Revolution (Revelation)

Sometimes I wonder what has become of parents and their kids. I feel constantly surrounded by families who seem to think that their children, and their needs, come before everyone else around them. It’s not just the parents of the students I teach—in fact, this is rarely the case. I see it in the parents of kids who are the same age as my daughters. And the more exposure I have to it, the more it burns me up.

It begins with the questioning of authority. Teachers in particular. These parents seem to think that they should be running the classroom, and in effect letting their kids have no consequences for their actions. And if the teacher thinks for one moment he’s going to punish his students for their behavior, he’s got another thing coming. Those parents will go straight to the principal rather than taking the time to set up a meeting with the teacher.

What I would like to see is this: a teacher going into an office of one of these parents. Maybe he wants to read one of the reports they wrote. And when the report doesn’t satisfy him, he won’t make suggestions for editing and revising. He’ll mark it up in red and go straight to the parent’s boss, complaining about what a shoddy employee he hired.

It’s a perfect analogy, really. Is that the way to deal with a problem? To take your angst behind the “perpetrator’s” back and try to get that person disciplined? And what message does this send to our kids? That’s the part that’s beyond fucked up.

Scenario:

“Mama, Mr. Jones won’t let us have our holiday party because he said we misbehaved.”

“Did you?”

“Well, it was half my fault, but the other kids were being naughtier.”

“I don’t agree with that at all. You’re in first grade, and I don’t think it’s fair to cancel the holiday party because of a few rotten kids. I’m going to speak to the principal in the morning. Mr. Jones shouldn’t do that.”

Thoughts in the child’s mind: I don’t have to listen to Mr. Jones. He’s going to get in trouble. We didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one who’s wrong.

So the next time Mr. Jones asks this child to behave, will he? To do homework, will he? To show respect for authority, will he? Why? What is his motivation? The parents have stripped all authority and respect from the teacher, and their message to their children is loud and clear: your desires, no matter how petty, are more important than the teacher’s rules.

It doesn’t stop there. The parents lavish these children with every possible gift imaginable and birthday parties that cost upwards of $500. They invite every student in the class, expecting gifts (some invitations even specify which type of gifts!!) from all of them of course, and then don’t send out thank-you cards. (There are always exceptions, but they’re rare). And they do this for their kids every year so that the kids come to expect it. It’s no wonder these kids misbehave in the classroom setting (and other settings): they are the center of the world, the selfish, gluttonous world they’ve been raised in.

What is a parent to do? How can I raise my daughters to understand that they won’t have a giant birthday party every year, that when their teacher sends them home with a note that the class was naughty, they’re damn well going to write a letter of apology, that the world does not revolve around them even though their classmates seem to have this impression?

In this consumer-driven, corporate-sponsored society we’ve created for ourselves, we seem to have overlooked some important details about humanity: mainly, that our lives shouldn’t revolve around silly parties filled with cheap pieces of plastic, nonstop gifts, and a total disregard for what is most important—human relationships. The same parents who go over the teachers’ heads to complain to the principal are those who are spoiling their kids in every way imaginable. And while they complain, while they shop, they are missing out on what I value most about being a parent: spending quality time with my children as a family, showing them that giving to those in need is better than receiving, that respect is a part of going to school, and it begins at the classroom door, with the teacher.

In the end, how will they turn out? What kind of adults will they become? Only time will allow this revelation. But at least I can go to bed every night without the guilty conscious of a parent of an over-indulged, disrespectful child. And no matter how hard I have to fight this battle as my children witness this disrespect and indulgence among their peers, I know that in the end they will be better for it, that in the end, we will win the war. Because once they enter the real world, they will already know that it doesn’t revolve around them.

Blanket

Things that mystify me this morning:
clouds that brag of stubbornly stuck rain,
suggestions of an activity that
they then don’t want to participate in,
you.

Yes, you. At every chance you
leave me out in the cold,
procrastinate and passively aggress
your coexistence with mine.

Yet, you expect me to cut the threads
on every stitch that’s holding me together
to meet your needs, to cover you,
when I’ve barely enough warmth myself.

It’s all right. I know that you don’t know
how to sew, but really? Pick up a needle,
read a manual, buy some cloth, and
weave your threads into another blanket.
Mine’s taken.

Lines

Definitions of shallow:
of little depth,
varying only slightly
from a horizontal line,
not capable of serious thought,
you.

You don’t agree?
With a click of a button
you eliminate all openness
from your life,
easily closing the door
on words that vary
only slightly
from your horizontal line.

I would try to pry you open,
but I am swimming
in the depths
of my own zig-zagging
serious thoughts,
unable to waste a breath
on lines that follow the
horizon into nowhere.

Mouth

the same one that kisses
each daughter’s cheek
and whispers, “I love you”
a thousand times a week

the lips that open and close
over organically local food
and delectable chocolate
that brings on the best mood

the crooked and aging teeth
that bare themselves in grins
filled with laughter and love
and inglorious sins

this mouth is surely sore with vice
though can just as easily love
because what I say is who I am
not just who you were thinking of.

In This Moment

in this moment

I can find the pace I need to get me there stronger
Mythili can “read” a whole page in her elaborate story
Riona can say “I wuv you” seven times
Isabella can brush her top teeth by herself

and someone on the other side of the world
or right across town
is giving birth to a perfectly healthy baby
while another lost soul is pointing a gun to his head

in this moment

I can hear Alanis Morisette motivating my pedals
my students can see twenty pictures on Google
of the cedar trees they’ve never heard of
the teachers can track me down for brownies

and someone right across town
or on the other side of the world
is pounding a woman’s skull into the drywall,
while another is handing a ten-year-old his first pair of shoes.

in this moment

I will live
I will love
I will remember what I have
what we all have
(somewhere within us)

My Own Middle Place

Please tell me why
when I read books like The Middle Place
I think of you and want to scream,
to relive my childhood:
I want a do-over

I don’t want the rants and raves
the banging on doors
the sharks in your eyes
swimming at me with their
hatchets of hatred

I want a mother who could cuddle
with me on the couch,
read me stories while I curl up,
thumb in mouth,
and before the sun even sets
share a moment of joy with me

not one who’s so obsessed
with the food that has to
go on the table that she
trades her smiles for sour looks
before even closing the door at work

Please tell me why I can’t have
that imaginary childhood,
why I cannot gratify my memories
with some sort of happiness
that will last beyond
the closing of this book,

a place where I am comforted,
I am safe,
a place where I know my mother
loves me,
a place where she has shed her tiger’s skin
and wrapped her arms
around my aching soul.

Sunrise

I have seen you before
you are the one who has hidden
in the darkness before the dawn
the black so thick it blocks
you out of my wide-open eyes
my yearning for your explicit expression of truth
overcome by a sun that won’t shine

the bitterness sits
on my tongue like a cat on a fence
unable to determine
which way to pounce
because I am hungry for the truth
that you are too afraid to give me.

Instead you creep
as stealthily as the prey you think you are
hiding behind the curtain of obscurity
because you can’t bring your face to the face of
what’s real, what’s right here,
what we can all see
with the first streaks of a sunrise
that shines the same on all of us.

Filter

Am I too much like my father,
words spilling out of my mouth
as if a dam has broken at the
back of my throat,
flooding onlookers with whatever comes,
whether they want to listen
or would rather dash away,
scrambling for their own dignity
amidst the inundation?

Instead I criticize those who
keep their reservoirs behind bricks,
letting loose only small streams,
maintaining the walls
and freezing their vibrantly harsh
thoughts, never once
letting them pour out
for the rest of us to wade through.

But if I build it back, brick by brick,
trapping the intense waves
as the wind slaps and stings them,
as the rivers of my mind
pour deeper, darker water into the lake,
I know the dam will burst again
and I will gush through, swimming
with the words that make me who I am,
inviting whoever dares to join me.

Eighth Grade Science

I used to think that you and I were a covalent bond,
sharing our electrons in a Venn-diagram link
that could not be broken or shared with another atom.

But we are grown now, and I see the difference in us:
we are truly ionic, not connected in a way that we cannot break,
but handing electrons back and forth, giving and taking.

We are charged, sometimes positive, sometimes negative,
hovering around each other like fireflies in the forest,
our bond allowing us to gain strength from one another.

Concessions

From the Latin concedere, to completely yield

1999-2002

stop here and I will upsell you
a giant buttery tub as wide as a hug
a soda that weighs as much as your baby
so much candy you might puke later

but you’ll enjoy your theater experience
that much more because I suckered you in
because you yielded to your desires
and footed $25 more than what you paid for tickets

and as you hand me your card or cash
I’ll ignore the stench of BIB’s and
the slippery tractionless popcorn-filled floor
and the palm oil that permeates the air

smiling all the while as I earn my $7.50,
paying my way through college with this
thankless job, knowing that I can concede
to your audacity because one day I won’t have to.

2008-2010

my era of admission has come full circle
as step after step I tread as carefully as a crane
just like the paper ones that dangled,
pale blue and innocent, along the church aisles

now both of us have shed our naiveté
and the truth seeps from our souls
through black and white keyboards,
drunken words, and the wrath of darkness

in my mind I have seen both sides of this story
each one conceding to the other in a series
of twisted images that I can neither sleep through
nor accept when my eyes, paralyzed, pop open

yet, from this moment I recapture the past
and though I cannot change the path I led it down
I see you in the shadows as if for the first time
knowing that I can completely yield to our love.