Things I have learned from working with kids # 5 - Kids can be mean.

Youth for Unity is a program I hold weekly, Wednesdays, to teach kids how to confront bias and celebrate diversity.

With that said, it is the hardest program I've ever run.

For weeks the eight kids that constantly come to the program have chatted throughout the whole lesson, and I have to constantly remind them why we do this program and how their behavior is... counteractive.

Yesterday was an especially hard lesson, the kids had different scenarios of biased situations and they had to choose the correct response. And they would not SHUT UP.

Finally I had had it. Alicia and Alex were going back and forth, until Alicia started to cry AS DID Alex.

"This program is about respect. How can I graduate you guys next week and hold a party when you can't even respect each other or myself? For the rest of your lives, you will meet people and have to work with people you may not like or agree with, and you are going to have to deal with it, because no one will solve the problem for you." Yadda yadda yadda, respect this respect that.. I went on until Yesenia raised her hand.

She went into detail about Alicia, and how Alicia just tries to make people laugh, but then when it needs to be serious people yell at her, and how she was on meds when she was younger and was always teased about being bigger... on and on.

And poor Alicia cries harder, and talks about how her Mom left their family and Alicia felt it was because she didn't want her, and her father is a less than perfect role model (fucking racist, is what I surmised) and Alicia was always teased by the kids for being fat, and how she should take more of mer medication so she could be thinner, etc.

And then Yesenia starts to cry and apologizes for teasing her in the first grade,

and Edward starts to cry from listening to all this,

and Alex cries again because she gets bullied when she plays soccer and kids say downright SICK things to her about her foster parents,

and Louis starts to cry because he gets teased for WEARING SHORTS TOO OFTEN (yes, I know) and for hanging out with Robert, who's black,

and ROBERT starts to cry because, poor guy, who wouldn't...

and Vanesa, Catie and I are like... holy shit.

I just want to spill me guts (and I do) about how I have been there, and kids are insecure, and to fight that they are MEAN, and make fun of others for stuuuupid shit to get the attention of themselves. And everyone's crying and hugging and apologizing and sharing their stories of hurt and bias that happen to them every DAMN day and I think wow... kids are brutal... and I tell them maybe they earned their graduation after all.

On my friend

Thank you friend, and you know who you are, for reading and commenting on every single one of my blogs thus far. I take back every nasty comment I have ever thrown about your negligence on the blog front. I also take back the enmity I felt towards you last week - shrinky dinks would make perfectly nice jewelry and this one might just be that. I am also very sorrowful that I missed local's night... rain check for next week?

On not winning $1,000.

Today I didn't win $1000.

Granted, today a lot of people didn't win $1000.

Let me clarify: Every weekday, one of my most favorite things, Sarah and Vinnie's morning show on Alice, picks a song of the day and tells you when they're playing it. If you are caller 97, you win a grand. Every day they play this song during an hour I am at work - mostly an hour when the kids are here and I could be burned at the B&GC stake for using a cell phone during club time. Today it was in the morning. My commute hour. My listening hour.

Today was supposed to be my day. It was even my song - Mercy by Duffy. Today was one of the few days I was alert and ready to take the prize. And what happened? I waited too long. As soon as the first dun dun... dundundun dun... played, I waited. I figured... this is too early to call. Finally.. 10 seconds into the song IF THAT I pick up my phone and call and never get through. I waited, second-guessed, as usual, as usual, and didn't get through. I am kicking myself kicking myself mentally and then realize...

"Vanessa... hundreds were probably calling in. This isn't a personal affront. There's always someone who might have needed it that much more than you. "

So this is me, dealing with it, dealing with it.

Still, it would have been nice to win.

Things I Have Learned From Working With Children - # 3 - Self Pride

It was a usual day at the clubhouse - Science club, Drama Club, Dodge ball, and a wedding.

Perennially annoying 4th grader Nathan was scheduled to marry a life-size paper bride created by fellow 4th grader Jenna in the art room. The wedding was beautiful and went off without a hitch underneath the fluorescent lights of the paint-splattered, crayon-marred art room. Her dress was awash in chunks of glitter that adorned everything but the dress at the close of the day.

Sadly, it wasn't long before the marriage fell apart (and how could it last - Nathan wasn't so good a listener - which is what she really needed.) And a divorce needed to be officiated.

Jobs were doled out - people were shouting across the room "I'm the judge!" "I'm the lawyer!" "I'm the other lawyer!" "I'm the jury!" "I'm this/I'm that!"

Raul Juarez, a chubby, soft spoken second grader, stood in the midst of it, awaiting his chance for glory. And it came. Once the cries started to die down and everyone had their respective jobs, Raul shot his arms into the air and declared with gusto:

"And I'M the MEXICAN!"

sly guy

If I miss one thing about him, it's his lips. Scratch that, his body in general. This two month ride has mostly been all about the physical. Sometimes I was teased with glimpses into his inner self, this hurt, dark, lonely being that I liked and wanted to explore. He shut the curtain on that one and pushed me back into the safest area he knew, the booty barn.

I will miss him. I enjoyed his lips so much I wanted to bite them off and keep for myself. I couldn't snuggle close enough - one night I actually might have tried to climb inside - unless I dreamt it. No more probing him about his nerdalicious obsession with horror movies and all things creep. No matter how tooly he'll get i will say this... he was a rare one who just needed some healing. If he lets himself.

Happily Self-Aware

I'm not necessarily trying to convey that I think I'm above anyone.



After this weekend, I am aware of the change I have gone through in the past 6 or 7 years.



Coming out of High School, I wanted to belong. To anything. A magically ambiguous puzzle piece that fit into any picture available. And I would wonder why I never quite fit in completely. I just wanted to be every one's best friend.

I gradually changed. I grew out of that just like I grew out of all high school fads like butterfly clips and skorts. My vision of myself began to coalesce and form edges that didn't necessarily fit into every picture. I realized this especially while being forced to watch reruns of the Dog Whisperer and the Playmate Girls Next Door with my old roommates.

This past weekend, on Halloween, I made an appearence at a party up in the Berkeley Hills. To begin with, I just came off a 12 hour shift working the Boys and Girls Clubs of Napa Valley's annual Halloween Carnival. A frenzied 8 hour day of preparing, blowing balloons and hanging posters... followed by a 4 hour block of standing, running, jogging around a crowd of about 1000 little ones. All of this plus an 80 minute drive in the rain - I was not in the most humored of moods. I was grateful for my friend V, who made sure I pumped the breaks a little before joining the party. This put me in a more observer mood, which allowed me to be in touch with who I was and who I no longer wanted to try to be.

A word about this particular group of individuals - the house in question is owned by the devilishly charming Dr. L - a thirty something man with uncomfortably good looks and a wicked sense of humor, right out of a Nora Roberts novel. His "tenants" are a group of good looking 20 somethings - J, A, T, and L. Each roomie brings a unique ingredient of friend to the party. J's is perhaps the most potent. A group of fellows who grew up with her ex-boyfriend and formed such a good relationship with J that they stuck around. These guys grew up together, ran track together, graduated high school together. B is a hopeless flirt, A is irresistably adorable, M is an individual, his brother a lot more subtle, and P is seemingly the rock of the group, the calming force. I am friends with this group through P's girlfriend, my bestie V.

This story orbits around M.

M is known to drink to excess at every party. One St. Patrick's Day he drank to a point where his actions put everyone in danger. At P's birthday he got into a fistfight with his brother. One party he hooked up with his friend's love interest, and subsequently started dating her. M is a loose cannon triggered by alcohol and possible deep seeded insecurities. There is an old saying that when M's shirt comes off, all bets are off. Much like warning ink given off by squid or the puffing of a blowfish: Caution... handle with care.

At the after math of each party everyone likes to recount where they were when M blew up. Kind of like the '89 earthquake. "I was on the porch and I heard the crash." "I was holding him back." "I was asleep on the floor in the bedroom when he ran in."

In this case, I was in the bathroom blowing my nose.

I heard people run by and someone yell "M, wait!"

Whatever, I thought. He probably got into a fight with some friend. When M gets drunk, everyone around him runs about looking like doctors in an ER - same concerned look, same purposeful gait, same urgency to save a life. I wandered out of the bathroom, already sick of the bullshit. B was off hooking up with someone while his confirmed regular hookup had stormed off somewhere like every other party he goes to. There had already been the "intellectual" rants filled with useless buzzwords instigated by the same guy who vomited and then passed out in the bathroom. I was done.

Until I walked into the living room, saw the blood on the carpet, and the party reached a whole new level of dra-ma. V and P were blotting at the stains, P's roommate was playing ER Doctor, and everyone else was either watching Dr. L assist the wounded M or having a political discussion about M's behavior.

"If he would only drink more water."
"He really gets out of control."
"He's just trying to have a good time."
"It's Halloween! It was bound to happen."
"What's up with that guy?"

V brought me up to speed. He had fallen on top of the table and cut his arm on a broken bottle. Blood - everywhere. The only bodily fluid missing from this raucous Halloween party. And here were his friends, left to clean up after. Forget their party, they had to clean up his vitals. Bottles of brew were replaced with bottles of hydrogen peroxide and club soda. One drunkie thought he was cleaning up punch until we brought him up to speed - to which he said "That's fucked up!" and ran outside. What is there left to say, really - M's shirt came off and he apparently lost control of his balance. Just like every time before - M loses control and possibly endangers everyone around him. M lives without being aware. M is out of control.

I was so fucking glad at that point. So glad I was aware of my shit and had my shit together more than I thought. Forgive me for getting onto a soapbox, but when you're approaching mid-twenties and still behaving like it's your first frat party and your behavior becomes legend... in my eyes something's up. It's one thing to be known and quite another to be harmful to yourself in pursuit of that. I believe the two times in my life I vomited from drinking - both times before I turned 21 and knew my limit - I cleaned up myself. That's how I learned. I never enjoyed cleaning vomit so I never did it again.

I wandered into the kitchen and began cleaning up the empties, collecting my thoughts. V joined me and we shared a "What the fuck" conversation over empty cans of Natty Ice. Some random guy who would later steal my blanket and pillow was asking everyone in sight for a lighter for his pot. I tried delicious pizza with caramelized onions and yams. Drama over. How to Have Fun Without Compromising Your Values.

Things I Have Learned From Working With Children - #2

Packpacks.

This is the innovative, evolved term for the back pack.

Packpacks.

Which all, oddly, run the same in terms of size, despite the size of the child.

I see children with packpacks banging against their shins as they walk, because, when measured, they only clear their packpack by a head. In many cases the packpack weighs nearly as much as they do.

"I forgot my packpack."

It's the sports car for first graders. Some models are white with saucer-sized polka dots. Some are drenched with red and black webs while Spiderman peeks over the side. Some are adorned with the cast of High School Musical or Bratz.

"It's in my packpack"

What you find in a packpack tells a lot about the child. One little girl was hoarding milk cartons, which naturally need refrigeration, which naturally was not a feature of this particular packpack. The foul stench of milk permeated everything. I helped this little girl pull her glasses case out, and three full bottles of lens cleaner solution. Three.
She diplomatically decided which items were important enough to bring inside and which needed to air out with the packpack. I wanted to hug this little girl tightly as she bravely brushed aside the fact that not only was she caught with a lot of extra food in her packpack, but that one of the very cartons gave her away to the staff.

The sense of propriety over the packpack, yet the complete lack of boundary awareness when it comes to anything else is what fascinates me about kids. The logical train of thought that "Yes... it is my packpack. What is a backpack? What is wrong with me calling it packpack?" Yet if I call the game room "Games room" I get the vicious "It's the GAME room" response.

I can only chalk it up to the ever-growing list of contradictions when it comes to youth.

Things I Have Learned From Working With Children - #1

There is nothing like an open gym.

By "open gym," I do not mean a time when individuals come in of their own valition and engage in a pick-up game of b-ball.

I mean the potential, the leftover stank, the dormant, empty, open gym. Waiting. Resting.

Its floor is healing itself from the many sets of feet which pounded it the day before.

Its walls are nursing bruises from wayward dodgeballs and handprints in a hurry to "tag" it.

The echoes have evaporated into the ripe, sweatified mist hanging above you, even in the chillest of winter days.

It is the one room that is full in its emptiness. Needs no decoration nor filler.

Like a blank page of paper it beckons - run inside of me. There are no lines until you make them. I can be whatever you need right now.