to hero

While reviewing my old Black Lives Matter posts over the weekend
to write “died with his hands in the air” part 2,
I also found a couple of (apparently) unrelated posts
I’d once written after being inspired by
wry and wonderful Neil Postman;

I emailed them to myself without then reading them,
so that I was astonished, today, to read one and
find a #BlackLivesMatter-related answer
(for me) within it.

Today, my husband–a Black man who’s walked with me
as I’ve worked to better understand American racism and Racism–
and I are acknowledging #BlackOutTuesday by buying nothing.

Today, many people we love are posting black squares
on social media and otherwise … listening.

While the black square is not for me,
I appreciate how hard it is to
find words right now, and
see a great deal of beauty in
anyone actively acknowledging, however
they can today–with words,
with actions, with listening-plus-black squares–
that too many people have suffered
for too damn long.

Continue reading “to hero”

every. single. day.

I grew up very, very poor. There were times I ate from food boxes,
times I ate from other people’s trash, and
times I simply didn’t eat at all.

The last couple years, my husband and I got our finances mostly squared away. We worked diligently to get our debt down to only my (granted, significant) law school student loan debt.

One of my sisters and I have talked about the money-related trauma left us by our childhood. That trauma lingers, though most my debt does not; Continue reading “every. single. day.”

extinguished

As a longtime professional contract negotiator,

and now-adult daughter of a profoundly impoverished, stigmatized single mom

who died because she feared the costs of U.S. doctor visits,

and newfound public health student,

I’ve been thinking a lot about

the word “deaths.”

A few times daily, I check the L.A. Times for its updates on measurable local COVID-19 impacts. I then check The Guardian for its broader US coverage.

Each time I close these pages, the word “deaths” lingers with me. I’m disturbed by how passive and neutral is the phrasing compared to the reality, which is that Continue reading “extinguished”

Believe

In 2009, my Black now-husband told me the baby I was carrying–our baby–would experience racism someday.

I laughed him off. Racism? In Los Angeles in 2009? Was he confusing here and now with 1960s Arkansas? I figured it more likely he was hyper-sensitive than that racism was a broad present-day concern hurting brown-skinned people every single day in the U.S. of A.

Since then, I’ve seen and learned more about racism than I could ever hope to fit in a series of books, let alone a single post. I won’t even try, though I will tell you my oldest son was only three when I first saw him subjected to overt racism, and that he was only three when he started making statements reflecting that he was internalizing messages from classmates on darkness equaling badness. Continue reading “Believe”