enjoying DH's company. I do not even want to imagine myself in my cousin's position and I feel guilt for that as well. In addition to being the Great Equalizer, death is a strange catalyst for emotions as well as behavior. I suppose wallowing in this guilt would not be a fitting legacy for a man who believed in marriage and family.

Keep my cousin and her children in your prayers and be sure to appreciate the loved ones we have with us.

Love

I love a wedding.

Yesterday, my good friend was married and I don't think I've ever seen a more excited groom in my life. He looked like he was going to cash his lotto check. My friend was elegant and glowing and every detail was meaningful and smooth. And the ministers (a husband and wife team) mentioned John Hope Franklin! How cool is that?! And the food was delicious! I sobbed my way through the toast, and my husband informed me later that I actually turned toward the camera each time I paused to compose myself. And he said I went into the ugly cry. But my children screamed my name (well, they screamed, "Mommy!"--is that my name now?) as I entered the reception with the best man. I wish people were always excited when I entered a room; that was nice. Oh well. I'm happy! With so much bad news, and nearly every week I hear that something awful has happened to someone I know, a moment of joy and love fills me with glee. I still have the warm fuzzies.

Yay for love and shout out to my hubby!

John Hope Franklin

Insomuch as I am still an academic, I want to acknowledge the life and legacy of John Hope Franklin. His influence and respect are unparalleled both within the field of history and in related fields. His seminal work, From Slavery to Freedom, should be required reading for every single American. I am in awe of his long life and important work.

Franklin's study of history testifies that history is made by those whose lives tell the story. Every day men and women are going about their lives, living well and living poorly. Historians like Franklin remind us that those stories matter, especially to the parents, spouses, siblings, and children whose futures--history in progress--will never be the same after they are gone.

Yummy Mummy

So, lately I've really been feeling like a dumpy mommy. I see the other moms dropping off their children and they look like glamazons--cute shoes, flawless make-up, tailored clothes, fresh hair. Unless I have someplace to be, I'm probably wearing jeans. Who are these women, I've been wondering? Aren't they as tired as I am? Don't they have a stack of clothes that don't fit? And why do they all seem 10 years younger than me? I'm in a wedding this weekend (yay A.!) and I had to rummage through my bathroom for my cosmetics stash. I'm sure I'll need to get a mani/pedi for the event, too, but I don't know even know where to go. Clearly, I have not been doing my womanly maintenance.

Nevertheless, I ran out for lunch today and the guy at the counter said, "Hey, beautiful!" I almost turned around to see who he was talking to. But, since I've learned from The Diva, I just smiled and accepted the compliment. Then, as I was walking out of the restaurant, another guy said, "Hi beautiful!" Two compliments inside of 15 minutes! Now, truthfully, I had just had my brows done, and I was wearing real clothes. Still, I felt a little less like a mom machine. I should probably pay more attention in general to these sorts of things. I forget that there's a payoff. The balance between motherhood and the other roles women play is so difficult to navigate. how are we supposed to do it?

Random

A collection of random thoughts, unrelated to each other . . . and probably unrelated to anything else; none of these seemed to be worth an entire post, but I thought I'd share:

• Last night, when I told my daughter that I loved her, and asked if she loved me, she said, "No. I love daddy. Brother loves you." I cannot figure out what to make of that, or even if I should be offended. But it does help explain why she says an unsolicited "I love you" to everyone in the house except me.
• I just watched a rerun of "A Different World." Man, that was a great show!
• We spent the day in a different, but nearby, part of the city. The high school there seemed to be building something new in their stadium. None of the schools in the part of the county where we live has a stadium--they all share one. Isn't there something wrong with this? And how does this happen? Don't my children deserve to have neighborhood schools that have amenities and resources, too?
• Just in case living in this part of the city really does mean that we simply don't deserve good stuff, could someone please pay me enough money so that we can afford to live in the part of the city that does have the good stuff? Or perhaps all of my education is worthless . . . well, not if you ask the student loan people . . . .
• And one more thing about what people deserve: does having children mean that I just don't deserve significant time every day when I can do what I want without interruption?
• I bought books at the library book sale today. I get way too excited about books.
• I got all dressed up this morning and zipped out to a fair for teachers. The lines were literally wrapped around the building and the parking people were sending everyone to some random lot about 900 country miles away. People are seriously looking for work, folks. I gave up and went to Target. In an hour, I went back and drove right up to the building; then they told me that I didn't all the paperwork and they wouldn't see me. Soooo glad I didn't stand in that line!

Pull Up Your Pants, Boy!

I received this picture in an email message today:

I hear a lot about young men pulling up their pants, especially in churches. But here's my question: Is this really the scourge that (older) people make it out to be? How much does it matter?

I understand that this pants sagging thing isn't progressive or productive. It's really kind of ridiculous. Boys literally have to hold up their pants with their hands in order to walk. They can't stand with a normal stance because their pants would fall down without widespread legs. Criminals can't sufficiently run away with their pants around their thighs. And one of my former colleagues enacted a policy in her classes that identified underwear bearing as, in effect, sexual harrassment. But is it really related to character? Isn't it just a silly fashion fad, like zoot suits or tie-dyed T-shirts or MC Hammer pants? When people argue that pulling up one's pants will cause (or reflect) a change in work ethic or morality, it's never quite clear to me how the two are related. I've had students whose pants sagged who did their work and came to class and had pleasant attitudes. Many people are eager to point out the widely accepted explanation that sagging originated from prisoners who had their belts taken when they entered the system; sadly, their beltless, sagging pants came to be mirrored by their cohorts when they returned home. If that's true, then one might be able to make an argument based on that connection to bad behavior. But even then, isn't there a complicated matrix of issues at work?

In truth, I do hope that Obama's election will contribute to the end of this trend. My father used to tell us, "Look like somebody!" I believe that the way we choose to present ourselves to the world is at least minimally important. Young men should pay more attention to that. But what I really want is for those young men who wear their pants sagging to have decent schools and meaningful work available to them. I want them to have loving, viable families mirrored for them, and I want them to emulate those families. Reducing these kinds of complex issues down to "Pull up your pants!" is about as silly as walking around with your underwear showing.

What Color Is My Parachute? Seriously. What Color?

Before I secured my now defunct teaching position at Unnamed University, I was so desperate to figure out what to do with myself that I actually got What Color is Your Parachute and a couple of other career guides. I made charts and lists and drew pictures. I even looked for places to take the Myers-Briggs test that reveals your personality type. For the most part, the conclusion was what I knew all along--my perfect, dream job would be to be a co-host on "The View," especially if you throw some books into the mix.

Since the likelihood of that happening is slim, (at least until Barbara Walters gets a clue and ditches that ditzy Elisabeth--what is the deal?? They just ignore her like she's not even talking most of the time. I would be sooo much more interesting and fabulous as the resident thirty-something. I'd replace Star's "I'm a lawyer" with "I'm a Ph.D." But then, I can't keep popping out babies left and right like Elisabeth, so maybe that's why they won't hire me) I've been thinking about what else I could do with myself. Since the fourth grade, when I missed recess to help a girl with her long division, I haven't imagined myself doing anything except teaching students.

I've read that the average person has several career changes during her professional life. How does that happen? When I read articles on this topic in The Chronicle of Higher Education, for instance, people suggest being open to alternative possibilities, but then they present some story about how a wonderfully fulfilling position fell into their laps out of nowhere. How do I make that happen? How do I get to read, talk about books, and get paid for it? How can I have a flexible schedule without (apparently) being expendable? How can avoid putting my degrees on a shelf if I don't work in higher education? And--dare to dream--how can I find a job that will get a professional to do my hair, make-up, and outfit?

Clearly, graduate schools don't even try to prepare students for careers outside of academia, even though most of us won't ever grasp the brass ring of tenure. So, since I'm on this side of the degree and still on the wrong side of a tenure-track position, I feel like I'm flailing. I would gladly consider some other kind of career if I were qualified for any of them or if they didn't make me want to beat myself in the head. I don't even know what I want to do, much less what I can do. I never thought that more than ten years after my B.A. I would be trying to figure out what I want to do when I grow up. I guess I'll just sit here with a ready lap, waiting for something to fall.

* Totally off topic, The Diva, the Today show just played your theme song, "You Wear It Well"!