Was Bill Cosby right?

When looking at the so called Black/White achievement gap in America's public schools we have heard the debate go back and forth about what is the problem. Bill Cosby & Obama basically charge Black men with stepping up and doing better. They stop short of calling Black parents lazy and ignorant but that is the gist. Many others point to institutional, social and societal factors: Racist schools, degraded media culture, continues social and economic oppression, etc. etc.

In the end something needs to be done beyond blaming the victim (Black students) or the plantiff (parents & society). What will actually inspire, motivate, support and facilitate Black academic achievement in America? How can this gap, more appropriately termed the opportunity gap be bridged. Asa Hilliard said it's not about bridging the gap between Black student achievement and White student achievement but bridging the gap between Black student achievement and excellence.

Example: For the last year now, the most successful public high school in America is an all Black male school in Chicago that for the 2nd year has 100% of it's students getting accepted to a 4 year university. This charter school had 96% of its students reading below grade level when they entered the school in the 9th grade. 92% of them came from single parent households. They have an operating budget of $5.3 million for 550 students.

No gap there. That's excellence. Sure, there are concerns: What about taking this effort to scale on an institutional level? What about Black girls? How sustainable is it? What are the hidden variables and factors to their success that made this possible?

I don't think they prevented them from watching BET, recruited only highly motivated parents, or eliminated the effects of racism on these boys or their families. They didn't eliminate the violence in the neighborhoods they live in. So although I still don't have the answer for closing the opportunity gap, I don't think Bill knows either.

Where is that city?

Can you tell me where Bay City is? No you can't it doesn't exist. There is no such place. I've heard of San Francisco, Oakland, Berkeley, Hayward, Emeryville, San Leandro, etc. but haven't hear of Bay City. But why did the Chevy dealership in OAKLAND seems to think that by naming their dealership Bay City Chevrolet that they are somehow more "hip". Really? Why? Is this a marketing ploy for out of towners who are scared to go to Oakland to be fooled and come buy a car? Really??

Someone didn't think this one through: Did it occur to you that this potential customer will soon find out when they enter the address in their GPS that it will indicate they are headed to Oakland? What are you going to do blindfold them? Maybe I'm wrong, maybe someone else has the name "Oakland Chevrolet" and you had to come up with something else...(wait) just checked google, that's not it either.

So it appears to me that this is merely an indicator of a larger trend. (think Piedmont) I imagine that someone is crafting a proposal right now to the City Council to seceede some North Oakland neighborhood and rename it Hipsterville or Oaksterdam or Bay City.

Get a job Slangin' for the Government!

Now you can get a job slangin' for the DEA! No not selling drugs, but as a translator of black english, also know as ebonics. They are hiring interpreters for 114 different dialects, and decided to throw in slang as well.

One of the many ironies of this is that several years ago, the Oakland school board attempted to acknowledge ebonics formally in an effort to make english classes better able to translate ebonics to "proper english". To put it simply, how can you translate a language (ebonics to english) if you don't recognize the language you are translating?? (ebonics) Anyway, the entire country, including Bill Cosby and Jesse Jackson, totally dismissed the effort, completely misunderstanding the proposals intention. (no thanks to the media mischaracterization: can you say Shirley Sherrod?)

Now, the federal government in their supreme wisdom figure out that they need to formally translate ebonics to english in sting operations so they can make even more drug arrests of black men (as if the disproportinate number of blacks being sent to prison is not quite where it should and could be).

The irony of all ironies:

Translating ebonics for black kids in Oakland so they can learn proper english = very bad idea.

Trnaslating ebonics for DEA agents so they can incarcerate larger numbers of black men = great idea!

WTF???

Besides the issue of not working for the "Man" to further target and oppress black males for a drug policy that is racist and misguided (alcohol related deaths outnumber ALL illicit drugs combined as well as drug realted killings! Research that for yourself!), primarily targeting and criminalizing users instead of offering prevention and treatment....

...this is actually hella funny. (translation: very funny)

Try to imagine what the interview process would look like:

interviewer: "so tell me some slang?"

applicant: "Mutha#*&, you best hook me up with this gig b'foe I bust you in yo grill"

interviewer: "ohhh, that's good. What did you say?"

applicant: "I said that I'm very qualified and confident that I am a perfect fit for the job..."

and what would the resume say:

"Attended dozens of sideshows in 2010, participating in numerous dice games."

"Can text message 90 abbreviated words per minute"

"Currently have over 2500 myspace friends, 1900 facebook friends, and 1200 followers on twitter."

"Unemployed for 2 years, hanging on the block most days."

And then let's visualize this "translators" first day at work:

"Sooo, T Money, did I say that correct?"

"No it's C CASH."

"Right right, C cash... this is your cubicle...here's your headset... and let me introduce you to the team... Bill and Laura, I want you to welcome C cash. He's our new interpreter for the drug survellance unit...

Hi C cash! (looking at their ebonics cheat sheet). "What's the dilley yo?" (chuckle) Did I get it right?!

This is all a hot mess.

Nights Over Egypt

I ran across these journal notes from a trip I took to Egypt in 2002. All true stories.

Driving

The lanes in Egypt are merely suggested paths of travel. Egyptians don't use headlights at night. "They use up the battery" one cab driver told me. They are flashed only to avoid oncoming traffic or striking pedestrians. Stoplights and stop signs are very rare and again are merely suggestions. Blinkers are a rare courtesy. I saw the first car use a blinker on my 5th day there. The horn is used more than the brakes. There wasn't 1 stoplight on a 15 mile stretch along the downtown shoreline in Alexandria. Crossing the street is exactly like the game Frogger on difficulty level 10.

Cigarettes are customarily offered to you by cab drivers before they ceremoniously light up every single time- no exceptions. One cab ride, the cab driver stopped at the gas station and asked me to pay for gas.

All cabs are equipped with an old meter that has not worked in decades. There are only a few places smoking is not allowed, the library and convention hall.

Sightseeing

When I was in the temple of Karnak, a soilder called me over and pointed to a monument, indicating that it was a good spot for a picture... then he asked for a tip. Because I am not familiar with weapons, I could not tell if his rifle was semi or fully automatic but it didn't matter, I tipped him automatically.

Travelling

When I caught a domestic flight on Egypt Air the announcer said "In case of change in cabin pressure, put out your cigarette first then secure your oxygen mask..."

It's a Man's World? No, it's MY world.

My son asked me, "Why does mommy make all the decisions?" I replied defensively, "Mommy doesn't make all the decisions. We make decisions together by agreeing on them." "No, mommy makes all the decisions. She decided we were going to move, and were moving.." There was no sense in arguing. The boy couldn't possibly understand how I am just as much of a decision maker as mommy, if not more. For instance, he is completely unaware of the fact that mommy lets me pick out the movie 9 out of 10 times.

All jokes aside, when I mentioned the exchange to my wife, we wondered if he saw a problem with mommy making decisions because of sexist gender role expectations or what. When we asked the 6 year old who should be making the decisions, he pointed to himself, clearing up THAT confusion.

Bragging rights

I found out from my wife recently that my 5 year old son was bragging in the back seat to a playmate that "My daddy got arrested. He went to jail".

Okay, first of all, that was when I was 17. I had a little too much to drink and got out of the juvenile facility in less than a day. But nevermind that. My son recalled that tidbit of information that I think I revealed to him when he asked me if I had ever been arrested, at least a year ago.

Why not mention that his dad is in graduate school and getting a 3.9 GPA? Why not mention that his dad has traveled to Africa several times and is taking him to Africa next year? why not point out that his dad is a Director and works at a school named after the first African-American president? Or that his dad reads to him every night and makes robots with him? These are the things that I think are having an impact on him but no, he is much more enamored with telling his friends that his dad has been to jail and is good at making guns! (I made a cork pop gun out of a pen when he wanted me to BUY him one.)

Just call a thief a thief

We're leaving the house when my 5 year old saw the neighbors window busted. He said, "Wow, it rained so hard that it broke that car's window!", "No son, someone broke into their car." You know what came next "Daddy, why did someone break their window?" (You would think that at 5 years old he would know these things already, especially living in Oakland) I don't want to simply say, "Because they are broke" or worse "some people just steal. We call them thieves!" or even assume "They are probably looking for something to sell to buy drugs." So instead, I start explaining human behavior theories, highlighting environmental factors as primary determinants, and finally summarizing humanity and our concepts of good and bad as not being core attributes to peoples' nature, but subjective value judgements on behavior patterns.

He let me finish completely before saying: "Oh. So Daddy, what will we do if someone breaks into our car and steals something?" In a split second, I realize, in my head, 2 things: 1. calling the cops is moot except to have the city add me as a casualty to their stats, especially since the deductible is $500 and they are not going to dust for prints and interview the neighbors... 2. In 5 years my son has learned to do what it has taken me 36 years to do: Get to the point. "Well son, I guess we would just fix the window."

give me my dollar back

I can't stand gimmicks. Attempt #1: First Safeway makes their checkers ask you if you want to donate to breast cancer or muscular distrophy, forcing me to make a choice to NOT give to this clearly worthy cause, out loud in front of everyone in the line. Not cool. Now I either a. feel guilty for not giving, or b. don't even blink, not giving a damn about sick women or children. Neither of those sit well with me. Of course I could say yes and give the dollar but then I will feel a. resentful for the sneaky intrusion on my shopping experience, or b. like my family is $1 poorer in the worse recession of my lifetime. All I want is my groceries, that's all. I already lied to the brotha in front of the store telling him I didn't have the change. Well technically I didn't have the exact change he was asking for and if I did, what I meant was that my family already had dibbs on all my available cash. Attempt #2: Oh, and now at the CVS when you swipe your card, they automatically prompt you to donate a dollar to some other cause and you again are forced to say "NO" to sick women and children.

Now I know we are supposed to have prosperity consciousness and give cheerfully and think abundantly so that the universe can return all that I give 10 fold, etc. etc. and I wholeheartedly believe all that. I also believe that a fool and his money shall soon be parted, so for now, I say "booo" to the execs at Safeway and CVS for hustling customers for the charities that their executives are on the board of.

The Dance Party

It's a dance party in the living room. A regular Payne family ritual. Michael Jackson is cranking. Elijah is outdoing his self with jumps and spins. Me and Kafi are doing moves from the early 90's. Cameron is running in circles screaming. This is the point when Kafi says "move Elijah, Daddys going to do the worm!" That was my que to dust off my partystopper. I used to do "the worm" (also known as the centipede) as my climax move in my younger days, much younger. So without a moments hesitation, I stop doing the robot and hit the floor so smooth, Kafi was like "Wow! Daddy did that gooood! Do that again Daddy!" My whole family was in awe. This was a dance partay!

30 minutes later after I bathe and clothe the boys, the shooting pain in my forearm cannot be ignored but why is it hurting? Did I hit my arm on something? Then I realize in an instant. I just dove in the air, (twice!) landing on my arms, absorbing my full adult weight and now my arm hurts. Then a deeper realization washes over my mind: I am almost 36 years old, I haven't played basketball since Bush was president, I can't remember the last time I even sprinted let alone did some push ups, I measure my daily exercise with a pedometer! Damn.

I share my realization with my loving caring spouse that my epic dance move caused a minor injury and that it took my 21 year old mind 30 minutes to realize that my body is actually 35. She laughed so hard she stopped breathing a couple of times. I never got hurt before doing the worm but I never has so much fun doing it either. Yup, I'm getting older but I am loving the ride!

"The Kobe Special"

Tiger Woods. Let's see, where do I begin? I was the first one to be gullible enough to believe that his wife valiantly tried to rescue her husband (who is reportedly a Billionaire) from imminent danger while trapped inside a wrecked car... with a golf club. Kind of ironic but hey, the man does play a lot of golf!

But now it appears that Tiger Woods has just provided reason number 3487 for not cheating on your wife. God knows I am not claiming to be perfect and not one to throw stones, but cheating is one thing that clearly brings unwanted consequences, ESPECIALLY when you are one of the most famous people on the planet. Google famous affairs of black Americans (Bill Cosby, Jesse Jackson, Kobe Bryant, Magic Johnson, Michael Jordan, Shaq, etc.)

Woods reportedly said he needs a "Kobe special" which means a "house on a finger". Kobe's wife faithfully (pun intended) wears her "house" everyday but at a 4.5 million pricetag, it's more like a "neighborhood on a finger". With very little savy, I could easily snap up a whole city block in Oakland for that much money.

According to Tiger, his Norwegian blonde wife reportedly "went ghetto" on him. Hmmm, I wonder what Tiger visualized when he said the word "ghetto" and why he never thought his European wife would go there? Could race and class have anything to do with it?

I wonder if Tiger Woods, the only person on planet earth who says he is Not black will claim blackness when the conservative media gets through with this. I wonder if he will feel the scathing glow of racism and bias against a black man accused of making a mistake.

The media will have a "field" day but will Tiger remain in the "house"?

I wonder if he will have the same "awakening" as OJ Simpson did? Harry Edwards told a story about how during the black athlete boycott in 1968, OJ was approached and asked to support his brothers and sisters and join the "black boycott" while he played at USC and he reportedly replied "I'm not black, I'm OJ!"

Tiger's now famous declaration that he is cablaisian (white, black and asian) is laughable, but default treatment as "black" because that is how the world perceives you is not. It seems with Tigers referenced connection to Kobe and his reference to his "ghetto" wife, that he is getting blacker by the minute. I hope Tiger stops by the psychiatrist on his way to Zales because he has a lot to sort out.

Public courtesy?

It's dinner at the local ice creamery. I take Elijah to the bathroom. He goes in the stall and proceeds to get about 20% in the actual bowl. Then he does something I have NEVER seen him do before. He takes some toilet paper and starts to wipe down the toilet seat that he didn't bother to lift up before he christened it. I am stuck. Then this warn feeling comes over me: The lectures about responsibility are finally working! I am proud. With a big smile, I ask Elijah: "Son, you wiped the toilet seat! You do that at home?" He flatly says "no". (smile fades) I am stuck again but this time confusion washes over me. "You mean you clean the public toilet but leave your own toilet a mess??" "Umm, (giggle) yeah." WTF??

Afrocentric tooth fairy

So Elijah is eating a snack Sunday afternoon and screams out. This is not a rare occurance so I casually inquire "What seems to be the problem son?", "My tooth is loose! Baaaaa!" I check it out and indeed his tooth is loose. I then wonder if he should be losing his tooth by now and consult my online doctor: Yahoo! questions. It's confirmed that kids can generally begin losing teeth between 4 and 6 years old. So I calm him down by trying to get him excited about all the benefits of losing a tooth. I tell him he will get a treat. then he replies "From the tooth fairy?" *pause* Think quick, I wasn't prepared to confirm or deny a mythical character like the tooth fairy. We killed the Santa Claus myth years ago, but the tooth fairy? We missed that one. Well, if I tell him there is no tooth fairy, it's irreversible but if I confirm it I can decide to kill the myth later or substitute it for a more culturally appropriate one. "Yes, the tooth fairy will come!" (I just bought myself some time) "And bring me a shiny new dime?!" "Yup, super shiny!"

So the next day, mommy get's some cotton and yanks it out, no screams and no tears. Meanwhile, I am looking for an afrocentric tooth fairy on google of course and I find it. Children put their tooth under a gourd and the African tooth fairy exchanges the tooth for 2 chickens... (That's live chickens) *pause* Ok, so the ritual needs a little modification so I go search for a shiny dime and wait for Elijah to fall asleep.

The next morning, he is as happy as can be with his dime. Then he asks "How did the tooth fairy get in the house?", "I don't know." Then he says, "She probably broke the window and came in the house. Oh, I know, let's go find the broken window!"

inappropriate language

I am talking to Kafi the other day and I use the word, "inappropriate". Something like, "oh no, that picture looks inappropriate..." Elijah records it to memory and proceeds to use it every chance he gets. "Elijah go get dressed for bed", "Awwww, mannn, that's inappropriate!" No Elijah, that's not the correct usage of the word but I commend you for trying, now get dressed.

Seeing the world anew

Elijah has started reading. After a month of nightly lessons with his mother, Elijah is reading everything he can look at. After he reads stuff he asks questions like "Why is that called Taco Bell?" me: "Because they sell tacos." him: "But why is it called taco BELL?" me: "Gee, I don't know." Now of course I know: It was started by an ex-marine named Glen Bell who opened his first 'Taco Bell' in 1962. At least according to wikipedia.

A new reader sees the world anew. He is always asking "what does that mean?", "Why did they put that there?" etc. and 9 times out of 10 it is simply bringing to my attention how much I don't know, just like graduate school and my wife.

"What the f*** you pull ME over for?"

It's Labor Day weekend. The whole family is returning from a trip to the drug store. On the way, we run into a sobriety checkpoint. Not exactly fun. How dare they? What if we were in a hurry? Oh well, I guess it's a good thing. We actually don't want drunk drivers on the road and I haven't had a drink since November 1994 but who's keeping track. The line of cars is moving slowly and as we pull up to our designated officer for the "check", I (in my mind) wait for instructions from the officer who is quite friendly. He politely introduces himself as officer so and so from the Emeryville police and that they are checking seatbelts and sobriety. He remarks that I clearly look sober, asks for my license, gives me a flyer to put on my dash, indicating that I have passed the test and I slowly pull off. That's exactly how it went down (in my head).

Right after we pull off, my wife immediately remarks that I was looking angry and rude and that I should not be so stand offish or confrontational. ??? Confusion. I thought you had to say "What the f*&k you pull me over for?" to be confrontational but she informed me that a flat affect, stone still and barely responsive, except to respond to requests like, "license please" or "show me your hands" is rude and confrontational and not the way you want to be to an officer of the law.

I am defensive at first but realize that I am never more aware of being a black man, (just like Rodney King or Fred Hampton) than when I am being pulled over or "checked" by the police. Hence, I may have been a little terse with the friendly cop, even though I have nothing to fear. I am not on PCP, speeding 100 miles on the freeway running from the cops, I am not leading a black liberation movement that is public enemy #1 of the FBI. I don't have weed or drink in my system or in the glove. No weapons. My license, registration, tags and car payments are completely legit and up to date. No outstanding parking tickets and no points on my record (anymore). Tail lights work, blinkers blink and the radio isn't even on. Why would I not be completely relaxed with my whole family in the car on a Sunday evening trip from the store. I don't even have dread locks anymore! Okay, I'm tripping. I mean don't get me wrong. I will never be the person who gets beat down because I didn't know how to follow directions. He could have told me to get out of the car and do the cabbage patch and I might have did the running man too, just not with a smile.

So my ever wise wife begins practicing with me the proper way to greet an office of the law. "Good evening!" (Big smile) That's sarcastic, try again. "Hello, hi." (less of a smile) That looks like a smirk. Not good. And so we go back and forth like this until I get it just right. "Good evening" (measured tone and cadence, but light and easy smile to follow and slight head nod with the head tilted just so) That's better.

So the whole drive home, I practice my cordial greeting to officers of the law. I got it down. I'm ready. Now I just hope it holds up if I run into an as*h*** cop.

The ghetto vegitarian

Yesterday, I was doing the pac man for my students. One boy stared at me for a minute then said “Mr. Payne, you’re a vegetarian, but you’re ghetto!”  Like the two were mutually exclusive. I laughed out loud. That was the funniest thing anybody said to me in a long time. He was already grappling with the fact that as a black man, I didn’t eat chicken, but now this. He was genuinely puzzled by the whole thing.

My son Elijah is in this summer program called Oakland Freedom Schools (OFS). It’s a reading enrichment program for black kids, modeled after the Freedom Schools in Mississippi in the summer of 1964. OFS is very radical. I was a OFS teacher back in ‘95 and the director in ‘98. It is only natural that my children attend the program. After 1 day at the school, he is on our back porch chanting “Chant down Babylon, OFS is the bomb, we ready, we coming...”  Another favorite that I am sure they will teach him is “We be an African people…”  and  “Revolution has come! Shine your light like the sun!”  I asked him how was his day and he starts talking about “the girl who doesn’t listen”. He doesn’t even call her by her name. He starts off a sentence like “Dad, today the girl who doesn’t listen… fill in the blank.” Like that’s her Native American name or something. I ask him, “son, what’s her name?” He pauses and thinks for a minute, trying to access that information. A few seconds later he remembers. I say, “Son, from now on, call her by her name.”

Elijah is also quite the filmmaker. We have this flip camera and Elijah makes 15 minute movies of himself walking around the house, playing with his brother and engaging his parents. He surprised me today when he revealed that one of his movies has a title. We’re watching one of his “movies” and he says “is this ‘Walking on Water?” “Huh? Walking on water? Is that the title of your ‘movie’? When did you come up with that?” The boy is creative.

And lastly, reason #235 why I hate the media: Obama visits Ghana yesterday. This is his second visit to Africa (he was in Egypt a while back) but they repeatedly described it as the presidents first sub-Saharan African trip. Why? Did they every say, “his first trip to eastern Europe?” No they didn’t. I checked google. Then to top it off, they show the Ghanaians celebrating Obamas arrival and they show hundreds of folks literally dancing in the streets. With all of these people to choose from, they choose to interview a lady wearing 2009 shades. You know, a pair of glasses that are in the shape of the number 2009, with sparkles and glitter all over them. You know, the glasses you wear for new years eve. I don’t even remember what she said. All I could think was: Why? Why? Why? 

Just enjoy the ride

Flying to New York on Sunday for an all day funeral on Monday and returning on Tuesday would seem like a big, stressful event. Especially when you throw in traveling with a 5 year old and an 18 month old. I did my best to make it easy on myself: Took time to relax Friday day before the trip, bought direct flights from Oakland to JFK which was 10 minutes from where I was staying in NY. I traveled light, carried lots of snacks for the kids, and spared no expense in the airports and on the plane. You want to see a movie for $6? No problem. You want a burrito? juice? muffin? headphones? magazine? You got it! Excuse me, can we get 2 more bags of animal crackers? 

The trip was indeed major. Small jubilant, active children in a funeral home for 3 1/2 hours was a bad idea but necessary. Family is family and when one of their greatgrandmothers passes, they have to be a part of the transition, for their sake but more for the surviving families sake. So we went and I was exhausted. 

Checking in at JFK to fly back home, the airline had 50 people in line ahead of me and the line was moving slow. Cameron waited a full 10 minutes before he started screaming. Elijah wasn't sympathetic. He started whining too. People started staring. When your baby starts screaming in public, you get all kinds of looks ranging from "Oh, poor baby. He's so cute, etc." to "What kind of parent are you? Your child is screaming." I just looked back at all of them like "Say something and you'll get your feelings hurt in a New York minute." Cameron screamed for a full 10 minutes before the airline people pulled me out of the line and checked my bag, explaining to me that "Your child is screaming, let's get your bag checked."  I resisted making a dozen different smart remarks and simply expressed my humble appreciation of the gesture. I get up to the counter. Cameron promptly stops screaming. I smile and explain to Elijah the silver lining of the moment. 

On the plane, I got up to walk Cameron around the plane to prevent a meltdown, leaving Elijah in his seat next to a 15 year old unaccompanied minor and I hear Elijah behind me whimpering, following me down the aisle. I turn around and walk with him back to his seat and explain that I wasn't leaving him and that I was coming right back. He listened to me patiently and indicated that he understood and then whispered very loudly in my ear: "but daddy, he's a STRANGER" And he was right. I didn't have any reason to trust him with my son and Elijah wasn't going to take the risk. Sure the chances are slim on a plane 30,000 feet up but we taught him, a stranger is a stranger. You don't trust em, on a train, or in a plane, in a box with a fox eating green eggs and ham.

Finally, I am back in Oakland waiting for my bags. The first batch of bags come then the conveyor belt stops. and it stays stopped for 10 minutes. Half the people from the plane are still staring down the conveyor belt looking dumbfounded. I overhear someone who spoke to an employee of the airline mutter something about them being short staffed today. I mused to myself that I wasn't 'short' when I paied for my plane tickets. I couldn't say to the ticket counter "Oh, I'm a little short on cash today" and expect to get a ticket. Oh well. 

It was when I returned to Oakland, relieved to be off the plane, that I relaxed for about 1 hour then started thinking about the class I had to go to in an hour and the assignments that might be due and the work I missed the day before and the meeting I had to go to for work and the team lead I needed to call to let them know I would be in a meeting and not to expect me until after 11 or so... it was after the flood of details and preparations started churning in my mind that I realized how much of a mental break the trip to New York was. It was physically taxing no doubt, containing Cameron within a 2x3 area on the plane for 5 1/2 hours each way, and helping Elijah find the cartoons, but the mental complexity of the task (keeping him fed, contained and not screaming) was a piece of cake compared to the juggling act of work, school, home, work school, home. But I'm not complaining. I just enjoy the ride and try not to take any of it for granted.

No more small talk

Anybody who really knows me, knows that I am very discreet. I don't like to draw attention to myself in public but rather be the observer. Well today, while browsing the drug store for a fan for my house because it's 100 degrees, I notice that the selection is slim and not only that, the fans are ridicilously priced.  I glance at the lady examining the selection too and mention out loud "it looks like they raised the prices for us because it's so hot"  The woman looks at me and says loudly "What?" (in hind sight I realized that she must have been hard of hearing) I repeat my statement louder and she then replies 5 decibles louder than me. "Yeah, and they don't have any wattage information so you can't compare the different fans..." I was acutely aware that everyone in the store could probably hear this woman. I was no longer interested in small talk with this loud person but she kept going. I responded out of politeness and she kept talking loudly about the lack of specifications on the box. 

I expected to say something, and for her to respond and that would be the end of it. Not a long conversation and not at full volume. Oh well. So much for small talk.

You want the what cake?

My son Elijah turns 5 on Wednesday and we were having a small party to celebrate. I take him to the bakery like I do every year to pick out a cake. You know, a football cake or baseball cake, or maybe a Cars cake or Hula Hawaiian cake like last year. So I show him the 20 or so cakes in the display case and his #1 pick is the snow white cake with a big figurine of snow white and a castle in the background. "You sure you want that cake son?" "Yes, I want the princess cake!" (The princess cake is absolutely not an option. Not just the gender role thing but the Disney marketing machine has tricked my son into thinking he wants 'princess cake'.) "Elijah, I'm sorry son, the 'princess' cake is sold out. What's your second pick?" "Oh, ummm, I'll take the baseball cake." "Oookkk, baseball cake it is!"
As I happily order the baseball cake I wonder: what is my fear with my son getting a princess cake? Am I training him to be sexist by limiting his options for expression? Answer to self: Oh well, at least he got to pick from the football or baseball cake. He'll get over it and I'm already over it.

As the world changes, so does my approach

Ok, now Elijah is almost 5 and has hit this chatterbox phase. He asks 50 questions a minute. "Daddy, the world has changed." "Yes son, it has." "Why has the world changed dad?" "Because the sun went up and down." 

Gone are the days (yesterday) when I though I could dig deep in my soul for every question he asks me. Now I am rattling off random answers and keeping it moving. I know. So disappointing. I'm over it already.

And another thing: he is obsessed with making everything a race. "Daddy, I finished my pasta before you, I win!" "Daddy, I beat you to the corner!" At first I supported his winning attitude. Then it got tired. "Elijah, were eating dinner, it's not a race." Then I impressed upon him "Son, you compete against yourself. If you win, it's because you beat your personal best, you understand? Nobody in this house is a loser: not your brother or your parents, understand?"   silence..... "Elijah, I said: do you understand? There are no losers in this house!" (silently nodding his head) "Yes there is", "What did you say?",  "Yes there is, you and mommy are losers, ha ha ha..."  

Well, that was the last time I let him win a race to the corner. I ran past him and got 50 feet ahead and as his laughing trot turned into a sad cry for me to slow down to let him catch up. I grinned and turned to run faster. No more kid gloves. He got to learn. Don't gloat to someone 3 times your size.