Civil Rights of the 21st century

I watched a very well-done and moving PBS documentary on the Civil Rights movement ca. 1963-5 the other night. I was horrified at the cruelty of people and the hatred that existed between humans. As they documented both sides of the story using footage from the era and interviewed both sides of the story present-day, it became clear that although we look back now horrified at such atrocities and blatant racism, at the time it was the accepted way of life. It seems ludicrous now, but those offenders really thought the way they acted was ok.

My initial reaction was to become angry as I smugly sat in judgement of the southern, white people who had behaved so badly and sometimes violently toward other people. My next thought was to put myself in those southern, white shoes and wonder who the people are today who are oppressed acceptably. Who are they? I concluded that they are the poor, the homeless, those living in poverty who we send aid to in other countries but we don't see on our own streets.

Immediately I thought about the man that stands on the corner of Sheffield and Armitage every day around 6. I had walked past him on my way from work to the train station almost every day, and never had I acknowledged him. Every day as I passed he mumbled passively and plaintively something that I never understood as though asking but already accepting rejection. Every day I walked by without even turning my head, as you are supposed to do in the city--steeling myself. Every day I felt guilty about it, but something kept me from turning, and by the time I got home, I had forgotten him.

What am I so afraid of? I tried to convince myself that I have to be cautious of my physical safety being a small, young woman who lives alone in Chicago. But I know that's not it. I wish it were that easy. And then I realized that if I acknowledge that man, I have to see him. And if I open my eyes to him, then I will see more and know more. And once I begin to see the hurt and suffering around me, there will be a leak in my happy, safe life. At that point, if I choose to ignore it, I choose something vastly different than being ignorant in the first place. In 50 years will someone do a documentary on the way we treat our poor and underprivelaged citizens today? Will our grandchildren be horrified by the way we closed our eyes and hands to them? If they interview me in 50 years about my actions (or lack thereof), will the fact that I was afraid keep me from being culpable?

I wished my activist, peace-monger friends from college were here to talk to that man first, so I could smile and wave at him by association. And then I stopped myself. Did I really get my education so that I could ride on someone else's coattails? Why do I have to wait until someone else has the courage to initiate something in order to jump on that momentum?

Yesterday I looked at that man on the corner. I asked him what he was selling. I didn't want it, so I smiled and said, "No, thanks," and he smiled back. I kept on walking. He is a person afterall. I don't know what to do next. Maybe I'll learn his name. I'm scared and uncomfortable, but maybe I'm making a difference?

Thoughts on shopping.

I think I need to start buying my clothes in units. Do NOT buy 1 piece at a time in the hope of recmobining. All that does is make you feel good in the moment, and then fill your closet with articles from which the tags are never removed.

Today I bought an "outfit." I bought the whole thing, accessories and all.. everything but the shoes. I'm excited to wear it, but I'm handicapped by the lack of appropriate footwear. So the question now is, will I go and buy a less-than-wonderful pair with the pressure of the rush, or will this "outfit" become yet another tagged article in the closet as I wait for another "good" time to do some shopping?

Am I the only one who falls prey to this buyer's blunder?

Re: Stories from the Front Lines

Thanks to the Hinsdale team for adding me to their ranks, even though my bio is slightly less kosher than all the rest. We keep it in the office, so as not to worry our clientele.

Is it truth?

Lord Byron once said that the love of a man is something set apart in his life, while that of a woman is her entire existence.

Is it truth?

Dijo Lord Byron alguna vez que el amor del hombre es algo aparte en su vida, mientras que el de la mujer es su existencia entera.

Es verdad?

Long Island on my Mind

Jen, Kevin, Elinore, Laura and I spent last weekend out on Long Island visiting the Bodine clan. It was wonderful to spend time with my sisters and brother-in-law, my rosy cheeked niece, my sweet Gram, and all the crazy Bodines and Bodine-derivations.

8 of Gram's 10 great-grandchildren were able to pose for a photo-shoot.








It was a great weekend, though entirely too short.

Stories from the Front Lines

March, March, yet another month of learning and bloopers on the job. Here's a rundown:

1. I recently left this message for a woman who called to inquire about our programs:
".... give us a call back at ***.***.**** (pause) Oh God. That's my home number. Please don't call that."

2. Just today I spoke with a VERY inquisitive mother who was asking very complex and specific tuition calculations as well as detailed logistics questions about summer programs. She must have called 3 times with more questions. The last time she called, my coworker answered and when she mentioned who was calling, I had my back to her. As I reached for the phone I said "greeeeaaaaaaat. I hope she's calling to ENROLL this time!" And when I turned around, Kelly had a horrified look on her face as she frantically indicated that the receiver was live and the woman had probably heard my response. Note to the public: Help your coworkers save a little face, and put a person on HOLD when you pass them off. PS-Her tuition for 10 weeks of summer programming came to $1182. She called back to ask if that was the per week rate. I nearly choked.. this is not boarding school!

3. One Thursday morning when I was the only director covering the center, our substitute Spanish teacher got his signals crossed and went to the wrong location. We were 5 minutes into the class when we realized he would be arriving VERY late, and with no other alternative, I grabbed the session plans and the Spanish teacher whose program didn't start until 9:15 and said, "Quick! You have 3 minutes to train me in teaching a class." In a flash she taught me how to lead 2 activities, and sent me into the room of seven particularly active 4 and 5 year olds waiting for my teaching expertise. I began the first activity where I pulled prizes out of a bag for the children to claim. (This is to get them to practice saying "I want such and such, please" in Spanish) Of course, the first prize I pulled out of the bag nobody wanted. Nor the second. Nor the third. Crap. Finally I dumped the contents of the bag on the floor and made them pick what they wanted.

Part II of this activity was then to go around to get them to say what they had. When I started leading the prompt.. "Who has the ... " I realized that all the prizes where things like magnifying glasses, skateboards, chinese yo-yos, all things I have NO IDEA how to say in Spanish! The panic set in and I began to sing "Who has the thing, who has the thing..?"

Meanwhile there is a parent actually KNOCKING on the door of my classroom with 7 on-the-edge 4 year olds, to ask to speak to the director. (Sidenote: When I followed up with her later to find out what was so urgent, she informed me she just wanted to schedule her daughter's make up!) There are children telling me in English that they have to go to the bathroom, and seeing how I, as the director and not normally IN a classroom, am normally the one to escort the children to the bathroom, I had to get a mom out of the lobby to take the children.

I finally get them to the table to eat snack and I try to drag it out as long as possible. I gave them all as many goldfish as they wanted, but soon I had some children still at the table eating, others climbing onto their chairs, running around the room, screaming, crashing into walls, CHAOS. And sweet Monica in the adjoining room with her Parents and Tots class is trying to help me by signing through the window while keeping the parents from looking through it! It was 9:40 and the missing substitute still had not arrived.

I had to move on, even though I had NO idea what to do. I hoped I would think of something during the 2 second walk to the carpet. Nothing came. One little girl told me she would just sit at the table since she wasn't feeling well. I made the rest get in a circle and make the circulo GRANDE and circulo PEQUENO. They all looked at me confused because we'd already done this as a warm-up activity. Meanwhile little Meg, sitting at the table, pipes in "Teacher, you're doing it wrong! This isn't how Spanish class goes!" WELL, NO KIDDING. Finally just before 10, the teacher arrived, and I bolted.

After I took some deep breaths I went into the office to call a non-Spanish speaking coworker in management and tell my story. He laughed as he told me of his experience getting stranded in a class with 18 children and a parent staring at him. He, of course, jumped right in with.. "Raise your hand if you have a birthday this month!" 4 little hands went up into the air. My coworker then proceeded to lead the group in singing "Feliz cumpleanos a ti (Happy Birthday).." 4 TIMES. Thank GOD the teacher had arrived by the end. I guess it can always be worse.


They say that an idle mind is the devil's playground (or something like that), so at least I don't have to worry about that! Boredom at work is definitely not high on my list of concerns.

Giant Feet in a Small World

Considering this was my third trip to Chile, don't get me wrong, but I didn't expect to "discover" very many things about Chilean culture. I guess I somewhat smugly assume that I am an "old hand" when it comes to Santiago. However, I was able to spend just enough time down south to not be overwhelmed by the differences, but to be amazed at how I'd overlooked them on my previous visits.

#1. (And this was not so much a discovery as a confirmation/reminder of a previous discovery) US Rules of the Road DO NOT APPLY in Chile. Lanes are mere suggestions to motorists, and in fact, really have nothing to do with turning at intersections. You are free to turn left, right, or continue straight ahead from whichever lane you choose in Santiago. Rolling down your window while the light is red to inform the other driver that you will be turning in front of him or her is considered good etiquette, but is by no means necessary. One will use judgment however when deciding whether or not to turn in front of the big yellow micros.

#2. When Angela, Irache, and I went to the mall in search of wedding outfit accessories, the food court at lunch time was packed. (You'll notice the wonderfully traditional fast food joints that we could choose from) I followed as they searched out a table with 3 chairs and 1 old man sitting peacefully, finishing his lunch. My heart began to beat wildly as Irache sat down at the table next to the man, Angela pulled out a chair for me, and then Angela stood near the man waiting for him to finish so she could take his seat. I was appalled by my friends' rudeness in pressuring the poor man to choke down those empanadas, until I realized that this must be normal behavior. Knowing that Chileans and Americans have different concepts of personal space should have made this not quite so momentous, but it was a phenomenon that I somehow missed before.

#3. The world is not too small to meet the student who is currently staying with your host family (in CHILE, I might add) and find out he is from Naperville.

#4. Being an ambassador of the US Culture can range anywhere from refusing to be silent when it becomes clear that Chileans do not understand the "YMCA" (I was horrified to observe that those brave souls who did not walk off the dance floor when the YMCA began to play, all waved their arms around during the "Y.... M.. CA", but did not make the letters!!), to teaching your host brother the art of the S'MORE. (Everything was authentic except the campfire)

#5. (And this was shocking indeed) According to Chilean standards, I have GIANT feet. I don't mean to say large, I mean GIANT. Now for those of you who are scrolling back up to see if my feet have made it in any of the pictures, let me just say that I wear a US size 8. That's just about as average as they come. HOWEVER, while shopping for shoes in Santiago I was discouraged to find out in the first few stores that when I asked for a particular shoe in a size 38-39, the shoe attendant looked at me a little surprised and shook his head no. Angela ended up walking into every store before I even started looking at their shoes to ask if they even carried anything in a 39. When finally they would say yes, she would ask them to just bring whatever they had. Oh the shame! I eventually was able to find a winning shoe, but I will think twice before taking these colossal feet for Chilean outfitting again any time soon.

As Jen and Kevin recently said in reference to their trip in Thailand, the best travel stories come when things go wrong. I could tell you all about the wedding, the beach, the 90 degree weather, the ice cream, the sea lions, the kiwi, pear, papaya, strawberry, raspberry, apricot, peach, and cactus fruit nectar I got to drink on a daily basis, but that's not nearly as fun as recreating the moments when I found my inner-self shouting "What is going on?!"