The 42 DC Bus-(2006)

I ride the bus to school every morning. Usually I am digging in my pockets looking for quarters like a pigeon searching for scraps in Central Park. I have a metro pass, but it’s broken. Most of life’s daily inconveniences are due to those little things you never get around to fixing.

I finally scrounge up the $1.25 and board the bus. Its 7:30 in the morning and my bag is spilling with student’s papers, lesson plans, and empty water bottles. I tend to really look around. I’m vulnerable at this time and so I think too much. That’s how it is in early in the morning. Everything is too fresh.

Every day I see the same people. Mostly they are moms hopping the S2 with their kids. -Climb onto the seat before YOU go through the windshield they say. I’m telling you these bus drivers aren’t kidding around. They plow down 16th street. If you have to stand, well, I hope you have some good shoes on. I kind of appreciate them for that. It’s like they know I hate mornings and I barely made it to the corner on time. If they don’t step on it I am going to be late. When you are teacher you can’t be late. So I smile as we cruise up the hill, because they are watching out for me you see. Like a little guardian angel to start off my day right.

I sit back and watch the regulars board the bus. They watch me. A few are moms bringing their kids to the private school four blocks away from where I teach. All of my kid are on free lunch and I’m happy if they wash their uniforms. Details, I remind myself as they spill in each morning. The moms are looking at me wondering. -Who hired her for gods sake with that hair looking like that. They know I am a teacher because I have my bag full of library books that says Ms. O’Neal on the front. A kid gave it to me and lets be honest it’s a great bag. But I’m trying to stay away from the teach apple cardigans with yellow school buses knitted across my chest. I’m trying. They are eyeing me and wondering. I kind of think we should all join a group, us regulars, and form a bond because we are surviving the daily grind together on this bus. It’s beautiful because it seems there is little time these days to share a moment with strangers.

When we reach 16th and Shepard the same little girl and mother get on. The girl has dark chocolate skin and braids. She is probably 10 or 11. Old enough to start looking out dirty bus windows and getting sad about things. Her mom is tall with long feet and deep eyes-like wells that you cannot see to the bottom of. Endless. She gets on behind her daughter and grips the top of her backpack pushing her forward –Sit down over there. EXCUSE me, go on, sit there, NO not there THERE. The girl eagerly goes for the seat. Her mom sits down with her and she looks around wildly. –---Do you have enough room ma’m? she asks the old women next to her. The women nods –oh yes yes I’m fine. But she motions her daughter closer to her. –Move this way come on now.

Her daughter listens quickly. I can tell she would be a student I would want in my class. Her mom is different from the other moms. I know they aren’t going to the private school, but I wonder where they are heading.

Sometimes the mom comes on with glazed eyes and headphones. She still plays drill sergeant to her daughter-keeping her in check. Almost as if she took her eyes off for a moment maybe the little girl would fall into a pothole on the sidewalk and never get out. She watches her like that. The other mothers, on the other hand, are reading the paper not paying one lick to their kids sitting next to them. I don’t blame them either. I mean they are fine, but this watching the contrast between mothers I’m not sure who to blame. Everything seems too jumbled as if there is no one to blame.

So the mom gets on this one morning with glazed eyes and begins singing out loud. She is sitting next to her daughter, her hand is still gripping the top of her backpack as she belts out Whitney Housten from an old cassesste player. She gazes over to her and sings louder pressing her finger up to her nose. It’s funny to see this contrast. Mommmm, the girl says with a pleading voice. It reminds me of when my mom used to take out her stress of raising five kids on the bagger at the supermarket. –How do you NOT have paper bags left? She’d say. HOW, let me talk to your manager.

The girl is looking at her mom and she is shedding innocence right before my eyes at 7:46 AM. I am sad for her to see her mother high. It baffles me that this is the mother who won’t let her hand off her daughter’s backpack. Maybe this is all an act, I think, this good mom go sit there, no no, don’t squish anyone honey… ACT. Have I been fooled by her every day I wonder?
What kind of mother is she anyway?

The other day the girl gets on alone. She puts in her token and moves directly to the front seat. Her mother is outside pointing at her where to sit. I watch out the stained dirt window. I’m sure the girl is a little confused about things. Her black mixing with Her white. GRAY. She looks like a sweet girl. A kid that does her home-work, and someone that helps the teacher at recess. The bus begins to pull away. The mom is letting her go, and as I look back I see her standing on the corner waving goodbye. The girl sees her and this sudden smile stumbles upon her face. I watch her looking at her mom, and it’s this sudden reaction from within her spilling out. Then slowly she turns around and our eyes hit each other. I look at her. She looks at me. It is a quiet brief exchange.

Her mom starts to walk away, but then stops and looks back to watch the bus go. The girl assumes her mom is gone by now, but I catch her lingering, waiting there on the corner. There she is- just standing-blinking. Maybe hoping she won’t fall into potholes while she is gone. Maybe the mom will spend the day buying cement to pour into her own.

I kind of wish I was a painter then. So I could take out a canvas when I got home that night and paint her face watching her daughter like that. I want to ask her to be in the regular club then, because it isn’t every day strangers give away some of their secrets. We are all trying to step over the cracks spreading up the sidewalk. Things seem so clear and unclear suddenly.

As I get off I smile at the girl. I won’t tell anyone about this, I say with my smile. About what I know about you now. It’s safe with me. There are a million kinds of smiles out there, and this is the kind I give her. She smiles back. Me and the other private school moms with their kids get off. I blink and our paths diverge.

Chicago in the Summer

In Chicago the winters are brutal. It is cold for 6-8 months straight. You have to dig your way out of your parking spot many snowy mornings. Your car is not going to look the same by May-that's a fact. You want to kick yourself in the as* for choosing to live in such a freezing city! We all suffer together and just hope we'll make it until summer. Then summer comes suddenly. I almost forget it even exsisted, but there it is, waiting before me. And its like the love we have for the cubs when they win: surprising and utterly grateful.

Chicago in the summer is fantastic! Not a single person seems to take it for granted-how could we!? We know as it begins, how ever-so fleeting the season is for all of us. So we milk it to its very last drop. If you are a true Chicagoan you know exactly what I am talking about. The best things to do in Chicago in the summer:

1. Street Festivals. Every weekend a neighborhood blocks off streets and parties it up. Metromix has all the festivals listed. You could spend every weekend doing just that!

2. Movies in Grant Park: My friends and I grab some wine, snacks and a big blanket and head on down to grab a spot on the lawn. TONS of people go to this free event. Movies are featured on Tuesdays.

http://www.spudart.org/blogs/randomthoughts

3. Navy Pier! You can grab ice cream or a beer and walk around. If you buy a drink you are allowed to walk around with it as long as you stay on the pier. Fireworks are every Saturday night too! The ferris wheel and shops are the icing on the cake.

4. Venetian Night. This is the longest running event in Chicago. Basically a bunch of boats are brought to life with lights and props which sail along Lake Michigan. The crowd is packed. Bring drinks, a picnic, chairs and watch the show. It ends with FANTASTIC fireworks!

http://www.explorechicago.org/city/en/things_see_do/event_landing/special_events/mose/venetian_night.html

5. Kayaking: There are multiple spots you can go out and rent a kayak and have some fun in the sun.

6. Have a Boat Party: Last summer we got a group of 50 of us together and rented out a boat on Lake Michigan. This included food/open bar. If you want to head out on a boat just for a few hours and catch the breeze check out the wendella boat tours.
www.wendellaboats.com

7. North Avenue Beach: The beach is packed and so much fun on the weekends. Reserve some nets and play a game of volleyball or go hear live music at Castaways. The North Avenue bus takes you straight there. So easy!

8.Millenium Park: There is sooooooooo much going on all the time here.

9. BBQ: outdoor space is a must here! We BBQ-ed it up this summer on my back deck!

10. Houndstooth on Thursday nights: They open up the windows and blast country music. $5 pitchers too. It spices up the bar scene from the normalcy.

11. Cleo's bar for $5 pizza on Thursday nights. Take a break from the heat and grab some fantastic pizza! (pesto chicken is my fav)

Other events around Chicago area:

12. Muddybuddy. This is a run/bike/crawl through mud race. We camped the night before which made it so much more fun. www.muddybuddy.com

13. The Michigan Dunes. Avoid the hot days! You can camp out or go for the day. A good change of pace.

14. Starved Rock: Great hiking, also camping if you want.

These are my suggestions! If you live in Chi or plan on visiting, pencil some of these events into your weekend/trip. The list is endless. By summer's end, I don't even dread the upcoming winter-quite.so.much. :)

The Professor who Changed my Course

“I hear and I forget. I see and I remember. I do and I understand.”-Author unknown.


When I was a sophomore at IOWA, I took a class entitled “Human Relations for the Classroom Teacher.” The objective of this class was to talk about how race, gender, and socio-economic status impacts education and schools. The class was eye opening and forced us to discuss difficult ideas and topics. The book we read that struck a chord was entitled “Savage Inequalities,” by Jonathan Kozol. The author discusses the disparities in education between schools of different classes and races. During this time I knew I wanted to be a teacher. Until this point, however, I didn’t know what that meant for me, or how my role as an educator would define me.


While reading and discussing this book with my classmates and professor, I began to grow increasingly more distraught. I would go home and have nightmares about the children in these poverty-stricken schools. I couldn’t get the image out of my mind of accounts of school bathrooms filled with sewage due to broken pipes. These innocent children were born into this environment without consent and had to go to a school with cracked ceilings, contaminated water, torn up books, and no true chance at learning. I would toss and turn at night and re-read articles and chapters from Kozol’s alarming reality of some of the public schools in the United States.
One morning during class, we were talking about how children raised in poverty aren’t afforded the same educational opportunities as a middle class child in the suburbs. I was beginning to think that the whole educational system was hopeless. I wondered if maybe I was pursuing a career that cannot be changed for the good. My professor picked up on my feelings of hopelessness. He called me into his office. He came from a challenging upbringing and had been able to rise above the obstacles. Professor Nicholas was well known for his research and teachings in education. I sat down in his office and he looked at me with twinkling eyes and said, “Emily. Do you not think our discussions in class are not worthwhile? It seems like you have drifted away recently. Talk to me.”

I sighed, and told him about my misgivings. “I’m worried that there is no hope for education. That maybe there isn’t a place for me. How can I graduate and teach in a good school knowing about all these other ones that desperately need good teachers? If I work in an inner city school, I don’t think I can make any change.” Then my professor nodded calmly and said, “This is why you are in this class. So that you see the HUGE need this world has for good teachers in ALL schools. When we face obstacles, we cannot back down, but ask ourselves what role we can take in tackling these challenges.” I found it interesting that this man, who came from a tough neighborhood, had made it this far, and embodied the faith to overcome obstacles big or small. We talked some more and he soon realized that my behavior in class was not because I didn’t care, but because I cared so much. Before the end of our meeting, my professor said, “Maybe this is your calling to get involved in the cause. You can’t solve all of the problems in education, but the inner city schools need good passionate teachers.”


My class eventually ended, but my thinking had changed about education and societal relationships as a whole. I went onto student teaching and then graduation was around the corner. I began to think back to that conversation and wonder if maybe he was right. I decided that this was the time to get involved in the cause.
After graduation, I moved to Washington D.C. I spent three years teaching elementary school in one of the poorest schools in the area. Some of the obstacles my student population faced were poverty, divorce, single parent households, academic deficiency, and homelessness. Then I moved back to Chicago and have spent this past year teaching in one of the most crime filled, gang infested neighborhoods in the city.


Obviously, you come to realize that pursuing your ‘calling’ is not as romantic as maybe you think it will be when you are senior in college! It’s been difficult, exhausting, challenging, and sad. It’s also been the most rewarding time of my life. I’ve seen my students in foster homes, run away, parents that abandon them, parents who are abusive or abuse drugs, lose their ability to support their child, or decide to go back to the street corner. However, I have also seen parents who work three jobs, hop their child on a bus just to get them to the library, come to every teacher conference or school event, and save every dollar to buy their child what they need to do well in school. What amazes me most is that although yes, most of these children face many road blocks, they are able to persevere. My students have made large academic gains, been awarded scholarships to exclusive academic camps, learned how to speak English for the first time, gained confidence, or decided at age 9 that they will in fact go to college one day. My opinions about education are always changing, but for me I see how important it is to have educators who empower urban youth. So to all of you out there, if you want to better yourself and kids' lives, consider teaching! (I promise its worth all the advil you will invest in:)

My Sister-The Midwife

My sister is a midwife. She delivers babies. Personally, everybody has their 'birthing plan' and ideas when they get pregnant which I completely respect. I have yet to head down that road. When I do, however, I will be having a midwife (with my sister there to catch the baby!) If you want to know more benefits here is a couple links:

http://www.rhrealitycheck.org/blog/2007/06/21/midwifery-care-a-good-choice-in-childbirth


http://www.washingtonmidwives.org/midwife_reasons.shtml

Over the years I've heard a lot about being pregnant and birth! When I graduated from college in 2005, I stayed at my sister's place for a few months before getting a place of my own. At the time she was on call a lot and I would wake to the sound of her whispering on the phone with patients about symptoms, pains, etc! She always reassured me however, that the patients who are doing fine aren't going to get up and call in the middle of the night to let her know! It's the ones with the pains and the worries who she gets phone calls from. AT the tender age of 22 this did little to reassure me! I'd hear the sad stories. I'd hear the hilarious ones where the mothers would go ballistic until that baby came out already! My sister would make sure she'd let me know just how BIG those babies can be! Recently she delivered a 13 1/2 one and it barely could fit in the baby bed.

Then my sister left for Congo, Africa for a year. She worked as a director trying to improve health care and make it more efficient. She trained women nurses how to deliver babies for the families of their village. One of the men's wife (who worked on her team) was going to have a baby. They knew my sister very well and she gave the mother lots of patient care. They decided they would name the baby after her. She insisted that it was not necessary! But they wanted to, because they had developed a strong relationship with her. Months later she got a picture of this little girl named after her with a big mop of black hair sticking straight up on the top of her head! I couldn't believe it!

Over the years I've become unfazed hearing about the DETAIL upon DETAIL of pregnancy and birth. I know when the time comes, maybe having a midwife sister, and all the stories, will help me in the end. But when I saw that picture of a baby with her name, a Continent away, I thought wow-this makes up for all those other gory details. :)

The Day I was Born-According to my Mom

Every year my mother calls and wishes me a happy birthday, followed by the story of the day I was born. I've heard it 27 times now and love it each and every time. So this is how it goes:

I am the youngest of five. My mother had her first two sons at the hospital. Then she had the last three at home, on purpose. This wasn't AS unusual as maybe it is today. We had a doctor there, so settle down. Anyway, I was a bonus baby. I was born on a hot sticky summer morning in July. The doctor came and her delivery was pretty easy. My brother Patrick was born on July 22nd and Kevin was born on the 23rd. Pat was seven years older and Kev was five. They were arguing about whose birthday I would land and finally I made my grand entrance at nine am on the 22nd. So in sorts my brother Patrick and I are twins, just exactly seven years apart. And Yes. My parents anniversary is in October:)

My mother had planned a little birthday party with cake and ice cream with some of the neighborhood boys for my brothers. Little did she know she would be in labor that very same day. So naturally you would assume the party would be called off. But I was the fifth and labor was practically second nature to my mom at that point. She insisted to my father that since it was just a few boys the party should go on. Late that afternoon the boys arrived. My mom dressed me up in a pink dress, only hours old and brought me downstairs to the party. My sister was almost three and instantly thought she was mother and I was born purposely for HER. So she latched to my side as everyone sang Happy Birthday to me and my brothers.

That evening one of the little boys went home and his mother asked, "How is Ms. O feeling. Does she look like she is about to have that baby!" So matter-or-factly, he stopped, looked at his mother and said, "Oh, well she had her." Then he went back to playing with his toys. She grabbed the phone and called up my mom and couldn't believe her son was telling the truth.

And that's how I entered this world. Dressed up in pink and heading to a party the first day I arrived. :)

homeless guy on a street corner

The other day I was walking in Chicago. We were downtown. I passed this corner with this homeless lady holding a sign wanting some cash. I see a lot of these people. Its almost part of the landscape these days. In this economy you can even begin to see how it can happen. So this lady is holding this sign needing a few bucks. Then I see this teenage girl, she looked sweet you know-like she hadn't done much city living, she says something to her friend. The homeless lady was outside a McDonald's and the girls were about to go in and probably grab some lunch. So the girl turns to the lady and gestures towards the McDonald's. I can't make out what she is saying but I'm sure she offered to buy her a double cheeseburger meal or something. I give the girl credit too because I can just picture her train of thought. She saw the lady and felt bad for her. Then she had a dilemma: Should I give her money, walk away, or BINGO: I could offer to buy her a meal and a. I would be helping her out and b. I could ensure that this money isn't going to booze (yes I said it). The lady looks up at the girl and glances at the McDonald's windows. Then she shakes no, turns her head to the next wave of strangers crossing the street and sticks out her sign in front of their trail of vision. The girl shrugs and goes inside. So what are we supposed to think about this? Should I assume the lady just wanted money to buy booze? Maybe someone had already got her lunch that day from McDonald's? Did a layer of the girl's desire to help the homeless diminish a bit from that moment? Its all too complicated what is right and what is helpful and what we should think to ourselves when those who are standing on a corner with a sign refuse our help if the help doesn't come in dollar bills.

But maybe little kids from the west side of Chicago (where I teach) know more about this topic than I do. I always think back to my student who wrote a story in writer's workshop. The story went like this, he said: "I was going to the gas station this one hot afternoon by myself. I went to get a pop. I was thirsty. I saw this homeless man standing by the door. I saw him a lot and I wondered about him. Did he have a family? Did his family want him to come home? Or has he always been alone and lost in this world? I was about to go inside and the guy says to me, "boy give me five bucks I really need it." So I did. I don't know why I did, but I thought I should. Later when I came out of the store with grape pop, there was the man standing there with a brown bag. And I knew he took my five bucks and bought liquor. So you know what I thought now. I thought maybe this is why his family doesn't want him to come home-because he drinks too much. He loves drinking more than himself. And I felt really mad then at him and at myself for giving him the money. I'm not stupid. I never gave that man money again. But I can't help always think about him drinking liquor out of a five dollar brown paper bag"

I found my student's story to be pretty profound for a nine year old. Its funny how our interactions with one another-fellow man kind can cause us to change the way we view ourselves and the world around us-in the simplest of interactions and moments. Whether they make us better or worse, we can't help but immerse ourselves in them.

"I Owe it to MYSELF"

This year I've seen a few relationships and marriages fall apart unexpectedly. Some of these people I know well and others my friends/family have grown to know. This is kind of how it goes:

Girl and Guy get married. They don't rush into getting married either. They date awhile and are engaged awhile too. They buy a house, they start a life and years go by. Holidays are celebrated, vacations taken, daily life happens over and over and over. Then suddenly either the guy or girl come home and say they are leaving. Sometimes they even go to therapy but in the end the person wants OUT of the marriage.

Most cases the person cheated and often times they say they are truly 'REALLY ACTUALLY IN LOVE THIS TIME.' As opposed to last time that is. But THIS TIME they say, it feels different somehow. Like magical, soul mates at their finest. And maybe they forget that this is the same way they felt when they met their current wife or husband, you know before life happened to them. But the jerk insists, no..no, this feeling is different. So all those months and years are thrown down the toilet. Just like that.

In most cases or not the other person actually wants to work it out, you know...because vows were taken, promises were made and for THEM this is not something that you can just walk away from. But either way, it doesn't matter because the person is gone in search of some idea of love and fantasy that will fade as quickly as the feelings sparked between them and the girl or guy they hooked up with.

But the line that really drives me insane, that I hear these marriage breakers say is this: "Honestly, I can't stay married. I have to pursue this other person. I owe it to myself. I owe myself this kind of happiness."

This is the thing. I've talked with my friends and family and boyfriend about this line that is the common thread in all these stories. And this is what we decided:

You owe yourself crap. I'm so tired of hearing about people who are trying to 'owe themselves happiness' Yes, we all have the right to PURSUE happiness and we should try to be happy. But when you are married, you owe you self LESS than you owe the other person. It is no longer about you. And when I get married it won't be just about me anymore. I think people are so in love with all these ideas and have no sense of responsibility towards the person they promise their life. Its almost like if they say they owe it to themselves, that if for some reason they deny this truth, than they cannot look themselves in the mirror each day. That by telling their wife or husband they 'owe it to themselves to pursue this and be happy' it somehow makes their actions okay. Or at least more okay. Its more justified this way and its not.

I know I'm not married and I'm certain when I do get married there will be many peeks and valleys. My parents have been married for over 35 years. And let me tell you there were a lot of valleys. I witnessed it all. But now 35 years later they are closer than they ever have been. At times I thought about how awful it must have been for them trying to stick it out through the bad times. But that's the thing they both really shared was their commitment and loyalty. Honestly it got them through. Now they are better because of it. I'm not saying all marriages can last or do last or even should last. But I know a few different people who now are divorced or going to be divorced and never wanted to be. And their ex is somewhere out there trying to chase this idea of love and happiness-even if it costs them everything. Even if it means they leave their kids behind. A couple of them will come back and want their life back to how it was, but they can't have their old life back again and their marriage is over.

So it may be harsh and maybe I'm uncomplicating the messiness of love, but I don't think we owe ourselves nearly as much as we owe others. Especially if we are married. If we start thinking we owe ourselves less, maybe we'll actually become happier.