tales from the hood: hi, I'm yellow.

Logic...it's a tricky thing. What makes TOTAL sense to one person may seem completely unhinged to others. Most of my friends have heard this story before. It happened the year we started the program. One of our few female students at the time, Satin, had been sent to the front office for some kind of problem. I happened to be sitting in the isolation room with several other students during my duty time. She came storming into the office, and this is the conversation that ensued.

Satin (yelling at our security guy, Silas): I HATE THESE MOTHER @#$%IN STUPID-!@@ WHITE B*#$&ES!

Me (leaning out the door and speaking her to her down the hallway): Ah, excuse me Miss Satin, I HOPE, you are not talking about me! Do you want to rephrase that?

Satin: Oh, I wasn't talkin' about you Miss G. You're not white, you're biracial*.

Me: Oh, really?!

Silas: Ah, did you know that you were part black?

Me: Honey, last I checked, both my parents were still white, but I better make a phone call to see if anything has changed.

*I have been called white, pink, and yellow, depending on how they feel about me at the moment. If they like me, I'm biracial. If they hate me, I'm white. Sadly, they have had so many negative experiences with people who are white, they can't bear to recognize that not ALL white people are evil and are racist....so they classify me as anything but white to fit their logic.

tales from the hood: the proposal

In a previous post, I mentioned that I am sexually harassed on an almost daily (sometimes hourly) basis. It kind of comes with the territory when working with mostly teenage boys with behavior issues. I will spare you the gory details of most of my encounters, but this one is worth repeating publicly. Most of my friends have heard this story already since it happened last year...

The "guilty" party is a 6'5" goofball named Jeremy. Jeremy is rarely ever serious and he rarely ever sits still. His harassing comments usually make my stomach turn, but this conversation was pretty funny.

Jeremy: Miss G, why did you break up with your boyfriend?

Me: Jeremy, it just didn't work out.

Jeremy: Did he cheat on you?

Me: Jeremy, no. Just let it go.

Jeremy: Did he beat you?


Me: Jeremy no. Again, let it go.

Jeremy: I bet he looks like a pirate.

Me: Ah, no. Last I checked, he doesn't own a parrot and still has all his appendages.

Jeremy: I'll marry you Miss G. I'll treat you real nice.

Me: Ew, Jeremy...no.

Jeremy: WHY NOT????!!!

Me: A: I'm not Mary Kay Letourneau, and B: Ew.

Ebony: Oooooo! G, if you let us dress you up, we'd take you out into the hood, and you'd find yourself a man right quick! Guys in our hood would think you real fine!

Me: Ah, no.

Jeremy: G, you wait. Give me a coupla years. When I graduate, we'll get married.

Me: Ah, no. However, I like that you are thinking about getting to graduation.

Jeremy: You just wait G. We'll go to Baltimore for the honeymoon.

Me: Hmmmm...sounds romantic Jeremy, but don't hold your breath.

the battle within

Ever since June, I've been setting my alarm at 4:15 a.m. What could possibly get me out of bed at that hideous hour everyday (well, except for my one "rest" day per week) for the last 5ish months?

Running, running, some swimming, and more running is the answer.

I am an reasonably intelligent woman. I know that running makes me happy. I know that running keeps me sane. I know that watching the sun rise every morning brings a little extra joy to my life. I know that starting the day with running is when God and I sort out all the junk so I can be....me. Knowing all this, does NOT stop The Battle from occurring EVERY morning*.

The alarm goes off and The Battle commences. The Battle is one between my body and my heart. I equate it to the Great Gazoo. Ya know, that annoying little green alien guy that kept pestering Fred Flintstone all the time and called him a big Dumb-Dumb?!?!


Well, here's how it usually goes:

Me: Aw, heck no! Your bed is so warm and comfortable. DON'T move. Hit snooze and go back to sleep, ya nut job!


The Great Gazoo: Getup. Get up. Get up. You know you want to.


Me: Shut up. I want to sleep.


The Great Gazoo: You love to run...remember? Get out of bed. Once you are out there yoooouu'llll like it!


Me: You are going to just keep talking until I get up aren't you? I'm never going to get any sleep am I?


The Great Gazoo: Nope! You might as well give up. Remember what our good buddy Peter Maher always said, "Running is a big question mark that's there each and every day. It asks you, 'Are you going to be a wimp or are you going to be strong today?' Don't be a wimp.


Me: (stretch...lots of loud cracking, snapping, and groaning...step gingerly out of bed) Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.


The Great Gazoo: Wimp.



Me: Shut up.


*I used to be an evening runner, but I switched to mornings for some insane reason...probably the intense heat of the summer in STL. Now I'm just in the habit and I feel compelled to torture myself every morning. Besides, Gazoo and I have a great routine going.