Had to write it...

So.  Ive been thinking about this post ALL DAY.  And here it is, 11:11pm, and I am just now bringing myself to do it.  Im hoping that i can keep this VERY short and sweet, just get to the point and get it over with.

A few days ago,a close friend of mine wrote This Blog, and of course I commented.  It was about her dreaming about a situation surrounding her deceased father, and her having to 'let go'.  I was close to tears reading it, and wondered in the comments if it would take something like that for me to begin letting go.  I mean, her father has been gone for years, and she's still grieving.  Daddy has only been gone since June2009, and it feels like the pain will never go away.

Anyway...

I was dreaming.  I was back in Muskegon, MI, visiting family, I'm guessing, since I really don't have any other reason to be there.  I don't really remember much of the dream, except the end.  I am sitting in the backseat of someone's SUV with my girl Peaches (who lives here in DC now, but we grew up together), and my cousin, Chris (who, ironically, still lives there, and is Lt. Fire Chief).  Its dark outside, and I'm guessing its around midnight, and we hear a marching band.

Marching band in Muskegon Hts. is a huge deal.  EVERYONE is in band...the Band Director, Mr. Moore, went to FAMU, and treated us like we were in college.  We played songs that were currently playing on the radio, formations were tight, we even danced.  Band was hot.

So when we heard the band at nearly midnight, we were slightly shocked, but knew they were getting some good work in.  I looked over at Peaches, who said something to the effect of "Go ahead, Mr. Moore, work them out!", and I smiled as well, knowing what she meant.

Band in the Heights...well Muskegon Hts. Tiger pride, is a huge thing within the alumni of the school, so there are always community members volunteering to do whatever they can to help out.  Former band members (now middle aged adults) often march alongside of the band, for safety reasons, as well as to keep lines straight, march steps on time, etc.

For some reason, I think we wanted to get out of the SUV and watch, so my cousin opens my door, and I look out at the band.

"Oh my God, that's my daddy".

I saw him, but he didn't see me.  He was too busy making sure the band members were doing the right thing.  He was waving at the neighbors who came out to watch the band (at midnight, like it was a parade).  He was smiling and he was happy, but he didn't see me.  I began crying, bawling hysterically.  I don't know what else happened around me...I just remember crying.

And then I woke up.

It hurt my feelings to wake up.  I saw La at church today, and she thanked me for commenting on her blog, and I poured this story out...and by the end, we were both in tears.

I don't know what this means...but I had to get it out.  I wish I had a dream interpreter...or at least an appointment with Dr. Sistagirl...

Until next time...

I am (not?) my hair...

Yesterday, I went to program with my hair out. Its HUGE right now. Of course, Saturday, I had an audition, and its common to have your hair the same way for the audition that you have it styled in your headshots, and because my hair is pretty versatile right now, my headshots were taken with the big hair. Of course, it can always be pulled back, so I have a smaller shot on the resume' side showing that. Its been kinda rainy and humid around here these past few days, so I thought nothing of just letting the fro go until the weather dried up. yesterday was another rainy day, and because I don't really cover my hair in the rain (its just hair...and its just rain. They go well together), and it just got bigger as the day went along.

I must admit,it felt good to not having to pull it back or up and out of the way.

When my students walked into the room (only 1 of our returners came yesterday, so it was all of the new girls), they all reacted in some way. Of course, I had prepared for that, and made sure I didn't make a big deal of it. We make sure that when they walk in, the focus is on them, not us. So I would just comment quickly, and change the subject to something about them.

One girl had a big reaction..."OH WOOOOW"....I said "yeah. How are you? How was your weekend?", quickly changing the subject. She couldn't stop gawking at it. It was a little uncomfortable, but I didn't sit and think about that much, I had students to tend to.

As the day went on, she began making comments about my hair. "Who did your hair?" I did. "What did you do to it?" I just wet it, added a little bit of product. But it gets curly with water.

And then she said "Girl please...those are tracks. I mean, its cute, but those are tracks".

Right then, I wanted to breathe hellfire on this child and shut her up. Like, seriously...for real? Tracks? For real?

Now, I have seen some really cute weave/track styles around here...and right now, everyone does want the curly fro style, so they add the tightly coiled tracks and pull the curls apart...so I can see how she'd confuse me with this. However, our lone returning student told her that it was my real hair. She then asked me again if it were tracks, and I told her no, you can scratch my scalp and everything (not that I'd really let her though).

She kept going on and on about the tracks, and I actually had to turn my back on this girl, because I was really getting angry about this. Then she asked my co-worker about my hair, the one Ive been working with for almost 2 years now. "What did you think when you first saw Miz Rayawwwwna's tracks?" "That's her real hair..."...I later found out that co-worker had heard her talking about these 'tracks' all day, but never realized she was talking about me, and found it funny.

I am very protective about my hair. I tell people to please ask before touching it, because it bothers me when you just stick your hands all up there. I don't let people 'play' in my hair. I believe it comes from losing it to cancer treatments...and then being so scared when it grew back.

Something no one knows (this is my first time ever admitting it)...my doctor told me to cut my hair off after one of my locs came out in my hands. I was already in radiation, and it was breaking down the keratin in my body. I had nails that fell off, and my nose and ears bruised easily, feeling mushy even. I had known for a few weeks that my hair would be next...he said I may no go chemo bald, but I should expect to lose hair.

I made it sound like I was wrestling with cutting off my hair...I guess, looking back, I really was. I didn't want to do it, not at all. When I finally got the nerve together, I went to Dwight and had him cover the mirror as he cut my locs off. I still have a small handful around here, in a bag. For the first few weeks, when things were ugly and uneven, I wore scarves, exclusively. I was so ashamed of having no hair.

When I finally did reveal it, I got a few shocked glances...but that was it. Mind you, I was still in college at the time, and a few of my girlfriends had all just shaved their heads too, but for fashionable/personal reasons. I guess everyone just thought I was going along with the trend, and honestly, that was cool with me. I didn't have to explain this to anyone, not even my roommate. Basically, I allowed my silence/indecision on the matter to lie for me, and not let anyone know what was going on with me.

I had to think about why this girl's comment about tracks made me so angry, and I think that's it! It took me so long (4 years almost to the day) to get my hair back to where I am completely comfortable with it. For someone to insist that it was fake offended me completely. Did she know that? No. Would I let her know? Absolutely.

I also had to think about her and her situation. Was she really making fun of me, or was she admiring me in her own 7th grade way? Both are possible, but I am choosing to see it the latter way. She is a young lady who is maybe 12, trying to fit in, trying to be cool. She doesn't have alot of hair, and usually just wears hers back in a ponytail, nothing fancy, nothing special. Her environment tells her that if you want long hair, or hair that is big and puffy, you buy it and sew it in. She is just coming to me from her own experiences. She may or may not think she's cute (one of her shout outs yesterday was to herself "Because she's pretty"...we find that many of them stress their looks when they are actually very insecure about them, as a false sense of security), and may think I am the opposite of what her personal thoughts of 'cute' are.

By the end of the day, I had calmed down. As we walked out of the classroom to our closet when we put all of our materials for the night, somehow I realized that she and I were ahead of the rest of the group. I told her quietly "It hurts my feelings when people comment on my hair being fake. I used to have cancer, and didn't have any hair, and it took a long time for it to get this long. So it really hurt my feelings when you kept saying that." Her mouth dropped open wide, and she didn't say anything. I told her "see you tomorrow", and smiled.

I shared this with my co-workers in debrief, and explained that I don't know if she really listened to my whole statement, or stopped listening at the word cancer...but they assured me, she heard it.

I never really thought I'd ever be so touchy about my hair...ah well...

Until next time...

Kids these days...

So clearly, you can see by my picture up there (if you didn't already know me) that I am a light bright. I mean, I'm bi-racial...nothing new about that. Though (I can now proudly boast)I am a slight 2 shades darker due to my world tour this summer.

Anyway...my kids are just as light skinned as I am. Well, the Cadet is darker, but that's because he's always been one to stay outside in the sun, where as Boy Wonder (J) and Bean pretty much hang indoors (their asthma is worse than the Cadet's, and poor air qualities contribute to their indoors-ed-ness.

So, I come home today, and talk to the kids about their day, as I always do. Turns out that Bean realized today that she is one of 4 girls in her school that has locs...everyone else is a boy or adult. That's pretty cool, I tell her. Then she tells me about how somebody in her class got her nerves, but she shut them up, "but in a nice way, mom, I promise"...so of course, Ive gotta hear this.

"So ______ says he never saw a white girl with locs before, and I tell him I'm not white. he says 'yuh-huh, you are too white'"

Bean explains to me, very plainly "I cracked his face momma. I told him "I'm not white, but my grandma is" and he didn't even know what to think. He is still prolly sitting there tryin to figure it out."

LOLOLOL!!!
That was her telling Him...but in a nice way.
Go Bean!

The Realization that its working...

The kiddios and I spent Thanksgiving with my mom up in MI. It was a nice holiday (the exception being that I realized I'm allergic to mom's dog, the ONLY dog Ive ever liked in this world).

Of course, kids being kids, there were many opportunities to flex my AYD at Home skills. I mean, when you put 2 adults and 3 kids in a VERY small 2 bedroom apartment, things get really close, really quick.

I realized though, that the AYD works when my mom and I were having a conversation with Q. He was having an issue with Bean and she came out of the room, feelings hurt because he told her "I'm starting to hate you now". So of course, I had to have a conversation with them both.

I explained that first of all, words CAN hurt a person. That I think I understood what Q meant, but I don't think Bean did. There's no secret in our house that everyone really does (down deep) love each other, but that siblings annoy one another. That's kind of part of being a sibling, especially a younger one. The younger sib tests the patience of the older. But the way that the older expresses that annoyance effects the situation. I asked Q if I told him that I was starting to hate him, would his feelings be hurt? He said yes. I asked him if I told him he was getting on my nerves, would his feeling be hurt in the same way; he said nope, that doesn't hurt him, he just knows to back off. Then he got my point.

My mom then explained that in dealing with the kiddios, I talk to them, not at them. We discuss what our issues are, and I ask them for alternatives. I ask for and value their opinions, and listen to them, treating them with respect. She said that I treat them like young people, not little kids.

That was my AHA moment.

Someone else saw what I was trying to do.

I feel like this really is working, and its worth something.