Thoughts of February 14th from an Analytical Hopeless Romantic

Valentine's Day. Hate it or love it. Your stores will force you to respect its presence in pop culture.

The married person ends up treating it like any other day and the single person wants to be wined and dined with red balloons and whatnot. Valentine's Day is a vehicle in which people think that the grass is greener on the other side.

A commercial holiday should not be the determining factor of whether you are happy with your relationship status. Not your relationship with another person either. Your relationship with yourself. Love isn't how you feel about someone else, it starts with feelings of self that are imposed or projected by expression of feelings toward another person. I learned this once I started to analyze my Valentine's Days and learned that how I celebrated them really was a direct indicator of how I viewed myself whether single or in a relationship.

Let's go down Memory Lane, shall we? Feel free to laugh at me if you'd like. I laugh at myself so please join in.

Ever since first grade, I've dreaded Valentine's Day. Not because I was pathetic and couldn't grab the interest of anyone. That's never been an issue. Even with my bushy hair, ashen complexion and (back then) my hot pink bifocals I caught an admirer or two (I know, it's amazing to me too). It was more the pressure that came with the day that made it awkward for me. How your worth or attractiveness/love was put on a scale to be weighed. The more cards you got, the more desired you were thought to be. This would later on fuel my thought that "hotness" was measured by the number of suitors attempting to pursue you at any given point in time opposed to actually just being confident in yourself.

Remember back in the day when you passed around those Valentine's Day cards but only to your BFFs and you might have gotten bold enough to sneak one in your crush's desk/coat pocket/locker? This was before schools made you give EVERYONE a card so no one felt left out. Pansies! Or better yet, the cards were anonymous so you spent the whole day trying to figure out who liked you. Usually the creepy looks you were given while eating your snacks started the investigation. If every time you looked up there was a little fellow smiling at you, he was probably the card culprit.
...and there you have it...your "Valentine". Cute right?

Doesn't work like that once you go to middle school. It gets real. People start talking about having feelings and they actually kiss with tongue!!! I learned this the hard way because my first kiss was during class while playing truth or dare, we had a substitute (this alone makes me dread the day my daughter enrolls in school). That "kiss" was the most unromantic, nerve-wrecking thing you can think of. I literally thought we would peck and be done. Nope. When did it become customary in America to French kiss?! The only thing I wanted French was my fries. My disdain for PDA started around this time too for obvious reasons.

Then the boys started strutting around asking "Can I have a chance?" A chance at what?! Not to court me for real because neither one of us could even drive. I guess it was a chance at a small scale relationship. Whatever, I wasn't opposed to having you carry my books to class or sitting next to you at lunch. Just keep your tongue in YOUR mouth and buy me a snack from the a la carte line. For a girl who had reduced lunch ($.40 opposed to the $1 and some change some people paid according to household income), that was the equivalent of a dozen roses. Get me an iced honeybun and we're practically joined for life.

Now back to this smooching thing. It became the standard. In middle school, Valentine's Day was a great point of anxiety for me because your "boo" would want a kiss and just your luck everyone in your class would see it and whisper about it later. My fears were germs and that word would somehow get back to my Mama. Mama was the neighborhood candy lady so everybody knew where I lived and if someone wanted to be petty, they could come buy some snacks and rat me out on the low.

For that reason, I would literally time my gift-exchange at school so that in the hallway all we had was enough time to exchange gifts and the bell could ring right after so I'd have to jet to my next class.

I thought that having a "boyfriend" would make this whole Valentine's Day thing easier. Little did I know it was just pressure in another way. I was guaranteed a gift/attention from someone but so much was expected in return even at such a young age. Why can't I just get my little CVS teddy bear with attached assorted chocolates and be done with it? Doesn't work like that. If a boy gets you sweets, he wanted some sugar...which brings me to my next span of time...high school.

My high school experience described in one word was "huh?!". I learned just how naïve I was when it came to love and the like (see what I did there). In my mind, if we like each other, we should just go together. Sadly it didn't go that smoothly, hormones made everyone like everyone and just your luck the guy you liked probably liked your friend more. I can't remember how many times a guy found out I had a crush on them and when they walked over to me in the hallway they asked, "What's good with your girl _______?". Ouch. Cold little high school boy, real cold. I guess it is fitting that Valentine's Day is in February *shakes fist*.

To the decent guys worth dating, I was considered just one of the guys OR a great friend. Man, I don't want to be your friend. Buy me some chocolates or something! I even practiced that whole French kiss thing and I'll kiss you if you don't tell anyone. Can we do that? No? Okay, I'll just go back to Friendzone where it's safe.

What I didn't know is that my personality made me "safe" and in high school dudes wanted the girls that were bold and ready to take it to the next level if you catch my drift. I was proud of JUST perfecting how to kiss and you have chicks in there getting knocked up. I guess my little accomplishment wasn't much. I was too scared of my Mama and what people thought of me to get loose. I can't lie, the loose life did look fun but I left it to the professionals. My conscience talked too much maybe even more than my peers and with track practice and an accelerated academic schedule I simply didn't have the time to be whoring.

I was able to snag a guy for the majority of my high school experience though and that relationship was the biggest waste of time, especially as far as Valentine's Day was concerned. His gifts and romantic gestures were only to distract me from the fact that he was Valentine-ing all around town with other girls. Yes, I got the teddy bears and even some expensive electronics but there were no receipts for the emotional and physical scars. Valentine's Day was only one day in a year but the rest of the 364 went unaccounted for. So this made me wonder if guys thought they could treat you like crap the other days but if they had a little change in their pocket to get you a decent gift, it was enough to get off on good behavior. Valentine's Day became a romantic Yom Kippur. For my suitor, it was his day of atonement, a chance to right the wrongs of yesterday...so he thought.

My best Valentine's Day was spent eating great food, watching a comedy in a dorm room with no pressure for sex. Doesn't take much to make me happy.

It was almost a little TOO perfect. Ahh yes, of course it was. The night was cut short by my roommate who came in crying about how her Valentine's Day wasn't up-to-par, so being the sap I am I apologized to my Valentine for having to end the night and told him I'd call him later because my roommate needed me. The abruptness of that Valentine's Day was a stone in the pond to ripple and ruin the Valentine's Days to come. Following that one, they all ended up being meager attempts to be better than the last one, only to be even more terrible in the end. These dudes were up all night to get lucky and I was just trying to make love to these chocolates. Don't get it twisted, by this time I wasn't a virgin anymore and had become a little more experienced, however a good day did not equate to a great night. Takes more work than that, my vagina has standards and makes good choices.

Now I'm married and I'm back to the dinner and maybe a movie formula, which I like and actually works for me. However, Valentine's Day still doesn't go off without a hitch. I either get a migraine, diarrhea, or some other random ailment that prevents me from enjoying the day/night in full.

I believe it was the great Andre Benjamin who so eloquently professed, "Happy Valentine's Day, every day is the fourteenth". It took me observing my patterns of this day for the past twenty years and a song on The Love Below album to finally get it. If you love everyday (yourself and others) then there is no pressure to have to do it "effectively" on Valentine's Day. I've learned to love me single or attached so that no matter the significant other, the activity of celebration or caliber of gift it is still just another day.

...but to the ladies and men who can only spend the fifteenth with their "love", you might want to start asking some questions. Just saying.

Love (or like),
Cam

You Look Tired Revamped

Almost two years ago when I was in the infantile stages of blogging I wrote a post about why women hate to hear the phrase "you look tired".

I am now going on record to say that not only should you not say it to a woman but don't even think about sending an ESP message telepathically to a woman that is a new mom. Let me let you in on a secret. SHE LOOKS HOW SHE FEELS!!!

If you've ever had a death wish, just simply utter "you look tired" to a new mom. This is when stating the obvious goes terribly wrong. Not only did you feel the need to comment on the inevitable, you thought it was okay to verbally declare it to someone who was sleep deprived. You might as well call IRS and tell them you cheat on your taxes and leave your SSN before you hang up the phone.

As a new mother to a four month, two week-er, I find myself on edge quite a bit. I will admit that a good portion of that is my fault. I look for confirmation from people who are too busy critiquing to show concern or people who have no idea what I'm talking about.

Most times, I assume that because billions of women have had babies before they just know what I'm going through and are inclined to feel ever so sympathetic and possibly offer good sound support. I couldn't be more wrong. Half these women dismiss it from their mind so they can't pull from their memory bank to go back to that time when they felt that way. I think it's God's way of ensuring that we are fruitful and multiply because if anyone really remembered how crappy they felt postpartum we would all be only children or even worse, the human race would have died out a long time ago. So we are hardwired to forget the bad and retain most of the good.

I'm sure this time next year I'll probably be knocked up again and forget all about this blog post but as of right now I have to get this out.

"Old" moms so easily forget that they were once zombies treading through their house at 4am wishing for the gift of deaf to fall upon their ears because their baby has learned their true lung capacity. You would think someone would walk up and just say "I know. It gets better." and just walk away but they don't. Instead they walk up in the most scientific of tone and say things like "your baby should be sleeping through the night". Oh "should" huh? When did "should" put a guilt trip on a baby and force them to abide? "Ohhh man, you've got me. I knew better", says infant then proceeds to brush straight past REM and fall into a stage four sleep.

Is there a statute of limitations on this "should", "SHOULD" I just bank on the baby knowing that this unspoken agreement between them and sleep exists? Or put it in writing and make them sign it in drool??

I haven't quite found a solution on how to keep Nosy Nancys and Obvious Olivias away but I have found a way to make myself feel better about the situation. Like to hear it? Here it goes...

Give these people a taste of their own medicine. Since they think they are doing you a service by telling you that you look less than lovely, return the favor. Say "you look _________" and insert whatever adjective of shade you'd like. They'll see that the obvious doesn't go down so smooth. You mad??? Well I'm tired, we're even.

...and of course I must end deliciously sarcastic post with this very true and real disclaimer/declaration, I love my shrilling colicky baby, I know she doesn't mean any harm by crying and keeping her Mama up (who in turn keeps Daddy up to share in the misery). Crying is how she talks and I'm always open to communication. I'm adjusting to the Prada bags under my eyes after a long night's conversation...but until baby girl gets the sleep thing down I will wear my new accessories proudly. Hey, they go great with my stretch marks.

Til next time...probably the next sleepless night. Buh bye!

Food for thought, always room for more...

In middle school, my best friend and I had a composition book we used to pass back and forth. I still don't know to this day what made us start it but it was sooooooo much fun. We had almost every class together and saw each other at cheerleading practice then hung out outside of school. Somehow we always had something new to say. One would patiently wait and check the locker in anticipation of the most recent book drop off to respond or add our little tidbit.


The content of this book ranged from venting about a teacher we thought was insane, drooling over a cute boy, and my personal favorite; creating code names for people that were only funny to us. We'd see the person in the hallway, glance at each other and laugh hysterically. All in good fun though, we never bashed anyone just giggled. I'm more than confident this among many other silly pre-teen quirks was the reason why people thought we were so odd. Ha, the odd couple.


When we went to high school and the class options changed, we didn't have the exact same classes anymore so we didn't spend as much time together like we thought we would the years before. Our interests and class schedules guided us elsewhere. Not apart per say, but we were developing our own flair for life.


We started off both running track but then she was bit by the ROTC bug, flipping rifles, doing push-ups and other Xena Warrior Princess activity. I stuck with track and next thing we knew we both had found our "thing". Our first real thing outside of each other. A little scary but realistic. We were growing up.


In spite of the clash of our hectic schedules we always managed to find a way to meet outside of someone's class or lunch to pass our composition book to each other. We didn't share lockers anymore so we couldn't dare afford to leave the book in our locker and the person we share lockers with see our inner-most inside jokes. SECURITY BREACH!


As the years passed,  we found moments to swap the book. We went through quite a few. Only the Lord knows where all of them are now.


Once we went to college she and I stopped exchanging books. She was in College Park, I was in Fairfax and it was almost impossible to swap. No common meeting places for drop off. After that I decided to pick up my individual journal again. I had one in middle school in conjunction with our friend book but this one was for separate self-expression. It was a journal with poems, drawings, and clippings tied to memories.


I went through tons of journals. There are two that I will bury in specific spots like a time capsule only to be found by my children. I think it will be cool for them to see that their mom was human too and that more than likely everything they have felt, I have felt. Most of the books I burned so they couldn't be found because I said some pretty wild stuff, and there is one that I found a while back at my mother's house. Good thing I retrieved it. If Mama would've seen that one, she might have caught me up on some beat downs that were passed due. LOL. Just the typical teenage rage.


I read this journal before I got rid of this one. It was cool to see the changes I’ve made in life and the things I’ve overcome were a good reminder that God kept me then and He will continue to even now. Trivial things and people that seemed to weigh so heavily years ago only made me laugh when reflecting. It showed me that years, months, and even days from now a lot of the things we stress about won’t even matter. Things that seemed too hard and so impossible to overcome at that time were now only a memory to be read in a journal.

I thought about how cathartic that was. I love to blog and all but I post these things with the anticipation of someone reading them, these journals have no intended audience but me and God. 


God. 


....that's IT! I thought. The same way I chronicled my thoughts back then, I wanted to reenact that but only this time…with each thought; good, bad or indifferent I will challenge myself to find a scripture that speaks to that thought and write it down beside it. So when I do revisit these things, I’ll see how I felt about it but I’ll also remember what God said about it. It will help to keep me accountable and focused. Plus, it’s a refreshing way to study the Word.


I've also been really quiet in terms of expressing how I feel about certain things to avoid being the hormonal pregnant lady. Sometimes when pregnant, people are so quick to just chalk your concerns and gripes up as chemical imbalance when really at least 70% of these confessions are valid. But in fear of being seen as irrational, emotional, or just plain mean I've kept a lot to myself. In addition to that, I HATE when venting with select people and I'm patronized. I don't always want a pat on the back and I definitely don't want to be pacified. The baby will have enough of them should I choose to partake.


Holding on to emotion and then dumping it somewhere later on used to be a sure bet back in the day. Emotional littering; where I never got caught and fined. I always got away with it until my little passenger started riding with me. In pregnancy there is always someone who is with me (or in me I should say) that is directly affected by my moods whether I admit them out loud or not. Everything I think, feel, and eat...she knows and by way of me, she takes in. That in itself was extremely eye-opening to me, major reality check. Food for thought I called it. Hence, why this journal will bear the namesake.

 
In effort to finish out this last two months as stress-free as the previous months, I will write down my thoughts. I've been looking for new, cool ways to stay positive and encouraged. You know, put a fresh spin on life. My first entry starts today. I'll let you know how it goes.

 

Love,

Cam

 

..."fuggedaboutit"

I've always admired the Italian culture. Their good eats, the beauty and fullness of their country (according to the pics *sigh*) and the way they carry on through life just somehow knowing that things will work out.

...and if things don't, "fuggedaboutit". 

One could dispute what is dubbed the main staple of contribution from the Italian culture. Some might say pizza and I would agree that is one heck of a gift even though pizza actually originated in Greece. Anyway, if I had my pick, the most gracious contribution of the Italians by way of New York is that lovely quoted word above. 

Though it has been said in Brooklyn for years beyond possible trace of origin, the term was made popular to the rest of us in the 1997 film Donnie Brasco.

It is translated "forget about it" but can vary in meaning according to the context. The most common use is to assure you that whatever is happening or being said is not worth a second thought or glance so in response you "fuggedaboutit", erase it from your mind. 

The next meaning could simply be "hell no". For example, if that infamous favor-asker calls you to come thirty miles out your way to come pick them up, gas is about $4 and you KNOW they aren't shelling out any dollars toward the fuel fund this would be a fitting scenario to say "fuggedaboutit" and slam down the phone. 

The last known meaning is when you are actually confirming something in excitement, a no-brainer of sorts. For instance, you go in the grocery store specifically because you want ice cream. You have about $7 in cash and don't feel like hitting up the ATM to aid your sugar efforts. You prepare to go straight to the grocery store brand because you know it's always cheaper. 

...but wait! You see Ben & Jerry's has a sale 2 for $6. You can get better quality and possibly find a better variety. MAYBE EVEN YOUR FAVORITE FLAVOR!! Doesn't even matter what that store brand costs, thanks to Ben AND Jerry. You scoop those pints up like it's nothing and proceed to walk like George Jefferson to the check-out..."fuggedaboutit". 

Ahhh, what a word! Versatile and so widely understood at the same time. My kinda lingo. 

I think I'll even upgrade it from word to state of mind. 

I encourage you to do the same. 

Lord knows I have. 

Buh bye!

-Cam

I'm Pleased to Make Your Acquaintance

Okay...now you're in my state of mind so the following might serve as useful instead of typical blog banter.

This song means a lot to me because my husband actually chose it for our reception. You know the part when the wedding party comes in? He found it would be fitting to present our family/friends to this theme. The song is extremely catchy and for those 80s babies it is a reminder of hip-hop in its prime. Even more in depth, the song poses a valid question. It asks, "Friends. How many of us have them?". The question sounds easy enough. The automatic somewhat shallow answer would be "Of course I do", maybe even followed by a shrug and a smirk if you're feeling yourself that day.

...but sad to say most of us answer this question ignorantly. I know, I know. You want to know what the heck I'm talking about...follow me for a minute. Most of us mistake friends to simply be people we know. People we know are actually called acquaintances. According to Merriam-Webster, a friend is a person with whom one has a strong liking for and trust in, also a person who actively supports or favors a cause in which you are tied to. 

All these dang years we've been calling people by the wrong name. We have been using it casually and wonder why our feelings are hurt when these "friends" do not reciprocate the level of  liking or trust that we do. That's because due to our own omission we have committed an error in meaning. We simply didn't know any better. 

On Sunday, my closest friend (yes, she's been cleared for adequate friend title) and I were shooting the breeze and noticed that she and I have known each other for over half of our lives and haven't had a disagreement. We noticed that we are almost the same person in terms of value and the handling of close relationships. We have seen each other used and abused and have observed one another long enough to sit back and take notes on the dos and don'ts when approaching our friendship. Because of this, we have never had conflict within our space. I'm sure at some point we've had a difference in opinion because points of view will vary but seriously there has been no point of ambiguity or unresolved conflict in terms of argument. 

This blew my mind. Two women strong-willed, opinionated women with no conflict. I hadn't really heard of anything like this before. After hours of thought, on and off, I realized that it wasn't the lack of conflict that really fascinated me. Though it was an enigma in itself, it was when I saw that our friendship fit the definition of friendship. She has never given me a reason to question her trust, nor has she wavered in support and favor of my happiness no matter how silly the pursuit of that particular happiness may have been. For over 13 years she has always had my best interest at heart and genuinely liked me. I can say that with everything in me, I have done the same with pleasure. It was this unspoken covenant between us that has kept our friendship for all this time.

Time (one Mississippi...two Mississippi).

Now that I mention it, I noticed that a lot of emphasis is put on time in relation to friendship. I think it's awesome if you're 80 and have had a friend since you were 5. I would never take that away from anyone. Longevity is something that we lack as a society so it is something to be marveled. I just get nervous when I talk to people and then their justification for being friends with someone is "because we've known each other forever". I've heard this reasoning in romantic relationships but I won't even begin to touch that in this post. If you know me you know how I feel about that so I can skip it. If you'd like to hear my fist-shaking, gripes about it just leave me a message.

Let me just say this. I don't feel that anyone should ever slip through the cracks and snatch the title as friend. Friendship is earned. Stop being friends with people just because you've known them for a long time. Your time and emotion is worth more than that. When you hand people these unwarranted badges of honor and they disappoint you THEN you question their sincerity. Maybe you should've questioned your judgment.

Herpes is forever too but I can assure you that no one who has it takes delight in it, let alone in the sheer fact that its been around so long. Don't let people be a disease and/or parasite of your life.

Or you might look at it like hoarding. People can become a sense of comfort by way of collateral or collector's items because you want to surround yourself with something. People are not stuff and you're full of stuff if you handle people this way.

So what they've been there...but what have they done for you?! If you can't recall on one hand the times they have made your life better than they are just wasting space. Anyone can vent to you, especially over drinks...but could you call them in a life or death situation and know they would drop everything and come? Probably not. So that is a well-adjusted acquaintance, not your friend.

I don't know a lot but I have been gullible enough to know when life is holding up a neon sign over someone's head saying "Hey girl, this ain't your friend!!!" Now don't go around just slashing relationships left and right but really take the time to evaluate them. After all, that is emotion, time, and feeling that you invest and don't directly get back. However, the seed of friendship that you sow comes back indirectly in other ways and sometimes from the least likely of source. Be wise with your investments, make them work for you. Don't shell out anything you wouldn't feel comfortable losing. Ask a gambler, they'll tell you. Bet that.

Well...until next rant! Buh bye!
- Cam

Snippet of my pregnancy series...

Week 20- I can't see my vagina!!! She and I have always been able to look at each other just to let each other know we're alright and I can't see her anymore. We are so far away. :-( 

I guess that's God's way of deterring me from seeing what really happens down there when I'm pushing. I trust He knows best on that one.

 Let's see...my stomach is extremely round but still a petite basketball size, it's cute. My appetite has picked up and it is regular again. I'm at my normal level of mass consumption, yay! When my food is compromised, I'm not happy. The only thing I haven't really grown to accept about this stage in my pregnancy is these dang leg cramps. Sciatica is what my doc said. It's literally the pain in my butt. To get even more literal, it will get worse as the baby grows because the weight of the baby will press more on my sciatic nerve so my baby will continuously get on my nerves. Ha! 

I feel flutters. She favors my left side and let's me know when she hears a sound she doesn't like.

 Oh yeah...we found out we're having a girl. I could've sworn it was a boy. I'm not quite sure why but it was just a feeling. A wrong one. My instinct failed me. Oops. So I said I would be satisfied either way as long as the baby was healthy and I am. I would be lying though if I said that I wasn't the slightest bit disappointed. 

I've always been so good with boys. I've grown up with them, practically grown up as one via tomboy. I wanted my first born to be the boy. The one to protect his younger siblings, to be the head of my offspring and mirror his dad as head of the house. I know there's a 50/50 chance of having a girl so I shouldn't really be surprised. If she has my tenacity and Bill's demeanor, we should be fine. She would be a good protector, regardless of gender.

 I'm just not ready to deal with periods and heartache my first go round. I was looking more for permanently lifted toilet seats and mud collected in places the washcloth can't reach. A good ol' All-American boy but I will shift my expectations to raise a lady. I don't mind a girl.

 I always shunned girly things because I wasn't familiar with them. I fear that I'll have trouble being a lady trying to teach a girl what a lady should be. I didn't get bit with the femininity bug until I got married and that was four years ago. I have twenty-three years of catching up before I meet her in four months. Ugh I hate math and I hate dresses!!!! 

I will learn to like them. If not for me, for her. I have to be the woman I'd want her to end up as and the woman that any man would love to have so she can marry a guy like her dad. 

You know, that subconscious drive woman carry that makes us more prone to hooking up with guys that make us feel protected like daddy? In some way or another we all want to be Daddy's Little Girl. We either go looking for him or in some cases especially in our extremely liberal world, we end up trying to be him JUST to prove we did need him. 

Girls...oh boy. 

We shall see how this works. I just hope I don't fail my little princess by clouding her head with sports stats and showing proper uppercut technique. Maybe she'll be a Laila Ali, minus that freakishly deep voice. 

Why be a LeBron?

A few months back I had the pleasure of sitting in and observing one of my dear friends in her element. Ms. Jackson is a middle school teacher for one of the local county schools. She is a young professional who seeks to be in school administration after her Master’s degree is complete. She has the patience of Job, the body of a video vixen and quick wit that couldn’t be matched by a Jeopardy champion. Yes, it is true…these women STILL exist and I so happen to be friends with one. The total package if I’ve ever seen it. Growing up with her, in our high school years, she always had a certain appeal to her to make any man turn their head. I must admit I was extremely curious to see how her male students would react to her in the classroom, for that very reason. There was even one student who kept finding an excuse to touch her arm and she made sure she put him in line, reminding him that she had a MAN at home (LOL). Though easy on the eyes, she did not make anything easy to come by in terms of work ethic.

Her students were a mix of different ethnic groups and different developmental levels; some a bit ahead of the curve and others just scratching the surface. However, she treated them all the same in terms of fairness but did not baby those who just "couldn't get the answer”. Couldn’t was the operative word (or non-operative in this case), Ms. Jackson eliminated that quicker than you could type a solution on a calculator. Math is her teaching specialty and most people can attest that math was not a highlight of their middle school tenure yet, she takes a difficult subject and relates it to the easiest concepts in life. Concepts that the students would be able to attain at even such ripe ages. I can’t lie, I sat there a few times with a blank stare going “did we learn this growing up?!” These math concepts seem to get more complex as the times get harder and days get shorter but Ms. Jackson always had a situation that correlated to the current math issue at hand. From track relay time trials to grocery store trips, she made it all fit. There was a little something for everyone to relate to. I found myself applauding in my mind because I was so impressed with how swift she was in quieting any students doubt about whether the content was relevant to real life. On the low, I took a few notes. I didn’t want to sit under all that good teaching and not walk away knowing something!

It seemed as though my presence didn't waiver the realness of her approach, like she would've been just as bold had I not been there. For example, there was a point the students in her second period class became quite talkative and after giving them multiple chances to get quiet, she finally halted their audacity with a hard-hitting but relevant shift of perspective. "Most of you play a sport right?", she says. That got their attention. The majority of the class raised their hand. She followed and said "Yeah, that’s right…most of you play basketball. I know y'all like LeBron". The class confirmed with head nods and slight cheer. Then Ms. Jackson makes a turn that I didn't expect, "Well let's be honest some of you may be really good but you will never be a LeBron”. I remember my face dropping as she declared this. She went on. “How will you be able to handle millions?! Most of you will have a regular job but will still need math. Quite a bit of you have D’s in this class and your parents call up here asking why their child is failing. When I tell them it was because their child couldn't keep quiet during my class and missed information, what will you say?? Now pay attention!" Mind you, I've been out of middle school for quite some time but that indictment even registered with me. I felt her honesty and her frustration but all mixed in with tough love. That tough love that has died with the generations. That’s the love I remember back in elementary school when teachers would jack you up by your collar if it meant effective installation of fear of authority now to prevent avoidable hardships later.

Once Ms. Jackson reset the attention span of the class they looked apprehensive about having side convos during her lecture. I even put my phone away to prevent texting because I didn’t want to get in trouble either (hehe). I was proud of her.

I see so many teachers that will let students run all over them to avoid hurting feelings and will just talk in a surface way about the curriculum verbatim to steer clear of any tension from administration. No. Not Ms. Jackson. She gave life stories and quotes galore. The fact that she wasn’t afraid to share her experiences made the students more interested in everything else she had to say from that point on. Such a poignant teaching tool. She spoke with a mother’s tone but it had a familiarity where the children had no inhibitions sharing their part with her, like a big sister. They saw what I see in her. An adult, but a human, a friend and even when needed an authority figure. I think students tend to forget that teachers are human and can have different roles depending upon what the occasion calls for. They treat them as these robots and sometimes punching bags, expecting them to take all their emotion in between and just deal with it. Not the case with Ms. Jackson’s class. Her students saw her as a person and treated her as such and she didn’t mind reciprocity. About ten years ago she and I had lockers on the same hallway talking about how our teachers and coaches used to get on our nerves and now she was teaching children. It brought it full circle for me. Everything she had been through, everything she had acquired along the way wasn’t just for her use but she neatly tucked it away in her personal locker to be taken out and passed to the next student when needed. Kinda like that student that was willing to give you a number two pencil for your exam because you forgot yours. Ahhh, memories.

I guess it’s more than fitting that this scholastic observation reminds me of a book from one of my favorite rappers, Common. He hails from Chicago, as does Ms. Jackson. He wrote a memoir called “One Day It’ll All Make Sense” and sitting in that classroom, having been able to share in it and observe her life from high school ‘til now, I truly saw how life was prepping her for today. Life's lessons made her the educator that we so desperately need. The ones that our children may only see in a museum.

 

To the Ms. Jacksons in the world, thank you.

...and to anyone who ever taught me in my academic career, my bad I didn't know any better but thank you too. 0;-)

 

-Cam