God grant me Serenity... Courage... Wisdom

KP recently wrote a blog post that discussed recent trends toward whitewashing literature, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn in particular.  While apparently intended to promote the use of politically correct language, the actual effect is a profound invalidation of the history, hurts, and memories of those who have been oppressed.  To demonstrate... a quote, a story, some philosophizing, and a benediction:

"We should not move toward colour-blindness as an American ideal, we should move toward colour-consciousness, which allows us to talk about race in a way that makes it complex, serious, nuanced, and something that we all want to talk about instead of something that makes us defensive and uncomfortable." - Diane Harriford

I was talking this evening with a little caucasian girl who had been walking through Point Douglas with myself and some others, inviting people from the predominantly Aboriginal community to a barbecue.  I asked if she had the opportunity to get to know anyone a little better.

"Yeah!" she said.  "I saw Zoe" (a child about her age whom both of us know).  I nodded, and she went on, trying to describe the girl to ensure we were on the same page, "You know... the brown-ish one."  It was said with matter-of-fact respect, a hint of appreciation, and no trace of prejudice.
"Aw, Zoe... I wish I had seen her too.  I really like her," I said.
"Yeah.  I like her too." was her quiet reply.  We sat in silence for a moment, thinking fondly about our mutual 'brown-ish' 9 year-old friend.

I'm not brown-ish.  Sometimes I wish I was.  Because sometimes I cringe when I see my reflection in the mirror - when I recognize my part in perpetuating injustice.  We must not - indeed we cannot (though we try very hard to pretend to) - blind ourselves to colour.  Sometimes it is only the children who are honest enough to admit that they notice... we need to allow them to remind us how to be appreciative of difference instead of afraid of offending.

Insofar as past generations were indicted for discrimination through the use of annihilation, assimilation, and segregation, today's generation will be indicted for racial discrimination as we latently and overtly attempt to eradicate racial diversity by pretending or assuming its outdated irrelevance.  Like trying to remove a scar with a potato peeler, we are only trying to convince ourselves that we are as virtuous as we desperately wish we were.  We traded honesty for hegemony in hope that our memories would be erased; now we find ourselves stuck in our self-dug pit of shame, denial, and self-deception.  Many times, I think that whitewashing, instead of being motivated by respect and appreciation for the oppressed persons, is driven by the compulsion of the oppressors to assuage their nagging sense of self-loathing.

"Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!  For you are like white-washed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within are full of dead people's bones and all uncleanness" (Matthew 23:27).

A coat of paint won't cover the stink; you can only kill a weed if you pull it out at the very root." (Jenni's paraphrase)

God, grant us the serenity to look in the mirror, accepting both the beauty and the blemishes in our history which we cannot change;

The courage to ask the elephant in the room for the first dance, resting in the tension between the apparent contradictions that are the epitome of paradox;

And the wisdom we need to proceed with humility, compassion, humour, and hope. 

(credit where credit is due)

From one friend to another...

After a busy, thought-provoking, laughter-full weekend, I am sitting on my favourite couch listening to the clock tap-dance in 60:1 time. I have a little bit of letter-writing to catch up on...


Dear Bedroom Floor,
It is so good to see you again after so long a separation! I look forward to seeing you more often in the coming weeks.

Respectfully,
Jennifer


Dear Sink-ful of Dishes,
It was a pleasure to partner with you, and Turner Residents Alumni & Associates on our recent Chicken Korma and Chai project. As per your request for additional information regarding the company's time-line for completing your work-order, our district manager asked that I provide you with an appropriate time-line for each phase of the project:
-June 13/14 overnight - Soak and Load (task to be completed by Sink o'ColdWater and DishWasher)
-June 14 morning - Ignore (task to be completed by Day Job)
-June 14 evening - Pot Wash (task to be completed by My Hands)
Committed to our customer satisfaction,
Jennifer


Dear Melatonin,
I regret to inform you that our organization no longer requires your services due to the recent routinization of sleep patterns, as well as the current presence of sleep deprivation. I deeply appreciate the enormous effort that you have poured into the company in the past months, so it is with some sadness that I deliver this pink slip to your desk. If, at some time in the future, our company finds an opening in your area of expertise, we will certainly be in touch. Thank you for your months of diligent service.
With regards,
Jennifer


Dear beautiful Nixon watch,
It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance today. I feel like it was a meeting of old friends instead of the awkwardness of first impressions. I look forward to working with you in the future, and taking advantage of the unique skills in punctuality that you bring to our team.
Sincerely,
Jennifer


Dear Silence,
I know you and I have had kind of an ambivalent love-hate relationship this month. Thank you for sticking with me when I needed it, for giving me space and letting me focus on other relationships when I asked for it. You are a good friend; I value our relationship deeply. Want to have coffee this week?
Much love,
Jennifer


Dear Pesky-Buzzing-Steroid-Powered-Manitoba-Mosquito in my house,
This is your eviction notice. Your neighbour, the Ticking Clock, submitted a complaint that your discordant whine is interfering with her tap dance. Get out. You will be served with the appropriate penalty should you disregard this notice.
Awaiting your timely response,
Jennifer
PS - Slap. Splat. I win.


Dear friends,
I am deeply grateful for you. You fill my life with laughter, conversation, life, belonging. Today, I am acutely aware that I am a millionaire because of you; you fill my life with the rich gift of friendship - unearned, undeserved, and profoundly appreciated. Thank you.
For each one who reads this and many who won't ever see it -
Jennifer


Dear Self,
Time for bed, munchkin.
Love,
Your Inner Child

Finding UnFriends on Facebook

All right.  This is the last one in the series of three on social media.  Facebook, oh Facebook, what shall I say about you?

I recently overheard a preachy conversation between two people regarding the evils of Facebook: it destroys face to face relationships, it's a poor substitute for the real deal, etc. etc. etc.  The usual litany of complaints.  I realized in that moment that I don't want to sound like I have a chip on my shoulder.  I don't want to get upset at Facebook or the impact that it has on the way we communicate.  I want to (1) use it (2) appropriately and responsibly, (3) with a high level of self-awareness, and (4) encourage others to do the same.
Period.
That's it.

So on that note... check your privacy settings.  And teach underage and vulnerable Facebook users to reject friend requests the one I got recently.  It was accompanied by a message that went something like this... (WARNING - GRAPHIC CONTENT)


Hi.  You're hot.  I act in adult XXX industry films.  Your lips look so good that they could appear in a pornography feature film.  I had an erection when I saw your profile picture and masturbated while looking at your lips.  Any male with normal hormonal levels and a penis would do the same, but at least I'm honest enough to tell you what's flowing along my polluted neural pathways.  I want to talk about the pornography industry with you.  Please be my friend.

Yuck.  Seriously...?  I edited out the details and the lewd vernacular.  I felt like a disembodied, sexualized being.  I gag... then spew.  Spew a fountain of feminist rhetoric about the needless sexualization of the female body - and can you blame me in that moment?  Is this normal?  I think of all the vulnerable thirteen to eighteen year-old females who might be receiving similar emails.  I've never received this kind of thing before.  I realize, however, that this is not representative of the world's males, whom I have found to be no more or less vice-prone than the world's females.

Sick - yes.  But I also had to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.  I mean - have you seen my profile picture?  Nothing sultry or seductive there, unless you count smiling.  So thank you for the "compliment," Mr. Dmitry-Internet-Predator/Sex-Spammer.  Thankfully, this is the only picture of my lips that you can see, as my privacy settings are fairly airtight.  My privacy settings also prevent you from seeing my real age... which means you don't know or care how old I am.  This makes me wonder how old your other lip-fetish-friends are.  If I figure out how many of those attractive females are underage, I will relish reporting you to the appropriate law enforcement agency.  In the meantime, get the f--- off my Facebook profile.  (Oh, and P.S. - the Bahaman boys club has already claimed a monopoly on my disembodied derriere, so while you may love my lips, my cheeks are off-limits).

All this made me think of a timeless song.

I imagined my dear Sex-Spammer in therapy.  It made me laugh.

Call me a nerd, or a health nut, or a hippie... or just happy

Quinoa salad

+

Straight-from-the-spice-jar homemade chai tea

+

Qualitative Research Textbooks

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Thunder & Rain

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Man From Snowy River soundtrack

=

Perfect Evening

The Dummy's Guide to Increasing Your Awkward Threshold

I have a little bit more to say on the subject of social media, a lot more to say about my movie list, and some creative photography to share.  But all that can wait while you enjoy a good laugh at my expense.

You may recall that your last opportunity to laugh at my expense was after an incident in which I was caught in the driver's seat, joined at the lips while driving my vehicle.  And my track record in the back seat isn't much better.  Needless to say, I've clearly been subconsciously waiting for an awkward moment to occur in the passenger's seat, which would complete my collection of 'vehicular' embarrassing/awkward moments.  Wednesday arrived with a perfect opportunity...

My friend Mandy was playing chauffeur for me, driving in our friends' silver Toyota van as she had just dropped them off at the airport.  I needed to pick up the printed photos for my photovoice project at Walmart before we drove down to Otterburne for an evening with friends.  I had already paid for the prints, so it was a quick stop.  Mandy dropped me off at the doors, and I hurried into the photo centre.  The staff were super-helpful; I was in and out of there in under 45 seconds.  As I exited Walmart, I saw that the silver van was pulled up to the curb so that we could launch straight out of there.  That's like Mandy... she's generally pretty organized and on the ball with that sort of thing.  I hopped into the passenger seat, trying to hurry but still paying close attention to ensure that I did not wrinkle or damage the giant poster-sized photos I was carrying.  It was a Hollywood bank heist moment... you know - when the person jumps into the vehicle with a giant bag of cash and yells, "Drive! drive! drive!" while trying to jam the door closed without losing the loot.  Like I said... I was hurrying;  pie and ice cream with friends was waiting, and ice cream has a limited half-life.

That's when I heard it: "Uh... ma'am?  Wrong vehicle."  I can be kind of jumpy.  A therapist would call it an 'elevated startle response', but whatever you call it, I jumped.  Then - what's worse - I froze.  I heard him say it again, "Ma'am?  Ma'am!  Wrong vehicle!"

The initial jolt of adrenaline wore off.  "Oh my goodness!" might have come out of my mouth, or perhaps something nearer to a shocked scream, or maybe something inappropriate that burned the ears of the children seated in the back of the silver *Kia* van I had entered - I don't remember precisely.  I mumbled an "I am so sorry" as I stumbled out of the vehicle almost as quickly as I had scrambled into it.  Left standing on the curb with my giant posters next to a vehicle full of people who thought I was a crazy person, I tried to gather my scattered wits, looking around for Mandy.  I must have looked like a little lost kitten trying to find its mommy, while the people watching me from the Kia van continued waiting for their own mommy.  I wandered off, trying to appear as if I was moving purposefully.  Deep down inside, I knew that I just looked awkward, so I gave in after a few seconds and called Mandy, who exclaimed, "You're done already?!"

More than done.  "Yup.  I'm done."

A person with substantial experience in navigating awkward moments (me...) once said that "the only thing between you and an outrageously ridiculous, beautifully hilarious story is a single awkward moment."  True that... :)

In closing, my blessing for all of us on this beautiful May day is framed on my bathroom wall:

Laugh as much as you breathe, and love as long as you live.

I would argue - on a level much broader than this discussion of awkward moments - that one cannot love well without laughing often.  In laughing at our own foolishness lies the key to mastering the painful self-consciousness that keeps us from truly seeing (and therefore loving) another.  There's your philosophical moment for this Sunday evening.

Photovoice

I'm frazzled, and my frizzy hair - freed from its usual curly constraints by Winnipeg's summer humidity - only serves to highlight the fact that I could use a bit of down-time.  I just walked in the door, having wrapped up a Photovoice exhibition that has been three months in the making, with an additional six months of back-burner planning.  I now have 30+ pages of writing to finish off for that course, but hey... the presentation is finished.  If you don't count taking the exhibition on the road, as I now hear the church is interested in doing... c'est finit!  I could get on board with the travelling circus idea, roping the kids into it as well and giving them opportunities to advocate for their community... but I'd like a couple days to settle, eat watermelon, watch a movie, cry a little just to gain closure from this whole ordeal, go for a nice long run, go for supper and hang out with my 'family' in Point Douglas, wrap up a few more assignments, and immerse myself in my (paid) job.  I would like that... yeah...

I guess I should define Photovoice for you before I get too carried away...

"Photovoice researchers literally give their subjects a camera and ask them to photograph certain aspects of their lives" with the goal of "empowering and enabling people to reflect their personal and community concerns; to encourage a dialogue... about personal and community issues;" and to see issues from the unique grassroots perspective of those in the community and sharing these issues with policymakers, politicians, and professionals.

(Berg, B. L. 2009. Qualitative Research Methods for the Social Sciences (7th Ed.). Toronto: Allyn & Bacon, pp. 261-262.)

And later... I will put up some of the photo work of this group of extraordinary young people.  Soon.  Here's a teaser for the time being.  Taken by a 12 year-old.

This, my friends, is one of the things that has consumed and enriched my life for the last three months.  I love it.

Why I like the letter B

More on Facebook later.  The rant isn't over yet... I can get a little more mileage out of that one - one or two more posts, perhaps.  If people start de-friending me, I'll know I've crossed the line.  But at the end of the Facebook rant series, I will have decided what I'm doing with Facebook, and will act according to my decision.  In the meantime, I would like to take this brief moment to extol the letter B.  Specifically, I would like to talk about the letter B as it relates to professor's judgment of my academic performance.  But to explain why I like the letter B, I need to back up one step...

I like the letter A.
I don't like mediocrity.
But neither do I like being measured by the judgments of others.
I do not like the idea that a grade on a paper defines me.
When you see the letter A in red ink at the end of your papers as often as you see your first and last names on the title page, it becomes difficult to separate one from the other.
No matter how diligently you remind yourself that it's not your identity.

Some of you may scoff and ask when I last got anything less than an A.
In April, thank you very much.
I got a B.
Not a B+.
It was a solid B.
My roommate congratulated me.
We've been working on this all year.

I went to the prof's office.
We talk sometimes.
So we chatted about my plans for September.
I asked him to write a reference for me.
He did.
Mostly he said good stuff.
He questioned the stability of my emotional health.
But who really needs emotional health to take an M.A. in Counselling... really?
We laughed.

He said that when I emailed to make an appointment, he thought I was going to contest my B.
I told him that both of us knew it wasn't my best work.
And thanked him for the B.
He said, 'This is a twisted conversation.'
So I told him...

1. B tells me that I have room to improve: I'm still learning, being challenged, and that's a good thing.
2. B tells me that I have nothing to hide: I'm not perfect, and I need not spend my time trying to prove that I am.
3. B tells me that I'm normal: everyone has ups and downs, and I'm no exception.
4. B tells me that my life is becoming balanced, that it matters that I take time to eat dinner with friends, blog, sit in my hammock, read Tolstoy, watch Jane Austen movies, wear moccasins, play with the neighbour's dog, drink tea, take vitamin C, try on eclectic jewelry at Ten Thousand Villages, look at the stars, make a collage that encompasses my feelings, immerse myself in research simply because I enjoy it, have an argument, listen to a friend, share my feelings, go on a date, sleep in on Saturday... these things matter.  
5. B tells me that I matter. I have gotten more formal recognition for my grades than anything else in life, and after a while, you start to wonder if anyone can see past the giant A stamped on your forehead.

Concluding thoughts: I like the letter B (when it appears on an assignment), and the letter A (when it appears on my transcript)... I like my GPA.  But I'll jump that hurdle too, I'm sure.