Tuesday, December 30, 2008
In my job as Academic Dean of a career school, I work with people that are looking to change their lives due to their social, economic, or cultural circumstances. As part of the intake process, we perform an orientation that bristles with the optimism of opportunity. We play music and provide truly motivational words to fortify the student's decision to attend our school. We ask them to dig deep into their treasure troughs for the will to make their dream sustainable. As a business, we measure using a myriad of results; completion, attrition, and employment rates. Through all these outcomes, the pervasive and recurrent themes are the stories of perseverance. The many stories of which I am privy. Boys/men and girls/women having persevered through some of the most incredible circumstances to achieve a dream.
I have a story too, one that is filled with the endurance and pain of four decades. It is just as filled with the highs and deep lows of Master Chief Brashear. Though mine may not have been underwater, but they have been just as lung splitting as holding your breath for over four minutes. So as I sit here doing that Anhedonic thing; the television is going with subtitles, Pandora is playing through my IPOD earpiece, and I am typing on my blog. I am beginning to realize that I am forty one years old and never actually realized that I have ADD, ADHD, DVD, CD, and MP3. These are all congenital conditions (things that I was born with). My wife and daughter are asleep and even now at my age, I sit in awe and abject confusion about where next my ship will take them. There are many nights I lay awake at night not knowing if I can trust my compass. That deep desire to live life as fully as possible, but in the most enjoyable manner possible runs in diametric opposition to the sensible order of life. There is a point at which your story must become the bibliography for another.
As we grow, our priorities are supposed to be congruent with our responsibilities. We are supposed to develop good habits and have reached the point of visible maturity in person and environment. The disparate variations of our life choices being more evident at this age. We are supposed to be established, to have a thought out plan for tomorrow. It is the unsaid expectation that you are a grown up. In my run-ins and in my own life, I am discovering now that it can take a lifetime to shed the layers of wool that grow for winter. I have seen this manifest itself through the life of a student as I try to convince them that they can make it. The self sabotage that rears its head after decades of being told they will amount to nothing. In hearing my own voice guide me through a storm, reminding me of the many times I was told that I would not be this or that. Has my life been a quest to prove someone wrong? A deep desire to throw mud in an eye? The blueprint for life is there and yet, my disdain for architectural drawing cripples me. Therefore my ability to see the picture is hampered and it can only be imaged by the knowledge that the blueprint represents life itself. That's how it is for all of us, we can only manipulate that which we control. Our very breath a very tenuous existential question mark.
As we turn into this year that begins with the immense historical presence of a President Barack Obama, I am asking some deep questions. On a recent trip to an open house at the NASA facility in Greenbelt, we were given a briefing on the working of the Hubble telescope and shown the pictures of galaxies far away. I see the insignificance of my presence in the scope of a hundred galaxies and the true irrelevance of my existence. In this vast expanse and universe; I must ask the question; "What is is your impact on your little space?" That's the question that I want to bring to my students at the next orientation. I realize how much Generation Y has found itself in the cycle of historical seclusion and dismemberment. Its uniqueness its war cry, its best weapon, but it is also its Achilles heel.
To be continued.....................
Thursday, December 25, 2008
As all the anti-God rhetoric has evolved over the years, things like substituting "Happy Holidays" for the term "Christmas" have become common place. In fact in our offices we are very careful to send out holiday wishes lest we offend anyone by describing it as Christmas. That's the foolishness of it all. As if we would dare ask the Muslims to call Ramadan something else.
The reality is that we have been celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ through generations. Somewhere in the history of humankind a whole race recognized the importance of this one individual to the story of our people. It takes a whole lot of agreement to get the whole world to recognize one occurrence and pick a day to celebrate it. Of course the colonizers of new worlds played a large role in this, spreading Christianity worldwide. Somehow this story, printed in books that have no copyright, has prevailed.
So for all those of you that get offended when someone says, "Merry Christmas" to you, all I can say is too bad. Try getting another holiday changed for your own benefit. Turn Veteran's day to "If you had any inclination to fight" day, or Lincoln's birthday to, "These old Presidents" day. How about turning Martin Luther King day to "A whole bunch of us died too" day. Doesn't seem very likely does it? Well then sit back and enjoy the fact that even though in your house, where the focus of your celebrations is food and presents, Jesus made it possible for you to be off today.
You don't have to listen to your irritating co-workers and boss. They actually have to pay for your fat behind to stay home and stuff your mouth with food. You have an excuse to eat things that go against every doctor's order you have been given. Your trifling relatives actually have to put up with you for a day, and are going to be inclined to act nice. Despite the economy, you will actually get at least one present today. That's something to look forward to during your so called 'holiday'.
While you revel in your rhetoric, I am going to call it what it is "Christmas". A long time ago in a manger somewhere, a little baby was born and his legacy changed the world. I know it stopped me from punching quite a few people in the face and telling several folks where to go and how to get there. This little baby grew up and things he said and did stopped me from carrying a gun, and playing shoot 'em up. He is the reason I regret many of things that I did growing up, and caused me to commit my life to good.
So please, if you meet me today and I say "Merry Christmas" to you, don't get an attitude or try to correct me. Because, if not for him, meeting me would have meant some other words and you leaving without your wallet. "Merry Christmas, YOU HEARD!"
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
the first man I ever saw shed tear of grief or happiness
He was admirable and charismatic,
greeted you with a smile each and every time
He was quick to articulate his displeasure and define his dislikes,
but of these he had very few
He did not discriminate by social status,
nor differentiate by color
His home was our playground,
open to all those who were seeking solace
His kids our conduits to an accepted social peace
He fed us, quenched our thirst and never once sought payment
His cars drove us to unscheduled appointments
and picked us up from far away places
He was the father I never had,
the man who would first show me how a real man loves his family
He was a loving bear of a man,
his laughter the the bellow of a buffalo on the Savannah
He was my first ever fatherly hug,
a man who kissed his sons
He was protective of his keep,
but judicious in his judgments
He made sure that we wanted for nothing
Our needs were met as if by magic
His wand was his countenance,
which he wielded with gentle aplomb
Oh, for but to have a father of such stature
Not quite whom God had appointed for me,
but for another
Yet in him, I have had the opportunity to live,
if but for a moment, as his son
Dedicated to Alex Gwebe-Nyirenda (May His Soul Rest In Peace)
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Tell the haters,
Tell those that love you
Tell them all
Tell them you're graduating
Yes, even those that told you, you weren't going to make it
Better still, especially them
The ones smiling, yet dying slowly inside
Let em know
Tell that fool you're graduating
Yes, the one who left you with those two kids
In fact tell his trifling girlfriend too
Let them hear it from friends and some foes
Go on, tell everyone you know
It's your time, go ahead put on a show
You're graduating, let em know
Shout it from the stage and on the street
Let your gown flow, and make sure that you wave as you sit
Don't mind what they say, or if they stare
Do everything you can to make them aware
Because you're graduating today and it's your turn,
What do you care
Mama, told you you'd make it,
She prophesied way back in the day
Told you not to pay any mind,
Nor care what people would say
You persevered and held on to hope,
as if hope came in little drops
You stood steadfast trying to find your place
Fighting battles and facing great odds
Now here you are at your appointed time
A long distance traveled with a troubled face
Yet no one can take what is rightfully yours
This diploma, gown and hat and some boastful prose
Ha,ha, I'm graduating today,
Shout it out loud so all the haters can hear,
"I've got mine, you get yours!"
Try to do my thing and still stand upright
But you remember how you made this coincidence thing, right?
Somehow things showing up at the same place or in the same space, right?
Lord you know how much I've longed to feel right
To not have dreams of demons with their faces tight
Or visions of angels with cross faces, telling me I'm not right
And yet my walk has sometimes ended somewhat short, right?
Lord, you know that thing I told you about, right?
That deep inner fear and how my mistakes made me contrite?
Well, is it true that just because it feels good, it could still not be right?
I know it's a dumb question, but you know me right?
Lord, show me your ways and keep me right
Don't let me falter on this road and come up short
Of doing what I've always known was true and right
Keep me walking in your light, straight to my destiny and to do right
Yes Lord, make me Mr. Do Right!
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Maybe it’s our casual disdain
For the epic battles fought for our pain
The simple places we could not go
Or the fountains from whence water would not flow
Perhaps it’s that we have fought, now so much
For a prize that lost its glow
Perhaps it’s that in this infinite story
Our mangled past
Has become what we now want to be cast
For how do we re-write our history?
Or forget the list of atrocities?
For we feel the pain of lashes?
Encumbered by what we so often remember
Of the voyages that ended off-shore
In the bowels of ships, never told
Is this what has left us encumbered?
To roam the land; as if handicapped and hindered?
Perhaps it’s that while we would suffer
We were left lying asunder
Our wilderness has held like a tether
A constant and non gentle reminder
That God’s love had not escaped our encounter
Perhaps we should now simply acknowledge
That there rises a man full of robust regal splendor
Whose words do not fall like gentle raindrops
But beat like the steady drum of thunder
His eyes the vision of fire, his voice committed desire
To make promises of changes from yonder
Where only pain and suffering once held us in corners
Perhaps it time to accept that forever
Will not be a reflection of never
Perhaps we should weep with excitement
That our children will now know power as an enticement
Perhaps even as we cry with excitement
We should revel in God’s prophetic development
That Barack is his chosen assignment
© Soneka K. Kamuhuza 11-5-08
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Saturday, November 1, 2008
The reason we are wary is simply because we have recently seen exactly how much power the Republicans wield. For what feels like an eternity now we have had to choose between food and gas, or if we wanted both; getting an extra job. We have been forced to choose between activities for our kids and putting gas in the car to go to work. Many of us have limited our social activities, with no long drives to clubs or parties. If the train isn't running, then we're not coming. Our spiritual lives have suffered, having to choose not going to church over burning gas. God forgive us.
I am coming to the realization that we have been bamboozled, bushwacked, led astray by the Republicans. They are in a a panic right now, completely thrown off their game plan. Their Palin gambit back-fired. McCain now sounds pathetic, crying over campaign financing, Barack's tactics, and his credentials. So his friends have stepped in, yes, the Republican gas company owning folks have decided to play their card. I filled my tank up with $20.00 in gas today, gas is almost a $2.00 a gallon. I had to catch my breath.
The Arabs didn't start pumping more gas all of a sudden. Neither did demand didn't suddenly go down. The true players stepped up and decided to manipulate the market. How can the stock exchange go crazy and gas go down? Ask the Republicans. How can the cost of goods still be high and yet gas is down? Ask the Republicans. They have played an integral role in every messed up thing that has happened in the economy. What is their last play before they kiss the White House goodbye? The big gas push.
I would respect their move far more if they were just as blatant as we are in Africa. Just plain buy your way to the Presidency. This subtle Jedi mind trick thing iritates the heck out of me.
Too little, too late guys, "Obama for President! Bye-bye, so long, ..............."
Monday, October 13, 2008
It is now estimated that South Africa has the world's highest numbers of people infected with HIV. Somehow, I see Mbeki's hand all over this. Fine, there are all sorts of cultural and ethnic issues that one can interject into this conversation. However, the biggest player in all of this was this President who was willing to stand in some of the most influential arenas in the world, spouting his ignorance. He displayed a critical nonchalance towards what has soon become the primary problem in his country and the continent.
In a country rich with natural resources, he has cheated its most important resource, the people of an opportunity to make a critical head start in the fight against AIDS. Still bruised from the hands of apartheid, South Africa now begins to be battered by this pandemic in epic proportions. As it rises entwined in the cloak of traditional taboos, ethnic stigma has given way to disease segregation. Many have been victimized and vilified for having the virus or dying because of it. Mbeki's refusal to provide the pandemic with its correct place in the national agenda and dialogue created the black sea of death, now the calling card of the pandemic. There is blood on Mbeki's hands.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Overheard at McCain & Palin rallies recently has been the term "terrorist". This has been chanted enthusiastically referring to Barack Obama. Sarah Palin has used her platform to extend the following olive branch to her radical right friends; "Obama is pals with terrorists". Wow! Now that's truly American spirit. In the middle of two wars with some real terrorists trying to kill Americans and in order to get into the White House you stoop to calling the other candidate a terrorist?
- Hawaii Pacific University (Fall 1982),
- North Idaho College (Spring 1983 & Fall 1983),
- University of Idaho (Fall 1984 - Spring 1985),
- Matanuska-Susitna College (Fall 1985) and
- University of Idaho (Spring 1986, Fall 1986 and Spring 1987 ).
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
I had to look it up and found the following in Wikipedia, "A tiller or till is a lever attached to a rudder post (American terminology) or rudder stock (English terminology) of a boat in order to provide the leverage for the helmsman to turn the rudder. The tiller is normally used by the helmsman directly pulling or pushing it, but it may also be moved remotely using tiller lines." So it appears that Mr. McCain was actually saying something quite deep. You need to be pausing for my however. Here it comes. However, who exactly did he think he was talking to? His boating friends, as they discussed their next yacht ride? His senate friends who commune in the summer on the waters off Florida's coast? Or was it the Harvard club types who meet for a brew after a day of crew? Exactly how does the common man connect with a tiller? Tell me John, how does Ms. Anna Mae Robinson from East Baltimore identify with your tiller?
It is for small reasons like this, that Senator McCain continues to exhibit why he is not fit to lead this country. Big statement coming, hold for it. He can't even speak regular English to regular folks. He has to use a word that emphasizes how polarized (distanced and disengaged) he is from the common American. I am a pretty educated fellow and even I -having inferred the meaning of tiller- still had to look it up. So now that you know what Mr. McCain was talking about, "what do you think?" Do you buy his analogy? Senator McCain believes that we need one of his hands, hopefully the one on the good arm, to be directing this country. His jabs at Senator Obama's experience and naivete -as he calls it- are becoming more common. Add Sarah Palin's country accent and annoying voice and you have a venom concerto with "Obama's naivete" its refrain.
Of course I had to look up the word naivete. I like words to be attributed and utilized correctly. Conjecture and inferences that are not rooted in directional proportion annoy me. Make any sense to you? Don't worry, me neither. The dictionary refers to naivete as, "The state or quality of being inexperienced or unsophisticated, especially in being artless, credulous, or uncritical." This description, if you may allow me to infer, sounds like Sarah Palin on her best day.
It would be naive of us to believe that Sarah could fill-in as president in Mr. McCain's stead. It would be naive of us to believe that John McCain does have four more good years ahead. We would be naive to envision that somehow the republican party has mustered a new strategy to dig us out of the black economic hole they have created. We would be naive to believe that the politics as usual stance will change -all of a sudden- when McCain is in office. It would be the height of naivete to actually believe that Sarah Palin is respected by conservative republicans. This country would be naive to imagine that after all these years in office, McCain suddenly is getting epiphanies about how to change the course of our economic, social and foreign affairs.
No, we need something just a little more radical than that, something that shows we are thinking outside the box. Something more than an African American running for president. That my friends, is an African American president.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Folks have gotten all wrapped up in the various issues; Palin, Iraq, the economy, Afghanistan, but I am stuck in old. Just plain old, in fact cantankerously old, a fossil. Forget the years of experience, the foreign policy, the heroism as a POW in Vietnam, he's just an old man. It won't be long before he forgets his lines, and starts asking who the people around him are.
The race to the White house is not really a black and white issue or one hitched on the back of economic discourse. It is not about liberal or conservative viewpoints. It does not warrant delving into the quagmire of re-establishing America's station in the world view. It has little to do with national security, or if we can actually envision Sarah Palin deciding whether this country should go to war. Let alone, what her husband will do if she gets to be Vice President. What exactly is the step up job from snow-boarder?
No, this election is simply about a handsome educated black couple who happen to tower, both in height and intellect their white rivals. More firmly, it's about an old, slightly infirm, ex-Bush cheerleader and his knack for surviving tragedy. Many years ago he walked away from a POW camp to freedom. We commend him for that. It's now time he realize that he can't walk away from his age or his tired looks; but he can walk away from this election. He needs to do this quickly, before he starts to forget there is an election.
Friday, August 8, 2008
That when you fell down
I didn't help you up
That with a stroke of a pen
I couldn't make it right
That I hurt your heart
And what's more?
Didn't feel contrite
That in my parting words
I didn't utter a kind or gentle phrase
I'm so sorry
That your teary face
Was treated common place
That I've caused everything that's good
To now be misunderstood
That all the pleasantries exchanged
No more feel like they should
I'm so sorry
That even truth when told
Now has very little hold
What were innocent words
Are in a venomous veil
That I can no longer sooth
Your nagging distress
See I'm sorry
That even my words
Cause you moments of stress
For leaving you bare
When I should have returned your stare
I'm so sorry
That we will never repair
That innocence there
When we walked on the path
In verbal regale
Bathed in our love
And voluminous care
For this and and for more
While acting a fool
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Your wells are dry Isaac
Who has covered your wells?
The Lord has promised you water
So why does
Surely Abimelech cannot prosper
To gain yet not sow?
Rename your wells, Isaac
Rename your wells, Isaac
Your inheritance possess
They may chase you away
Again and again
But, no man can claim your place
Nor prosper their wells
Encamp in Gerar, Isaac
Re-open your wells
Do not despair, Isaac
As they stop up your wells
For they quarrel with the Lord
Sitnah will be their name
Even as you wander in doubt
Have faith in the Lord
For your next well will be Rehoboth
And you will flourish in this land
In Abimelech's plight
He will recognize God's might
Discarding his discord
For peaceful respite
Pitch your tents yet on nigh
Remember that your father Abraham
Was promised this land
Re-dig your father's wells, Isaac
They are dry no more, Isaac
They have been refreshed
And his nay be nay.
He dwells not on the adoration of man
But the acceptance of God
A Christian man raises his children to believe
In the stories of men he never knew,
about a man he never met.
He is leader among PhD’s
Yet a meek follower,
of a carpenter.
A Christian man is slow to anger,
measured in speech
And patient to listen.
He answers your call without hesitation.
A Christian man,
dedicates himself tirelessly to the welfare of his family
He is not swayed by the popular
Nor influenced by fads.
He is stoic in his morals,
Unyielding in his beliefs.
He fights for the salvation of his children.
He stands because he must.
He is like Joshua in battle,
relentless in Gospel pursuit
A Christian man,
reviews all the songs on God’s album,
so the lyrics come easy.
He ministers in his home,
and his walk, ministers to others.
He is convinced of his salvation,
Even in the face of uncertainty
He bears the weight of uneven tribulations
His spirit ministers when he is gone
His verse is his song
His bible his orchestra
To Matthew he writes
To Luke, he listens
With John, he has argued
Of Revelations, shows fear
He pursues Exodus
For Leviticus’ sake
In his memory is Psalms
A Christian man walks
Because his feet search for the path
His shoes show wear
His clothes are soiled
He labors in strength
“Glory’ his constant cry
Meek and mild
With sensitive heart
Yet Strong and mighty
In confrontational stance
He repents with conviction
Forgives with sincerity
For, I hear Joshua’s war cry
From the mountains on high
I cry unto you O’ Lord
That I can be
A Christian man.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Saying guys would solve world issues may seem fat fetched. However to state otherwise would be to cheat the many men gathered of their prime belief -that their voice mattered. To suggest they keep the discourse on a country level would not give credit to the assembled intellect. Conversations were not focus on local politics unless it was about our beloved football which always involves politics.
Any topic could be engaged with some expert discourse. What is happening in
You see there’s a machismo in drinking your 14th beer, still having the ability to hold yourself straight while having a somewhat lucid conversation. Your peers are usually more in respect of your constant gulping and call for another beer than they are of your scope of knowledge. Now if you can also chat up girls while almost motherless and drunk, you’ve kicked it up a notch. Therein would lay the key to your success; beer, girls and the ability to argue.
I neglect to mention that while rambling at about in the morning, many of these ‘intelligent’ gentlemen had wives and children at home. If they were true believers, then they walked into the house after work just long enough to drop off their briefcase and maybe, change their clothes. Otherwise, it was straight to the watering hole. The die-hards would not even go home. It would be a straight line from the office to the club. The round table discussions would be in session. Presence at these conferences was vital. Upon arrival back at home around 4AM, there was an accepted expectation that wives wake up to ensure that each pundit did not sleep without food. Needless to say that each conference panelist would have already availed himself of numerous items from the club kitchen.
The watering hole fed the macho attitude bred into many young Zambian men. Negative attitudes and ideologies towards women were nurtured here. “Yes, it’s a man’s right to have more than one woman. In fact, it’s expected.” We became well versed in the game of cat and mouse. Intricate battle details were shared between sips of Mosi (local brew). We were taught how to avoid being caught if your girlfriend showed up at the club -while you were working another girl- “here’s what you do.” Mountains -of what then seemed like useful information- was piled into our heads. Its sole purpose was to build us into the drunken, womanizing, briefcase businessmen we were destined to become. Love was considered a sign of weakness, “So she dumped you because she caught you with another girl? Forget that @#$%, there are many other chicks!” You dare not respond to this with, “But I love her!” This could cause you to be heckled and derided for the rest of the night. “Here have another drink!”
So now, having evolved into a Christian, wife loving, immersed father, I look back and wonder how we made it this far. We should be dead. Many guys continue/d to play Russian roulette with sex in an environment rife with AIDS. Many of the pundits have died, or are dying. If you are familiar with the way some African countries address this crisis then you will know that it is considered an unmentionable. When you ask how a pundit died you will be told, “He was in and out of the hospital.” That is the complete answer. Very few will actually say, “It was AIDS!”
So you may ask, what has happened now. Has the club closed? Are there no more pundits left? Has there been a change in attitudes? The answer to this may scare even the strongest of heart. The pundits are still there, lined up waiting in the wings to take an available chair. So we spill a little beer for our fallen comrades., those who listened to the bad advice and died too soon, those whose children have never heard the words "I love you", those who didn't designate a driver and never made it home, those whose wives have left them. In the immortal words of a popular rapper, "This is for ma homies!" or in the language of my forefathers and one of my brethren standing at the Muni's bar “Iwe barman; leta ubwalwa!” - (Hey barman, bring more beer).
Written by Soneka K Kamuhuza©2005
Who sang this damn song?
I don’t like the words
The beats too fast, the drums all mashed
A disconcerting pitch, a whiny twang
Shut up and let me try to catch up
What’s the matter with this melody?
Don’t want to hear your version
It’s bad enough on its own
Lip synching won’t change anything
It sucks, you sound insane
Forgot that you had to have talent?
To have your chance at glory and fame
Picked out some outfits, tried a new game
Noticed no one singing along?
You’ve misrepresented yourself
Hardly can pronounce your name
You’re not on a billboard, heck not even a sham
You’re still that loser, no hip in your step
Singing loud doesn’t make you heard, it creates more noise
So how about you sing tenor
Ten’or fifteen miles away
Or solo, so low we can’t hear you
The again, your best bet is bass
Basically not at all
Soneka Kamuhuza 2008©
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
We’re dancing through life rifts, rhythm in song
On wings from an angel, subtly concealed
Love is an organ, unique in its sound
To kiss deep in alto, hearts filled with bass
If this isn’t your song, the melody’s wrong
We’re in legato, the harmony’s grown
Dreams are the reason, to keep swaying in sync
Each reason for living is etched in this tune
Sopranos are listening, to join us in throng
But that’s just what love is, a symphony strong
You know about this love thing
How it sometimes goes wrong
Nimble fingers can play the wrong key, skip a refrain
Miscued love beats, misguided metronome
Raise your voice forte, the song has begun
Your loves in full measure, C sharp has won
What voice do we use, to rhyme with this tune?
Soprano seems obvious, but baritones past
Convene with the altos to back up the sound
My loves in your bass clef for harmonic sound
Touch my crescendo, only you know how dolce
Enfatico to my heart, octaves crashing an eighth
Fill me with your lyrics, andante each line
I want to hear your ivory, both black and in white
So again in this stanza, I call out your name.
Play me your love song, that sweet chorale sound
Written by –Soneka K. Kamuhuza©
Friday, May 23, 2008
Now please understand, life is quite complicated I am aware of that, but it appears that you have more turns than an Irish maze or an Arab sheikh picking a wife for the night. Your ethical myopia allows you to collect a check for negligible output and professional sabotage. You're what we call a professional terrorist, blowing up productive environments in your wake. Just to be helpful I'll give you some much needed advice. Work has some very simple rules I'd like to help you understand;
- Come to work on time.
- Leave work on time.
- Lunch is an hour long.
- Do what the boss tells you to do.
- Complete your work on time.
- Come to work regularly.
- Write in English.
- Speak clearly and effectively.
- Come to work regularly.
- Leave your #$%^ family problems at home.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
My twenty six mile one way commute has become a $70 a week gas excursion. I may like my job, but somehow parting with close to $280.00 a month to get there, wasn't in my plan. It's called budget defying economics. How to stretch every dollar so that it meets your needs while circumnavigating the beltway, has become a version of economic roulette. If you're not getting ticked off at being cut off, then the price of tomatoes will make you blow a gasket. So now, I'm not as tolerant of my boss or co-workers. My employees are getting on my nerves with their questionable work habits and timeliness valuelessness (now that rhymes). Can't quit the job though, it's barely paying for the gas to get me there.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Our kids are not using the same rules we did, nor do they have any wish to do so. What concerns me is that we as adults are getting into the habit of typecasting the majority of Generation Y, based on a few public 'spotlights' broadcast. Fighting has always occurred amongst teens, it's a right of passage. However, kids are airing it on the internet, now that's new. It's the ultimate bragging right or humiliation. Rock and Roll was from hell; "peace and love" kids needed to be locked up, disco was taboo, and hip hop is the reason most black men are in jail. At least that's the way it has been represented in the media over the years.
We must come to the basic realization that unless we engage our youth in a dialog, we are doomed to repeat the very mistakes our parents made with us. Research shows that this generation is poised to be the next 'great' generation. Ask most parents and they'll dispute this vehemently. That lazy kid who won't get up to mow the lawn, is supposed to grow up to be great? Well parent, I have a suggestion, film him, post it on YouTube and MySpace under the heading "Lazy Bum". You might just get him up. After all, his friends are watching.