I wish my heart
was like the recycle icon
on my computer.
With one click,
it would be empty
of all the useless crap
that floats around
taking up unnecessary space.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Sunday, August 05, 2007
I don't Know Karate...But I know CARAZY!
Walking through the parking lot of Wally World, I heard a male voice shouting:
“GET OUT! GET OUT!”
In between the shouts were words of a language that I could not understand; but I didn’t need to understand it because what I heard was anger. As I got closer I saw two beautiful little Asian girls getting out of a tan mini-van. One looked to be about 9 and the other was no more than 6. The youngest was crying. I stopped and asked the older sister if her little sister was ok and she just shook her head no and looked down at her little sister. The little girl was in tears. Then I looked in the van and saw their father. A spineless Jackass who yelled, rejected and ejected his daughters from the car, probably for being a little bratty which is what little kids do best. I walked away from the two children and stood where the father sat in the nice air conditioned van while his two daughters stood outside in the humid Texas heat. I mouthed the words “ASSHOLE” to him and took out my cell phone. I stopped a Wally World associate to see if there was security on duty and suddenly the father let his daughters back in the van. I stood there a little while longer staring this jackass down. Honestly I wanted to go over to that van and drag him out and beat the crap out of him.
However, he is supposed to be his daughters protector, he is supposed to be the first man they love and respect and receive love and respect from. I could not have the little girls see their father get jacked up by an angry black woman who feels it is her duty to protect every child on the earth as if they were her own.
Hmmm…maybe in a few years when the youngest daughter is swinging from a metal pole in a dark smoky club for two buck tips, the father will have a reflective moment, wondering how his beautiful little girl could have ended up like that. Little kids need their fathers; they can do without selfish, mindless rejection.
After a while of standing and staring the father down, I continued into the store, trying hard to suppress the tears burning my eyes.
“GET OUT! GET OUT!”
In between the shouts were words of a language that I could not understand; but I didn’t need to understand it because what I heard was anger. As I got closer I saw two beautiful little Asian girls getting out of a tan mini-van. One looked to be about 9 and the other was no more than 6. The youngest was crying. I stopped and asked the older sister if her little sister was ok and she just shook her head no and looked down at her little sister. The little girl was in tears. Then I looked in the van and saw their father. A spineless Jackass who yelled, rejected and ejected his daughters from the car, probably for being a little bratty which is what little kids do best. I walked away from the two children and stood where the father sat in the nice air conditioned van while his two daughters stood outside in the humid Texas heat. I mouthed the words “ASSHOLE” to him and took out my cell phone. I stopped a Wally World associate to see if there was security on duty and suddenly the father let his daughters back in the van. I stood there a little while longer staring this jackass down. Honestly I wanted to go over to that van and drag him out and beat the crap out of him.
However, he is supposed to be his daughters protector, he is supposed to be the first man they love and respect and receive love and respect from. I could not have the little girls see their father get jacked up by an angry black woman who feels it is her duty to protect every child on the earth as if they were her own.
Hmmm…maybe in a few years when the youngest daughter is swinging from a metal pole in a dark smoky club for two buck tips, the father will have a reflective moment, wondering how his beautiful little girl could have ended up like that. Little kids need their fathers; they can do without selfish, mindless rejection.
After a while of standing and staring the father down, I continued into the store, trying hard to suppress the tears burning my eyes.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
The Lucky Teacher
Lucky are the teachers who have all the resources they need at their finger tips:
For they do not have to rely on co-workers or pure creativity to create lesson for young needy minds.
Lucky are the teachers who don’t have to worry about where their students will sleep at night, if they will eat, if they will survive until the next morning.
Lucky are the teachers who are not confidants to students who are mentally, physically or sexually abused.
Lucky are the teachers who will never have to look down into a pink lined casket at one of their most beautiful students.
Lucky are the teachers who will never have to speak over the phone to a student with a traumatic head wound, burns over 33% of their bodies or whose baby had just died at birth.
Lucky are the teachers who don’t receive letters from students recently incarcerated for most of their youthful adult lives.
Lucky are the teachers who don’t have to shed tears with the sexually confused students, the failing student or the student who just lost their parent to a drug overdose or worse, murder.
Lucky are the teachers who aren’t accidentally called “Mom”, or offered a couple of hundred dollars for their birthday by the student who only sells drugs to help out his family.
Lucky are the teachers who don’t have to wake up the 15 year old pregnant student in class, who is dead tired from being up with her ill 2 year old all night.
Blessed, however, are the teachers who laugh, cry and worry, with and for their students, who teach, parent, counsel, fuss, fight and defend their students.
Blessed are the teachers who reach beyond teaching and into caring and sharing and inspiring, for they shall inherit the most precious memories of a lifetime.
---- qp
(c) 6/2007
For they do not have to rely on co-workers or pure creativity to create lesson for young needy minds.
Lucky are the teachers who don’t have to worry about where their students will sleep at night, if they will eat, if they will survive until the next morning.
Lucky are the teachers who are not confidants to students who are mentally, physically or sexually abused.
Lucky are the teachers who will never have to look down into a pink lined casket at one of their most beautiful students.
Lucky are the teachers who will never have to speak over the phone to a student with a traumatic head wound, burns over 33% of their bodies or whose baby had just died at birth.
Lucky are the teachers who don’t receive letters from students recently incarcerated for most of their youthful adult lives.
Lucky are the teachers who don’t have to shed tears with the sexually confused students, the failing student or the student who just lost their parent to a drug overdose or worse, murder.
Lucky are the teachers who aren’t accidentally called “Mom”, or offered a couple of hundred dollars for their birthday by the student who only sells drugs to help out his family.
Lucky are the teachers who don’t have to wake up the 15 year old pregnant student in class, who is dead tired from being up with her ill 2 year old all night.
Blessed, however, are the teachers who laugh, cry and worry, with and for their students, who teach, parent, counsel, fuss, fight and defend their students.
Blessed are the teachers who reach beyond teaching and into caring and sharing and inspiring, for they shall inherit the most precious memories of a lifetime.
---- qp
(c) 6/2007
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