Thursday, January 26, 2012

Writing A Wrong

un·em·ploy·ment   [uhn-em-ploi-muhnt]
noun
1. the state of being unemployed, especially involuntarily

Before I became unemployed.
The first time.
I had no idea what the word meant.
I thought I did.
But I truly had no clue how many different emotions are attached to those four simple syllables.
But the only thing that really matters is reality.
The reality of being unemployed.
Whether that reality is an ego-check.
A financial hardship.
A change in careers.
Or losing the will to exist.
You can’t change reality.
But finding your best way to deal with your reality is the only way to combat this.
The Democrats can blame Bush.
The Republicans can blame Obama.
The Tea Party can blame Coffee.
At this point, blaming is all about the past.
And the present is what matters.
And the present is the reality.
And the reality is that as of a few weeks ago 13.1 million Americans are unemployed.
That’s the good news, I suppose.
Since that 8.5% unemployment rate is down.
Down from 10.0% in October of 2009.
That’s great news.
For the 1.5% who found jobs.
Unemployment is a topic that has captured the attention of nearly everyone in this great country.
And it won’t be going away anytime soon.
I don’t know anyone who doesn’t know anyone who hasn’t been bitten by the unemployment bug.
Do you?
Thanks to Sir Bacon, I have met some amazing people who have shared their stories with me.

Inspiring stories.

Sad stories.

Sometimes just stories.

A few days ago I was contacted by Lillian Swift.
She’s a creative writer from Northern Arizona University. 
“An aspiring writer who specializes in writing about community issues.”
Lillian asked if she could be a guest writer on my site.

The answer was YES!
Please CLICK HERE to read Lillian’s article.


Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Girl Scout's Honor


Sunday was Championship Day in the NFL.
For you.
Sunday was Opening Day in the Neighborhood.
For me.
The first day my eight-year-old daughter was permitted to sell her Girl Scout cookies.
The first request came in Saturday night.
“Daddy?”
Twinkle in the eyes, flash of the pearly whites.
“Can you take me around tomorrow to sell Girl Scout cookies?”
TOMORROW???
TOMORROW IS CHAMPIONSHIP SUNDAY!!!
ARE YOU KIDDING???
I said.
To myself.
But as required, I responded with “sure, sweetie.”
Realizing that the rest of the neighborhood was doing what I had hoped to be doing.
We took off just before kickoff of game one.
I figured we’d put in a couple of hours.
And get home for the two-minute warning.

We are pretty new to our neighborhood and I don’t really know many of the neighbors.
So I wasn’t too concerned about asking friends for money.
But I gotta be honest, I’m not a big fan of that.
But just to be sure, instead of walking door-to-door, next to our door, we headed across the boulevard.
It took three or four homes for somebody to answer.
But when they did, they couldn’t turn down the cookies.
Or they couldn’t turn down my daughter.
Whatever.
The bottom line is the first home bought four boxes, immediately.
And they got those four boxes, immediately.
You see this year, them Girl Scout people smartened up.
Instead of making you order cookies.
And waiting a month for them to arrive.
This year we had the boxes with us.
Now unfortunately we didn’t have one of them giant wheel barrels to make this an easier project.
So instead I packed a bunch of boxes in a rolling suitcase.
And a bunch more in an ice cooler.
We must’ve been a sight for sore eyes.
But we had a goal here.
And that goal was to sell 70 boxes.
70 boxes at $3.50 a piece.
And if my daughter sells those 70 boxes.
Or $245 worth of cookies.
She gets .... a patch.
A real-life patch.
Really?
Really!
Who’s running this scam, the Fox News Channel?
Ok scam might be a little harsh.
But $245 gets you a patch?
In this economy?
Not even a Snuggie... or ShamWow?
But hey, the more cookies we sell.
The more cookies WE don’t have to buy.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love Girl Scout cookies.
Who doesn’t?
I love them all.
No favorites here.
Ok, toy gun to my head....
The coconut encrusted Samoas.
Or maybe the frozen Thin Mints.
Or the peanut buttery Do-Si-Dos.
Ok, no favorites here.
And the same could be said for our neighbors.
They didn’t really care what they were getting.
They were just happy to be getting them.
Now!
The biggest challenge we had wasn’t selling the cookies.
But it was getting people to answer the door.
You see my daughter learned a new word on Sunday.
Soliciting.
As in NO SOLICITING.
The hardest part for us was finding a neighbor who was home.
And didn’t mind being bothered.
As a good role model, I respected every single house who didn’t want us there.
Even if I didn’t want to.
But after a while it became quite annoying.
I would say two out of every four homes didn’t want us there.
Close to 45%.
But thankfully the rest of the hood made up for them.
A Tagalong here.
A Savannah Smile there.
Trefoils.
Dulce de Leche.
Thank U Berry Munch.
We had ‘em all.

And were selling them all.
At least we were on our way to selling them all.
When trouble showed up.
Trouble in the form of a mom and her mini-van.
With a big smile on her face, Mrs. Buzzkill greeted us.
“Hey, you may not want to sell these over here.”
Big Smile.
“We have 12 Girl Scouts on this street.”
Twinkle twinkle.
“Oh that was so nice of her,” my daughter said.
At which point I paused.
And informed her that the Girl Scout Nazi was kicking us out of her neighborhood.
“Oh.”
So we packed up our boxes and headed home.
The good news is we made it home in time for the fourth quarter.
The bad news is we only sold 37 boxes.
Barely enough to get half a patch.




Thursday, January 19, 2012

King for a Day


MLK day is a special day.
In the NBA.
MLK is not a special day.
Where I live.
I’m not talking about my house.
I’m talking about my city.
And no I don’t live in Arizona.
That’s a state.
I live in an area where Monday came.
And Monday went.
And nothing special happened.
I’m not really sure what was supposed to happen.
But nothing did.
At least nothing that put the special in this special day.
Thanks to google I did find a handful of events across the country which tried to pay tribute to Mr. King.
100,000 people came out for a march in San Antonio.

They were expecting 200,000.
82 people attended a rally in Thomson, Georgia.

83 if you count the speaker.
An ice rink in Cleveland offered free admission from Noon to 5.

I guess you had to pay full price the rest of the day.
While in Denver, the Martin Luther King Jr. African-American Rodeo of Champions came to town.
Whatever that is.
I’ve always considered myself a lover of history.
But I am far from a historian.
I was born in 1967.
So I missed all but one year of Martin Luther King’s life.
And unfortunately I don’t remember any of it.
But thanks to the internet, we can relive history.
Until SOPA kicks in.
If there is one moment that defines the life of Martin Luther King Jr., it has to be the speech.
The dream speech.
August 28, 1963.
On the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington DC.
According to Wikipedia, the crowd was estimated at 200,000.
I’m sure more than a million said they were there.
Like you, I’ve seen clips of the speech hundreds of times.
But I don’t recall the last time I watched it all.
From start to finish.
So a few minutes ago I changed that.
At least I tried to.
The first link I clicked on got me nowhere.
“This video is no longer available due to a copyright claim by SME.”
Shame on you SME.
Whoever you are.
Thankfully youtube doesn’t play by the same rules.
Yet.
I expected the speech to be much longer.
But it wasn’t.
Just 16 minutes.
And 11 seconds.
King was introduced as “the moral leader of our nation.”
And throughout his speech he lived up to that billing.
Exceeded it.

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Each sentence more meaningful than the one before.

Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline.

From his first word to his last, you couldn’t help but connect with the passion in his voice.
The power in his words.

We've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

And the dreams that he had for this country.
This world.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
It was truly poetry in motion.

The message just as timely today as it was on that day.

Especially with so many people in this great country still hurting.

And hoping.
The speech took on a life of its own when King was assassinated less than five years later.
Unfortunately we seem to live in a world where your stock goes way up after your body temp goes way down.
Morrison.  Joplin.  Hendrix.  Dean.  Clemente.
Cobain.  Winehouse.
And whoever is next.
The legend seems to grow well after the artist is gone.
Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if Mr. King was still with us.
I hate to think that Martin Luther King Jr. became special on April 4, 1968.
The day he left us.
If Mr. King saw us today, I’m not sure he would recognize the world we live in.

There’s no question that we have made great strides.
But I’m not sure we will ever get there.
I’m not even sure where there is.
But for at least one of our 365 days every year.
We can dream.


Friday, January 13, 2012

High School Confidential


I had a panic attack at dinner recently.
It wasn’t the dinner.
The fried chicken may cause a heart attack.
But not a panic attack.
The source of my palpitations was the conversation.
Specifically one comment.
Made by my 14-year old daughter.
She informed us that she just celebrated her half birthday.
Who’s counting?
Apparently she is.
Counting down the days to her 15th birthday.
When she gets her driver’s permit.
OY VEY.
For those of you south of Brooklyn...
...that’s french for HOLY SH*T!
It’s one thing that my first born is now in high school.
It’s another thing that my little girl is taller than her mom.
Five inches taller.
But driving?
A car?
Are you kidding?
Apparently she will be starting her driver’s ed class.
In a couple of weeks.
So that she can get her driver’s permit.
In a couple of months.
Now before you start getting any ideas here.
I’m definitely not one of THOSE parents who is trying to lock their kids in a box.
Hoping that they never grow up.
I have honestly enjoyed every single phase of their life.
Ok, I don’t miss the 3:37am diaper change.
But beyond that, I’m good.
I’ve always tried to live one moment at a time.
Yesterday was great.
Tomorrow will be even better.
It’s just today that I seem to struggle with.
Especially when it comes to the eldest in my trio.
With her, I’m experiencing everything for the first time.
EVERYTHING.
She’s the first child.

The first daughter.
The first teenager.
The first to high school.
And she’ll be the first to leave the house.
But let’s not go there yet.
Please.
Even though I try to lead with my head.
It’s my heart that gets broken.
I’ve had several jobs in my life.
But no job is more difficult than that of a parent.
Especially that of a high school parent.
I not only need to know what to say.
But when to say it.
How to say it.
Where to say it.
And why I’m saying it.
More times than not I get at least three of those wrong.
Not a good percentage.
A failing grade.
I definitely can’t say the same for her.
She just finished up her first semester of high school.
With a 4.0 GPA.
4.0?
I don’t think I got a 4.0 in my first two years.
Combined.
She’s a smart one for sure.
Ranked #6 out of the 450 freshman in her school.
From where I’m sitting that’s an amazing feat.
For her Korean mother, she wanted to know who the five kids are ranked ahead of her.
High school is a crazy time.
And a great time.
A time when you start to find that balance between what was.
And what will be.
Being a high school student was one thing.
Being the parent of a high school student is something else.
I’ve watched as every one of my friends with a teenager has gone through this.
And every one of my friends has survived.
Barely.
I hope I can do the same.
Finding that fine line between being a parent.
And being a friend.
Has been a real pain.
There’s no textbook in that entire school that has all of the answers.
This morning was a low point.
For me.
Saying things that no parent should say.
And regretting every single word of it.
I wish it was as easy as rewinding life.
And deleting the bad parts.
Unfortunately that’s not an option.
So I did the next best thing.
I sent a text. 
Saying I was sorry.
And that I loved her.
She texted back.
Four LONG minutes later.
Saying she loved me too.
Good thing we both have phones.
Unfortunately this won’t be the last time that I feel this way.
Or the last time I say things that I shouldn’t have said.
I can only hope that I can learn something from today.
And take it over to tomorrow.
Isn’t that what high school is all about.