What Are You?
That was a question asked of me by my darling 7th graders today, God bless their souls. Their final project for the rotation is to choose a famous Hispanic person to do a report on. I had a ready-made list (which included those with more noble claims to fame like Nobel Prize-winning authors and such), but I approved of others they wanted to do that weren’t on the list. One chose Jennifer Lopez, another Albert Pujols, and other various and sundry Hispanic actors, musicians and sports figures were named. One boy raised his hand.
“Could we do you?”
“Me? (laughs) Ummm, no. I’m not Hispanic.”
That resulted in a chorus of “You’re not? I thought you were!”
I rolled my eyes and sighed, “Just because someone speaks Spanish doesn’t mean they are Hispanic.”
“Well, what are you then?”
If anyone else had asked me that question I may have been a little perturbed at his or her brazenness. But I realized they’re 7th graders. They probably don’t know any better. I was a little surprised, though, and I kiddingly said, “What am I? I’m a citizen of these here United States of America just like you are!”
“But no, what is your . . . heritage?”
“Uh, my heritage is . . . African-American.” I mean, that’s what they really wanted to know to begin with. It’s not their asking about my “heritage” that bothered me. I was raised to be proud of who I am. I don’t know why, but it just slightly unsettles me when people have a need to place me. For some reason, it’s hard for people to fathom the existence of a non-Hispanic, Spanish-speaking black girl whose parents don’t know a lick of the language.
Another question my kids always ask is, “Señora Smith, what kind of music do you listen to?” It’s like, they would have a better grasp of me if they knew what I listened to. They would be better able to place me.
I’ve been in Montgomery for 12 years, but as soon as I open my mouth when I meet someone new, they ask where I’m from. It’s weird because Montgomery is basically home. It’s where we’ve lived the longest. Yet anytime I’m asked that question, I have to give a back-story because I’m not really “from” anywhere: “Well, I was born in Mississippi, and then we moved to Italy, and then we moved here, so . . . I dunno. But my parents are from Philly.”
On one hand, it kind of bothers me that people are so caught up in trying to figure out “what” I am, but on the other hand, it’s kind of amusing that they seem to care so much.
UGST Verdict
I was so scared to get my final grade from my UGST class. Straight up and honestly, I was ashamed of my final paper. It was not my best work and I felt like the lamest dork turning that in. My prof was inundated with PhD comps, so it took him a little longer to get things graded, but I finally talked to him today. The overall verdict: A.
I was flabbergasted. I was praying I’d get a C, and I would have been satisfied with it because I was convinced my final paper was atrocious. I guess I’m a little hard on myself. My prof was teetering between giving me an A- or a B+ on the paper, but I didn’t have the heart to try to convince him to give me the A- when I didn’t even feel that I deserved to get the B+. I told him I was completely satisfied with the B+ for my conscience's sake. And the word is that my prof for this class is not a gracious grader. He is no joke. So, I guess he saw something in my paper that I didn’t. I am just so thankful for God’s grace and mercy and longsuffering despite my procrastinatory spirit. I really am.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Saturday, October 28, 2006
A Few Cool (to me, anyway) Things
1. This sounds really awesome: Godblogcon. I mean, just say it. It sounds pretty innovative. It's a conference about using the media force of the blog "to engage the culture as thoughtful, articulate, and winsome witnesses of the redeeming work of Christ in every area of life." Hmmm . . . blog = witness? And my pops says it's a waste of time. Ah, the generation gap.
2. Isn't it weird when you realize things for the first time that have always existed? Like, when something just dawns on you all of a sudden, and you're like, "I should have known that!" As trivial as it is, I just realized that one of my favorite daily comic strips, For Better or For Worse, is set in Canada. The characters are Canadian. I mean, who cares, but it was like, all this time, and I never knew that! It almost makes me feel ashamed.
3. I got my Malcolm Gladwell fix watching this video of him (scroll down and click the very last one) at the recent New Yorker Festival. He's quite an engaging speaker. He's Canadian too, by the way (but I always knew that). And to think, (my claim to fame . . . ) I got an email from him. (All right, it was only one line, but still!)
4. I really love this song by Starfield called "My Generation." It's a classic blast-at-full-volume-and-sing-along. Check it out here! And weird, but they're Canadian too. The Canada connection amongst my few cool things was not intentional, but sometimes it works out that way, I guess. The chorus:
How do we feel?
How do we feel?
My generation is aching for real
Dying for love
Crying for truth
My generation is aching for You.
2. Isn't it weird when you realize things for the first time that have always existed? Like, when something just dawns on you all of a sudden, and you're like, "I should have known that!" As trivial as it is, I just realized that one of my favorite daily comic strips, For Better or For Worse, is set in Canada. The characters are Canadian. I mean, who cares, but it was like, all this time, and I never knew that! It almost makes me feel ashamed.
3. I got my Malcolm Gladwell fix watching this video of him (scroll down and click the very last one) at the recent New Yorker Festival. He's quite an engaging speaker. He's Canadian too, by the way (but I always knew that). And to think, (my claim to fame . . . ) I got an email from him. (All right, it was only one line, but still!)
4. I really love this song by Starfield called "My Generation." It's a classic blast-at-full-volume-and-sing-along. Check it out here! And weird, but they're Canadian too. The Canada connection amongst my few cool things was not intentional, but sometimes it works out that way, I guess. The chorus:
How do we feel?
How do we feel?
My generation is aching for real
Dying for love
Crying for truth
My generation is aching for You.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Post-St. Louie Musings
Okay, so I went to St. Louis this past Thursday for IQ Forum 2006 and returned Sunday night. I had a doggone blast. I mean, that was inevitable for any and all who participated. And I promise I’m not saying that because I was a little panelist this time around or even because I expected it because I had a blast the last time, but rather because people who came who were kind of iffy about attending at first said that it exceeded their expectations. I won’t get into all the nitty gritty of what each speaker said ('speaker' not 'preacher' because this was not, I repeat, was not, a preaching conference), but I came away with several little nuggets that I’m going to try to put into practice: prioritize and don’t try to do it all—God hasn’t called us to do it all, make it a point to stay aware and relevant to the culture around me so that I can better respond to it (not reflect it), and make it a point to get out of my comfort zone.
Aside from the Forum, I was allowed to connect and reconnect with like-minded and goaled people, which is always refreshing. I mean, how often do you get to talk about non-Euclidian geometry, the possibility of Bono having the Holy Ghost, and the implications of mayonnaise consumption and feel at home? (Of course, more serious and spiritual things were discussed amongst my friends as well, but just to give you an idea of the dorky/nerdy trivial things that I find fun to talk about and how great it is not to feel like a dork/nerd while doing so.)
The following are just some jumbled conclusions, observations, whatever, in no order of importance or significance:
1. I did not meet “the one” as I subconsciously hoped. Or, maybe I did or already have and he was hiding from me.
2. St. Louis is in my future. If all works out according to plan, it will be. If all does not work out according to plan . . . umm, we’re going to think positive here!
3. Pantyhose are frowned upon in some church circles. Rather than being “unholy” not to wear them, it’s uncool to wear them. Pantyhose pooh-poohers unite!
4. Andy Smith is one of the coolest speakers I have heard in while. (And it’s not just because we share the same last name.) Maybe it’s the deep voice and magnetic presence. The man has a very profound ministry, for sure.
5. U2’s “How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb” and Jonny Lang's “Turn Around” are must-haves.
6. The Cardinals are no joke and Pujols is the man.
7. Even cheese slices can be grated in an emergency if you own one of those Pampered Chef grating things.
8. There are times when certain laughs are over the top. I know my laugh can be boisterous, but some laughs cross the line.
9. Having a CSI-connected guest at the house may cause cleaning neurosis.
10. Having a Gabriel García Márquez novel in tow could rival the iPod when attempting to make a statement of airport gate waiting area sophistication.
Aside from the Forum, I was allowed to connect and reconnect with like-minded and goaled people, which is always refreshing. I mean, how often do you get to talk about non-Euclidian geometry, the possibility of Bono having the Holy Ghost, and the implications of mayonnaise consumption and feel at home? (Of course, more serious and spiritual things were discussed amongst my friends as well, but just to give you an idea of the dorky/nerdy trivial things that I find fun to talk about and how great it is not to feel like a dork/nerd while doing so.)
The following are just some jumbled conclusions, observations, whatever, in no order of importance or significance:
1. I did not meet “the one” as I subconsciously hoped. Or, maybe I did or already have and he was hiding from me.
2. St. Louis is in my future. If all works out according to plan, it will be. If all does not work out according to plan . . . umm, we’re going to think positive here!
3. Pantyhose are frowned upon in some church circles. Rather than being “unholy” not to wear them, it’s uncool to wear them. Pantyhose pooh-poohers unite!
4. Andy Smith is one of the coolest speakers I have heard in while. (And it’s not just because we share the same last name.) Maybe it’s the deep voice and magnetic presence. The man has a very profound ministry, for sure.
5. U2’s “How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb” and Jonny Lang's “Turn Around” are must-haves.
6. The Cardinals are no joke and Pujols is the man.
7. Even cheese slices can be grated in an emergency if you own one of those Pampered Chef grating things.
8. There are times when certain laughs are over the top. I know my laugh can be boisterous, but some laughs cross the line.
9. Having a CSI-connected guest at the house may cause cleaning neurosis.
10. Having a Gabriel García Márquez novel in tow could rival the iPod when attempting to make a statement of airport gate waiting area sophistication.
Monday, October 16, 2006
The quotation
posted on this week's edition of 90&9.com kind of melancholically resonated with me:
The thing that makes you exceptional, if you are at all, is inevitably that which must also make you lonely.
–Lorraine Hansberry
The thing that makes you exceptional, if you are at all, is inevitably that which must also make you lonely.
–Lorraine Hansberry
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Fair Foul: The World's Smallest Lady
"Fair is foul, and foul is fair: / Hover through the fog and filthy air" (Macbeth I, i, 11-12).
Those are the chantings of the Weird Sisters, otherwise known as the witches in the play Macbeth before they proclaim to the play's namesake their self-fulfilling prophecies.
That has not much to do with what happened today except that I went to the fair, and I ended up leaving in a bit of a foul mood because I did something that I'm really ashamed of but that many seemed indifferent to.
I love the fair. I rode bunches of rides until I almost made myself sick, I ate corn dogs and funnel cake, I was having a great time. But then I came across a booth with a painting of a lady sitting on the palm of someone's hand which advertised The World's Smallest Lady. "See the world's smallest lady for only a dollar!" shouted the loudspeaker. Those I was with were eager, and, thinking it was some kind of cheap hoax, I went along and paid my dollar just to see for myself.
I went around the corner to see the "World's Smallest Lady" and found a very short, slightly disfigured woman who obviously was affected by dwarfism. As soon as I rounded that corner, it hit me that this is a real, live person. A person with feelings and a mind and a life. God, I felt so ashamed. She just sat there and nodded at people who walked by. I quickly acknowledged her with a pitiful nod, averted my eyes and walked on. Some people were actually stopping right in front of her and staring. What were they thinking when they saw her? Look at that freak. I can't begin to imagine how humiliating that must be. To have people ogle you like you're an animal in a zoo.
I couldn't believe I had done that. I watched a human being being exploited at the fair. And not just that, but I partook in the exploitation. I did pay a dollar, didn't I? I hated that. Passionately. And it undid the fun I had up until that point. I tried to explain how I felt to my friends, and maybe they felt a pang of remorse, I don't know, but they must've put it out of their minds because then they wanted to ride the thing that suddenly shoots you up in the air, suspends you and then unexpectedly drops you back down.
"The World's Smallest Lady" or not, that woman is a human being, and created by God just like the rest of us. It made me feel sick that her condition was being exploited for the entertainment of others.
Those are the chantings of the Weird Sisters, otherwise known as the witches in the play Macbeth before they proclaim to the play's namesake their self-fulfilling prophecies.
That has not much to do with what happened today except that I went to the fair, and I ended up leaving in a bit of a foul mood because I did something that I'm really ashamed of but that many seemed indifferent to.
I love the fair. I rode bunches of rides until I almost made myself sick, I ate corn dogs and funnel cake, I was having a great time. But then I came across a booth with a painting of a lady sitting on the palm of someone's hand which advertised The World's Smallest Lady. "See the world's smallest lady for only a dollar!" shouted the loudspeaker. Those I was with were eager, and, thinking it was some kind of cheap hoax, I went along and paid my dollar just to see for myself.
I went around the corner to see the "World's Smallest Lady" and found a very short, slightly disfigured woman who obviously was affected by dwarfism. As soon as I rounded that corner, it hit me that this is a real, live person. A person with feelings and a mind and a life. God, I felt so ashamed. She just sat there and nodded at people who walked by. I quickly acknowledged her with a pitiful nod, averted my eyes and walked on. Some people were actually stopping right in front of her and staring. What were they thinking when they saw her? Look at that freak. I can't begin to imagine how humiliating that must be. To have people ogle you like you're an animal in a zoo.
I couldn't believe I had done that. I watched a human being being exploited at the fair. And not just that, but I partook in the exploitation. I did pay a dollar, didn't I? I hated that. Passionately. And it undid the fun I had up until that point. I tried to explain how I felt to my friends, and maybe they felt a pang of remorse, I don't know, but they must've put it out of their minds because then they wanted to ride the thing that suddenly shoots you up in the air, suspends you and then unexpectedly drops you back down.
"The World's Smallest Lady" or not, that woman is a human being, and created by God just like the rest of us. It made me feel sick that her condition was being exploited for the entertainment of others.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
When It’s Just Me
Okay, I know I’ve blogged about this thing several times, but it’s an upcoming event of special interest to me that has been at the forefront of my mind. A week from today, I will, once again, be in St. Louis to participate in the IQ Forum.
There are several questions that I, consciously or subconsciously, ask myself each time pre-embarking on a trip:
1. What am I going to wear? If this question isn’t settled, I’m going to feel uncomfortable. I have to pick out stuff that’ll make me feel comfortable and confident or else, I’ll be squirming and feeling self-conscious the whole time.
2. How should I plan to do my hair? This is akin to #1, but even more personal.
3. What should I plan to do in my free time? I’m going there for a particular purpose, but I’m also going to have pockets of free time here and there. If I were coming with a friend, the resolution to this one would be much easier, but since I’m by myself, I’m going to have to make a bit more of an effort and probably plan ahead a bit more to have something to do during down time.
4. Am I going to meet “the one”? Hold on . . . I’ll discuss.
These four questions almost always go through my mind when I go anywhere, like on a far away trip by myself. Numbers 1-3 are kinda shallow, in the big scheme of things, I guess, but somewhat understandable considering the circumstances. But I hate number 4. I hate the fact that number 4 even goes through my mind just because I’m going somewhere “new,” but it does.
I really do everything in my power to not seem . . . you know, desperate. I don’t think I am. I honestly don’t think I’ve gotten close (I hope). I try to disassociate myself as much as possible from anything resembling in the slightest a, shall we say, “man-huntress” type of aura. But number 4 silently slips through my mind when I go on a trip because I guess since the social landscape where I am looks pretty bleak (not just guy-wise, but just people my age and like interest-wise in general), I think things are brighter somewhere else. And not just that, but I guess trips in general kind of have this . . . expect-the-unexpected, magical kind of air to me.
When I travel by myself, I feel like a woman about to take on the world. I bought my ticket. I’m driving myself to the airport. I’m checking whatever bags and making whatever connecting flights. I feel so self-sufficient. But on the flip side of all of that self-sufficient, I-can-go-anywhere-in-the-world feeling, is this wondering. A million what ifs swirl around me. It makes me heady with anticipation, but at the same time, a lingering self-doubt and self-consciousness set in. Not just because of number 4, but this time especially because I’m going to be a speaker during two of the sessions. What am I going to say? How will people react to what I say? Is what I have to say relevant? Will it connect with anyone?
Anyway, it’s coming up oh, so soon. I guess I need to figure out what I’m going to plan for my poor substitute to do with the kids during my absence.
There are several questions that I, consciously or subconsciously, ask myself each time pre-embarking on a trip:
1. What am I going to wear? If this question isn’t settled, I’m going to feel uncomfortable. I have to pick out stuff that’ll make me feel comfortable and confident or else, I’ll be squirming and feeling self-conscious the whole time.
2. How should I plan to do my hair? This is akin to #1, but even more personal.
3. What should I plan to do in my free time? I’m going there for a particular purpose, but I’m also going to have pockets of free time here and there. If I were coming with a friend, the resolution to this one would be much easier, but since I’m by myself, I’m going to have to make a bit more of an effort and probably plan ahead a bit more to have something to do during down time.
4. Am I going to meet “the one”? Hold on . . . I’ll discuss.
These four questions almost always go through my mind when I go anywhere, like on a far away trip by myself. Numbers 1-3 are kinda shallow, in the big scheme of things, I guess, but somewhat understandable considering the circumstances. But I hate number 4. I hate the fact that number 4 even goes through my mind just because I’m going somewhere “new,” but it does.
I really do everything in my power to not seem . . . you know, desperate. I don’t think I am. I honestly don’t think I’ve gotten close (I hope). I try to disassociate myself as much as possible from anything resembling in the slightest a, shall we say, “man-huntress” type of aura. But number 4 silently slips through my mind when I go on a trip because I guess since the social landscape where I am looks pretty bleak (not just guy-wise, but just people my age and like interest-wise in general), I think things are brighter somewhere else. And not just that, but I guess trips in general kind of have this . . . expect-the-unexpected, magical kind of air to me.
When I travel by myself, I feel like a woman about to take on the world. I bought my ticket. I’m driving myself to the airport. I’m checking whatever bags and making whatever connecting flights. I feel so self-sufficient. But on the flip side of all of that self-sufficient, I-can-go-anywhere-in-the-world feeling, is this wondering. A million what ifs swirl around me. It makes me heady with anticipation, but at the same time, a lingering self-doubt and self-consciousness set in. Not just because of number 4, but this time especially because I’m going to be a speaker during two of the sessions. What am I going to say? How will people react to what I say? Is what I have to say relevant? Will it connect with anyone?
Anyway, it’s coming up oh, so soon. I guess I need to figure out what I’m going to plan for my poor substitute to do with the kids during my absence.
Monday, October 09, 2006
For all who are fired up about
meeting me in person at the 2nd annual IQ Forum coming up in St. Louis next week—October 20-21 to be exact—this post is especially for you!
A banquet spread with a feast for the mind will be available during the newly instituted Roundtable Discussions at the Forum this year. Topics ranging from Christian fiction to politics will be discussed, and if you plan on coming (one of the main reasons being, I’m sure, to see me), you’ll need to check out the suggested readings and summaries here.
Is your brain suffering from an intellectual drought? Is your spirit running on E? Well, why don’t you, as they say, kill two birds with one stone and mosey on over to the IQ Forum to satisfy both mind and soul? Plus, I’ll be there. And you know how cool I am:
Come to the IQ Forum. Fo' shizzle.
A banquet spread with a feast for the mind will be available during the newly instituted Roundtable Discussions at the Forum this year. Topics ranging from Christian fiction to politics will be discussed, and if you plan on coming (one of the main reasons being, I’m sure, to see me), you’ll need to check out the suggested readings and summaries here.
Is your brain suffering from an intellectual drought? Is your spirit running on E? Well, why don’t you, as they say, kill two birds with one stone and mosey on over to the IQ Forum to satisfy both mind and soul? Plus, I’ll be there. And you know how cool I am:
Come to the IQ Forum. Fo' shizzle.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Weird Things I Think and Malcolm Gladwell
Like, today I was sitting in my room, imagining how I would function if I had no arms. Why do I think of such weird things? But there really are people in the world who have no arms. And somehow, they function.
I thought that perhaps many things we do with our hands, an armless person would do with his feet. A pad and pencil were nearby. Could I write just using my feet? With my left foot, I slipped the pencil between the big toe and pointer toe of the right. I was surprisingly able to grasp the pencil that way. But when I began to write, it was a complete disaster. I tried my hardest, but the results were nothing but unintelligible scribble scrabble.
**************************************************************************************
I wrote Malcolm Gladwell. He’s the author of The Tipping Point and Blink, two New York Times Bestsellers that I’ve been raving about lately. Monday, I finished reading The Tipping Point and was so excited about it that I went to his website, found an email link, crafted a complimentary message, and launched it out into cyberspace, not expecting a response from such a brilliant, New Yorker contributing, dazzling, popular persona. He was voted as one of Time Magazine’s 100 Most Influential people, for crying out loud. Homeboy is an entry on Wikipedia.
In short, I told him that I was deeply inspired by his writing and that I hope I will have the opportunity to meet him in person one day. Today I received a response:
(sigh.) That one line made my entire year. (lol, I’m such a dork, I know.) I know I’m not the only one who has ever received an email from Malcolm Gladwell. But how many people do you know can say they’ve gotten an email from him? Yeah . . . I guess then that would raise the question as to how many people would actually care enough to blog about a one line email. And of course, that would lead into the question of how many people are so obsessive that they would’ve emailed the guy in the first place. Okay, I’m done.
I thought that perhaps many things we do with our hands, an armless person would do with his feet. A pad and pencil were nearby. Could I write just using my feet? With my left foot, I slipped the pencil between the big toe and pointer toe of the right. I was surprisingly able to grasp the pencil that way. But when I began to write, it was a complete disaster. I tried my hardest, but the results were nothing but unintelligible scribble scrabble.
**************************************************************************************
I wrote Malcolm Gladwell. He’s the author of The Tipping Point and Blink, two New York Times Bestsellers that I’ve been raving about lately. Monday, I finished reading The Tipping Point and was so excited about it that I went to his website, found an email link, crafted a complimentary message, and launched it out into cyberspace, not expecting a response from such a brilliant, New Yorker contributing, dazzling, popular persona. He was voted as one of Time Magazine’s 100 Most Influential people, for crying out loud. Homeboy is an entry on Wikipedia.
In short, I told him that I was deeply inspired by his writing and that I hope I will have the opportunity to meet him in person one day. Today I received a response:
thank you Chantell. I'm flattered. best, m
(sigh.) That one line made my entire year. (lol, I’m such a dork, I know.) I know I’m not the only one who has ever received an email from Malcolm Gladwell. But how many people do you know can say they’ve gotten an email from him? Yeah . . . I guess then that would raise the question as to how many people would actually care enough to blog about a one line email. And of course, that would lead into the question of how many people are so obsessive that they would’ve emailed the guy in the first place. Okay, I’m done.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Tetris
A while ago, I downloaded Tetris onto my cell phone, for those in-between times when I’m waiting for whatever reason and needing something to occupy myself. It’s a really old game, quite simple, but mesmerizing. Turn a falling shape every which way so that it will collaborate with other shapes to form a line. My thumbs have gotten pretty nimble because of it.On one occasion as I was engrossed in Tetris, I realized how intense I was about the whole thing. My determination to make the pieces fit. I was surprised at how irritated I would get if a piece fell out of place. If I didn’t fit where I wanted it to, or worse, if there weren’t any other options and my only choice were to let it fall out of sync with the others. Yet, interestingly, I was also surprised at how relieved I would feel once I realized that the supposedly out-of-sync piece didn’t impede my progress and that it eventually worked out with other falling pieces to come.
Then, I began to see Tetris as an allegory of my life. I’m always so determined to make the pieces fit. And I get upset when they don’t fit together the way I want them to. I just have to keep reminding myself that there are other pieces to come—it’s just that I don’t yet see how they’re all going to work out together.
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