This Could Be Us But You Keep . . .

How Chloe Almost Got Hurt Over a Pair of One Hundred Dollar Sneakers . . .

Jackie and I are two very different women.  My idea of a nice day is putting on a pair of heels and going out to lunch, while she would prefer to put on a pair of hiking boots and go on an outdoor adventure. Our friendship works because it is reciprocal.  We indulge each other; she comes to Buddakan with me and I go hiking with her. 

Jackie wearing a fur trimmed cape to the farm! Yesssss! Fashion!

This weekend she decided that we should take our kids to Harvest Moon Farm and Orchard so that Chloe could participate in an Easter Egg Hunt.  The 50 minute ride to rural NY was scenic and I noticed myself beginning to breathe more deeply the farther we got outside of the city. Chloe delighted in having a fresh eager ear for her stories, while Noah read a book on his phone up front.  It's almost as if the personalities of our children are reversed:  Chloe is active and gregarious like Jackie, and Noah is quiet and observant like me.

When we arrived at the farm there was snow on the ground, and not a bud on a tree.  Nevertheless the sun was shining, the wind was still,  and I immediately perked up when I saw this:

#farmlife

Chloe, Jackie, and I went inside to buy apple cider donuts. The donuts alone were worth the hour ride: light, fluffy, straight out of the deep-fryer, and warm.

Yum!!

While we were in the store, Chloe spent about a minute looking at baby chickens in an incubator and decided that she would rather be outside. That bold seven year old of mine ran off and ended up talking someone into letting her into the bouncy house without a ticket!  Sometimes, I look at her in wonder.  When I was her age, I would have been clinging to my mother's side in fear of the other people.  She has no fear of the world or her place in it.

Afterwards Chloe found more than her fair share of eggs in the Easter Egg Hunt, rode a horse,  had lunch, and played on a makeshift slide and swing set.

When it was time to get into the car to leave, we looked down and Chloe was covered in mud looking like Pigpen from Peanuts.  Her jeans were splattered with a particularly foul smelling dirt and her boots were completely covered in it.  She only had the boots since December (they were a Christmas gift from Grandma), but they were now unwearable and Jackie wasn't trying to have those nasty things in her car.

aka Chlo-Chlo

We decided to leave the boots in the parking lot and head to the mall to get her some new shoes. At that point I was mildly irritated, but as we walked into Nordstrom I looked at Chloe strutting around in her mix-matched dirty pink and purple socks and got heated.  She was prancing around, flipping her braids like being shoeless in public was a perfectly acceptable wardrobe option.  It took everything in my power not to snatch her up and tell her that she should be embarrassed (she's lucky that Grandma wasn't there).

To make things worse, when we went to the third floor to look at children's shoes, Chloe immediately ran toward the most expensive ones.  When I picked out a pair of functional navy blue Converse she had the AUDACITY to pout and pretend that she couldn't get them on her feet.  Then she began making this strange mewing noise- like the very act of trying them on was hurting her.  I honestly felt like knocking her upside her head, but I figured that would not be a good look for Nordstrom.

Did this child realize that she should be grateful that she had a mother with the time and inclination to take her to a farm and spend $8.00 so she could sit her behind on a horse for two minutes?
Did she understand that she should be thankful for getting a new pair of shoes on a day that we were NOT celebrating the day of her birth?  Did she not get that it made no sense for me to spend one hundred dollars on a pair of shoes when she did not have the sense to take care of the ones that she had?

Of course not, because despite the fact that her personality is nothing like mine, she is my daughter and she expects the best.  And even though she walked out of Nordstrom with a pair of navy blue Converse, rather than the sparkly pink Sketchers that she wanted-she made them WORK!


   

Sick of Spring Break

Ugh.  I spent the last week of Spring Break sick in bed.  Chloe scarcely recognized her poor mother picking her up from school without her face and hair done.  It was a sweatpants, Uggs, and messy (ok. ratchet) ponytail kind of week.

Anyway, I got this really sweet note from a former student that cheered me up and made me look forward to the week ahead back at school.
  
Hi Ms. Cardwell! 
I hope you're doing well. I'm back at Mount Holyoke and in one of my classes we're reading The Bluest Eye. I told my professor that I'd read it before in middle school and he actually didn't believe me at first. This isn't the first time a teacher has been surprised at the books you assigned us; in high school I had to read Invisible Man for a class and the teacher was surprised that I had read it at The Storefront. Just so you know, I'm actually really glad you made us read those books. Even though I didn't appreciate it very much at the time, it is easier reading these books the second time around because the discussions we had at The Storefront start to come back to me.

-H.

Invisible Man by Elizabeth Catlett Riverside Park @ 150th.

Kehinde Wiley: A New Republic @ The Brooklyn Museum

Painting is about the world we live in.  Black people live in the world.  My choice is to include them. This is my way of saying yes to us. - Kehinde Wiley

Go see Kehinde Wiley's work at The Brooklyn Museum before May 24th.

The Pot Calling the Kettle Black

One of my new favorite television shows is American Crime on ABC.  In one extremely powerful scene, a daughter tells her father, “you hate yourself and you hate us for looking like you.”  This line resonated with me because of two crazy conversations that I had with men this week.

Crazy Conversation Number One:

The other night I was on the phone with an old friend from school.  He was telling me about how his daughter was dating a young man that he didn’t approve of.  His daughter is Dominican and the man in question is African-American.  As he was complaining about the ways in which the man didn’t measure up to the expectations that he had for his child, he added, “he’s like the stereotypical black person.” When I reminded him that I am black (I’m having to do that a lot lately) he reassured me that he wasn’t racist, just stressed out about his daughter.  Then he told me that all of his black friends preferred Latina women because they knew how to “take care of their men.”  

Current Mood: Pissed off (but still fashionable)

Huh?  How did we go from an apology for an inappropriate comment to an indictment of black women?  Who are these black men who would tell a Dominican man that they prefer his women to their own?  Do Asian men have conversations with white men about how much they prefer white women over Asian? Do Latino men write books and give lectures about what Latina women need to change about themselves in order to "get a man." Or do men of other races just choose who makes them happy and keep it moving without feeling the need to advertise and justify their choice?

Crazy Conversation Number Two:

A few days ago I was talking to a man who mentioned that he wanted to see me.  When I asked him where we were going to go on our first date he lectured me about being “old-fashioned.”  He said that if I wanted to go out with him I should ask him on a date (and pay for it).  When I told him that that wasn’t going to happen, he said that I could cook him a plate and we could go for a walk as he ate it. 

When I laughed at that idea he said “Don’t get offended or defensive about what I’m about to say . . . but black women don’t know how to build up their men.  Black women are the only women who still believe in fairy tale relationships.”  Then he really went to for the jugular and said, “you are going to keep doing what you’re doing and then wonder why you’re going through menopause and still single.” 

Did this man really just call me old and black like who I am is something that I should be ashamed of when he is just as old and black as I am? Did he just insult me because I expect that going out on actual dates (as opposed to euphemistically "hanging out") is part of the process of getting to know someone?  Does he realize that creating and manipulating feelings of race based insecurity is one of the tools of white racism used against him in order to maintain control and  prevent him from questioning the status quo-just as he was trying to do to me?

Probably not.  And what's worse is that this fool was probably hollering about Eric Garner a few months ago.  Well, guess what? 

Jagged Little Pill

The Taste of Salt, by Martha Southgate, is about Josie Henderson, a woman who grows up with an alcoholic father and a brother who later develops his own addiction to drugs and alcohol.  As a successful marine biologist Josie sees herself as detatched from the dysfunction of her childhood.  She went to college, earned an advanced degree, and moved from her native Cleveland to Woods Hole, MA.   She has a dream job researching and working in the ocean that fascinated her as a child, and she is married a man who adores her. 

When Josie's brother gets out of rehab for the second time she grudgingly volunteers to return home to pick him up.  It is clear that she resents the imposition of her old life into her new one, and she is unable to relate to the choices that her brother and father have made.  That is until she begins an affair with a colleague.  In describing her attraction to this man, it is clear how much her attraction to him represents an addiction. 

Josie is drawn to him without regard for the feelings of others, and she initiates a relationship with him without thinking about anything beyond her present desire.  Even when she feels the man pulling away, she is unable to let go because she is trying to recapture the feelings of their initial meeting.  However, one of the weaknesses of the book is that the end of their relationship is a little too neat.  It is almost as if her brother had woken up one day and decided not to use cocaine or drink any longer.  Most times it's not that easy.

When I look back on my relationships I notice that I have dated a disproportionate number of men with addicts as parents (and addictive tendencies themselves). I have been with black and Latino men across the educational and occupational spectrum and the trend remains consistent regardless of social status.  I have often wondered why.  I can drink responsibly and in moderation.  Marijuana or hard drugs have never appealed to me.  Initially I explained my tendency toward co-dependence as a result of my nurturing personality.   I told myself that I am attracted to men who I feel that I need to mother. However, after reading The Taste of Salt, I have realized that this is an explanation that flatters me-but may not be entirely accurate.

In reality, I have addictive tendencies too (and like Josie, I am not in a position to judge).  I am addicted to food, which is the worst thing to be addicted to since you need it to survive.  I prefer to eat healthy foods but I definitely live to eat, rather than eat to live.  Moderation is not my friend.

Furthermore, many of my relationships have been forms of addictions.  I know because I remained in contact with certain people long after I stopped liking or respecting them.  They were bad habits masquerading as friends. I had one for when I was feeling bad and wanted to feel worse.  One for when I wanted intellectual stimulation.  One for when I wanted to feel attractive.  One for when I was bored at work.  Thankfully, as they say in recovery,  the first step is admitting you have a problem . . .

It's a Reunion!

I'm sure that it is clear to anyone who reads this blog that I miss aspects of working at The Storefront immensely.  This Wednesday I had the opportunity to attend the annual Student Art Exhibit and Cocktail Reception (which began as the Men's and Women's Art Show, under the leadership of former artist-in-residence Matthias Leutrum). 

It was wonderful to reunite with my former 6th and 7th graders, watch them articulately explain their artwork, and brag about their recent high-school acceptances.  The most fulfilling moment of the night for me was when Djemo (a sophomore at Berkshire School) told me that she and Johnese (a sophomore at Calhoun) quote Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man to each other as they excel at their respective schools.  "Play the game, but don't believe in it."

To donate to Storefront Academy click here.

(And by the way, Christopher Williams needs to remember that I am THE PRINCIPAL OF HIS LIFE, and always have my champagne on deck!)

My Happy Place: My Desk at Work

Portraits, Projects, and Photographs!

Return of the Prodigal 6th Grader

Children will frustrate and insult you one moment, and then surprise and delight you the next.  The very student who worked herself up into a frenzy a few days ago over the dearth of white people in the 6th grade curriculum, created this amazing Romare Bearden inspired collage as the visual aid for her Black History Month Project. One of her peers tried to initiate a bidding war with me over it because he was that confident that she was going to be a rich and famous artist one day.  I agree!

by Eva S.

When I explained that Bearden was black because of the 'one drop rule' one of the 6th graders said "But, Ms. Cardwell, where's his drop?"

Return on the Prodigal Son, by Romare Beardan

The Popes

Declining the Pass

When I applied for the job that I currently have,  I remember asking my friend Ameer if he thought that I would get it.  "Of course you will," he replied, "You went to Princeton, and you're light-skinned." I ignored his comment as a bit of shade dressed up in "what? it's true!" finery.

Ameer,  does not endorse any of the opinions in this blog.  In fact, we pretty much disagree on everything.

The other day I went back to the Storefront and a staff member asked me how things were at my new school.  I replied that they were ok.  "Do they treat you like you're special?" she asked.  "Not really" I replied, "it's just different being the only black person in the middle school." "Yeah," she said" but imagine if you were dark-skinned."

 I have never really thought that whites saw a difference in complexion between lighter-skinned and darker-skinned blacks.  I think that this perception is based on a single event that happened in 7th or 8th grade.  One day, Kristina Kennedy and I were standing on the lunch line and someone asked us if we were twins.  Kristina and I both have almond shaped eyes, broad noses, and full lips- but we are two different totally different skin colors. My middle-school self figured that if this woman could not see the obvious difference between us, then white people clearly didn't see the gradations of brownness between black people.

Twinning!

However, I was wrong and I have discovered what I should have known all along.  White people see what they want to see.

I have been told several times by my students that I'm "tan" or "just a little bit black."  Last week, I was teaching Zora Neale Hurston's essay "How it Feels to be Colored Me."  All students in grades 6-11 have to write a personal narrative each year and I used this as an example of good narrative writing.

"I do not weep at the world; I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife."

A third of the way through the essay one of my students began that complaining that "all we talk about is race", and "all we ever do is read things by black people".  This was also a common outcry at The Storefront so I do not take such complaints personally.  Students of all colors see blacks playing basketball, rapping, or dancing every time they turn on the television or log onto their computers-but try to teach something written by a black person other than Langston Hughes and it is all too much!

Obviously I relate to one of the characters in this metaphor project.

Anyway, I pulled out a list of everything that I taught this year (written up in anticipation of such a moment):  Greek Myths, Shakespeare, Jackson, Tan, Hughes, Seslar, O'Flaherty, Poe, Vonnegut, Le Guin, Dahl, Connell- definitely not an Afrocentric curriculum.  The calmer I got, the angrier she became.  One of the other 6th graders, either seeking to end the conflict or stand up for me, blurted out "but Ms. Cardwell is hardly even black.  Look at her.  She's like my complexion."

Ancestry.com disagrees! But that is a topic for a different post!

I have come to the conclusion that skin color does matter.  That if you are light-skinned or ambiguously ethnic looking some whites are willing to give you a "pass" if they like you.  They will agree to ignore your race if you agree not to bring it up.  I recognize that my life would be oh so much easier if I could agree to the second part of the bargain.

 If I was just a silent example of a happy productive person of color for my students, and a token of diversity for the administration things would be different. If I could dismiss ignorant comments about poor people, blacks, and immigrants as "kids just being kids," I could really fit in here.  But as Ralph Ellison says in Invisible Man, "It took me a long time and much painful boomeranging of my expectations to achieve a realization everyone else appears to have been born with: That I am nobody but myself. "  I could not be here and not talk about race or teach works by people of color and not be bored out of my mind.

Ralph Ellison is right behind me

And that brings me to Zendaya Coleman.  Chloe is her biggest fan; she made a name for herself playing ethnically ambiguous roles on on the Disney channel such as Rocky on "Shake it Up."  She too had been given a "pass;" white people had agreed that she was "tan" and left it at that.

Zendayah and her Daddy

But she wouldn't leave well enough alone.  She appeared on LA Hair with her black (dreadlocked) daddy getting her weave done.  She wanted to play Aaliyah.  She's currently playing Kadeem Hardison's daughter on K.C. Undercover.

And  then she went and put her blackness on front street by wearing dreadlocks to the Oscars of all places!  And for refusing to passively pass she was told that she looked like she stunk on national television.  I guess that sometimes people get mad when they invite you to a party and you show up and have fun, but refuse to join their club.