Negative effect of ............

The negative effects of the things I grew up with as a child are what I fight most so that they do not subjugate me into a state of ineffectivesness. There are many patterns of my childhood that now as an adult I have ascertained could have had effected me negativly but I have turned this negativity and those patterns that I witnessed as a child into life lessons. I have been a good student.

I remember the stories my father told me of his family being poor, and the trials and tribulations that were brought forth because his childhood was one of hunger, eviction notices, 10 kids fighting for what little food there was, locks on the refigerator and on the phone, etc. He often followed those stories of an impoverished upbringing with the telling of his current situation as a union card-carrying carpenter, who was proud of making a lot of money as an adult. Often he showed me his paycheck, usually $1000 dollars or more a week in the late 1970's, though I did not understand what the numbers meant because I was a child. And though my father grew up poor, though he knew first hand what poverty entailed - the grumbling stomache, the ill-fitting second hand clotes, etc., he would often squander this money he so proudly earned, in less than two days, only to have to re-visits, replicate, those days of hunger he felt as a child, because he did not know how to handle money.

My father was effected by growing up poor in the negative way that did not allow him to develop the skill of budgeting money. He did not know to buy groceries and stock up the pantry and refrigorator. He did not understand that he should buy things within your means. Instead, he would see expensive items, cars, jewlry, and buy on impulse. He would spend his whole paycheck on the streets, in the bars, in the clothing stores, jewlry stores, drug spots. The paycheck that he received on Friday would be gone come Saturday afternoon, when he would only then return home, downtrodden, to look at his child and her mother, and look into his refrigerator and cupboards and see them bare and know he had no money left in his pockets to satisfy his nor his family's hunger. The effects of growing up poor stunted his ability to offset the need for instant gratification. When he saw something he wanted, he could not plan to purchase it perhaps by putting aside money on a weekly basis until the purchase price was reached allowing for the appropriate budgeting for life's necessities while putting aside money for an extraneous purchase. He would, rather, pay cash in full, money down, and not worry of the consequence of his action.

My father, and many that I see around me, are poor not because they they don't make enough, but are so because they witnessed the pain of being poor as children and can not break the effect that has had on them. They take the income that they make and use their money indiscriminately. They are poor by choice. They think "poor". The effect of growing up poor has propelled them into adulthood negatively as they are unable to budget and plan monetarily as they can't see the long term gifts (financial stability, good credit) financial strategizing brings. All that is seen are tangibles, immediate gifts (watches, cars, etc.) that depreciate and go out of style quickly, but soothe their sustained childhood resentment of being poor. This sustained resentment has been carried further and is ever present in their adult life.

As the holiday season comes forth, I am reminded of how my father would have acted if he were alive, and the presures he would have succumbed to quicker than usual because of the bright advertisements for consumerism that are reflective of the Christmas season. I suspect some will be buying to dissipate the need for instant gratification brought forth by issues they still have with a beleaguered childhood. The negative effects of childhood linger often.

World AIDS Day

World AIDS day is coming, the international day of action concerning AIDS and HIV infection, and I dread the memories it conjures. Having a father, and several uncles, and aunts, and cousins succumb to this wretched disease brings forth memories of those whose lives were cut short for the temporary feeling of a high that narcotics and/or sex brings. The choice was made to become involved in activities that some did not know were dangerous, who thought it only activities of fun, and could never come to terms that these momentary pleasures would lead them down a dark path and into an internal slumber. The children born of those adults who partook in instances that changed the course of their lives are the most tragic. These instances brought about a disease that would ultimate kill them and infect their unborn children. Children of AIDS, embryonically, were not given a choice. These children were given a short existence raft with debilitating disease, developed in utero, that was given opportunity because of irresponsibility. They are the ones mourned most as they never had a life to live. I do also mourn the adults I know and am related to who are gone, not for the reason of their death, but for the life they never had. The greatness of those taken from me and society, who could have left an indelible mark on the world, was erased before their time, their destinies denied. Never would they fulfill their legacies, and that is what I mourn and am reminded of when hearing of World AIDS Day, December 1st.

Ode to Old Dirty

We are of the same age. We grew up during the time hip-hop was evolving. Many of us of this era mirrored the legacy of hip-hop. The beginnings of hip hop were humble. The performers of hip-hop did it for the love of creative expression. They were expressing the art they felt in their hearts. The pain and reality of growing up in the ghettos. The pain and reality of growing up poor. They expressed these feelings creatively through hip hop. The story of the children of hip hop was told by many an orator. Old Dirty Bastard of Wu Tang, the perinneal group of hip hop, comprised of 9 members, was the statesman of hip hop. His aura made him a stand out not only in Wu Tang, but also in hip hop in general. "Got your money" is a classic. His famous cameos like the one with Mariah Carey, "Me and Mariah go back like babies and pacifiers," is brilliant. ODB was brilliant in his art and his life is/was conflicted provided vast material. 13 children with many women, shootings, public assistance, but always able to express these dramas in rap.

Hip hop in its finest hour is an art of conflict. Started from bohemian roots, beat-boxing with a clap of the hands to a mouth and beating out rhythms from an overturned paint can with a stick on the streets of the ghetto in front of neighborhood folk to bling blinging with million of diamonds draped on a wrist with beat machines costing thousands of dollars, lip synching on a stage with an audience of persons of a different hue in a country were english is not its primary language.

The death of Old Dirty Bastard brings home that someone of my age group, so young, has dropped dead. He lived life hard. He went through much tribulation during his adult years, and one would suspect did so because of his hard childhood. The sometimes bad choices he made during his adulthood were much fodder for the US Press, but many of us of the hip hop community understood what and why he did some of these things he did because he was a product of his environment trying to live lfe and making mistakes along the way. His life mirrored a lot of those of the community he was born of, and he rapped about this life, and we listened. ODB was a revered member of the community, faults and all.

Old Dirty Bastard will be missed. RIP Russell Jones.

Regrets

I have heard so many say they have regrets in life, and I listen to their claims, but do not join in claiming the same feelings. I have no regrets in my life. That may sound arrogant, but I can say, honestly, that I have tried to do all that I can in making attempts at and doing the right things in my life. I have tried to do the things that make me happy. I have tried, earnestly, to be the best at and in all my endeavors. I have tried to be a good friend, worker, mother, wife, daughter, commuter, listener, etc. I understand the concept of having regrets and have so at an early age. At that early age I said to myself that I would not live a life that had any regrets and have lived one that follows that philosophy.

Also, once I do something, I am at peace with it. I don't jump into anything, especially when speaking, without thinking, contemplating, the possible end result. And once the feat is done, I don't look back, knowing it was contemplated in a thoughtful and precise matter, and acted upon with dignity and respect for all involved. I do things with good intentions and without malice. This is the basis for all of my actions and thoughts in life, and with that foundation from which all actions and thoughts of mine spring, I can have no regrets, as my existence is comprised of attempting and doing the right thing. The effort has been made by me to be correct in my being a part of the human race, and that is good enough for me and allows me to have no regrets.

Of course, many who know me may not agree with my actions, but that does not concern me as I cannot make everyone happy, nor is that my job to do. I have to be at peace with my decisions in life. And I am. I believe I have done so with the thoughts of how the decisions of my life affect those around me and have moved forward with whatever decision knowing I was treating those affected by that decision with dignity.

I have no regrets.

Manipulative People

I have often encountered many persons in my lifetime who are very manipulative and I have often wondered why they take such measures to achieve whatever it is they want through their manipulations. It is perplexing to understand such activities as often they are hurtful to all parties concerned. If the person doing all the manipulations would have simply asked for what they wanted and asked for something appropriate to the relationship between the persons asking and receiving, honestly, they may have gotten whatever it is they desired, and achieved that goal without duplicitous acts.

I have found that those who are manipulative are so because the things they ask of others that require these maneuvers are outrageous and inappropriate. Instead of doing something themselves that may make their lives harder, they try to get someone else to do it. Life is hard and there are many things people do not want to do but have to do because as a person one must do the responsible thing. I witnessed manipulative ways of others because the person doing the manipulating wants something inappropriately, or wants someone to do something that they should be doing themselves.

It has amazed me, in my daily travels, to encounter people who will look in your face and try to get you to do things that you have said you would not do. These are the people who will then try to circumvent your resolve via manipulation, subversion, and trickery, and just plain doggedness; continually asking you to do something that you have said no to on countless occasions. When told no, so bluntly, they then try to get you to do the very thing you have been very clear about not doing by instituting manipulative maneuvers. I have trained myself to realize that is a person who is trying to change me as a person, and has no respect for me as the individual that I am, and wishes me to be a drone, a follower, a submissive entity.

I have encountered these type of people in my personal relationships, my work relationships, and random encounters with strangers. A strange man will try to walk in behind me into my apartment building after I have opened my lobby door, and when I whirl around and ask, "Can help you?" I am looked at incredulously. I was told by one man that he was a cadet with the police department and I respond, "I don't care who you are. Step back," and closed the lobby door in his face. I couldn't believe that he was trying to do something that he wouldn't want anyone to do to his mother, sister, or wife, and then tried to use manipulative language that could assuaged the volatile encounter. Why could he not ring the bell to the apartment of whomever he wanted to visit to summon the buzz of the lobby door that would open it and allow him access? Why not do that as any responsible adult would? Then you have the usual encounters with relatives who try to get you to do things you absolutely don't want to do nor have the time to do. My mother tries to get me to do her hair under the pretense that she does not do the styles as well as I do to which I respond a hairdresser would do them even better. There are the guilt trips that people, family and otherwise, put on you to manipulate you into things you have said no to initially, and these I find, are the worst as they tug at your heart strings and may conjure up memories that are long gone.

I don't understand why the answer "no" is often not accepted. Why is that word seen as a barrier through which one can step through and receive the answer that was initially desired? Why can't "no" suffice? Why is the questioner too selfish to see that their needs as stated in the question, "Can you etc, etc, etc.....?" cannot be satisfied, cannot be met, via someone else, especially when they have been answered with a resounding, "no"? What many don't take into account are the emotions that they are trampling when they then try to subvert that "no" answer. Manipulative ways and the people that utilize them are to be looked upon as things to be avoided, and should that not be easily achieved one must stand their ground and not have their decision swayed. It has been a hard lesson for me to incorporate into my life, but it certainly feels good when I can, and I have done so more often than not. Life is too hard to do the things that you must do so that you can be proud of yourself as a responsible adult and then have someone try to drop their own burdens of personal responsibility on you. We all have a weight to bear and each of us should bear it accordingly.

Election

On election day I voted and did so primarily because of my daughter. She asked that I vote so that she witness the election process. I truly did not want to vote because I am quite jaded at this point in my life and believe it will take a lot more than an election and voting constituents to change the face of America. There is high unemployment, underemployment, homelessness, and despair. I believe the political process is a jump start to change, however, I believe grass roots efforts are a more tangible and effective way of understanding individual, idiosyncratic communities and addressing the many issues that happen within such communities.

I was not surprised by the results of the presidential election as The United States has always proven to be a stalwart for conservatism when we are at our poorest. The diatribe that Bush spewed reminded constituents of religiosity - spoken to them via the guise of morality and included topics that were anti-gay and anti-choice - peaked their interest, held them spellbound, and propelled them into voting booths to pull the lever for Bush. The voting public thought it better to believe the good ol' boy that reminded them of their blue collar roots and of Sunday morning church. They did not want to vote for those with whom they are not familiar. They are not familiar with millionaires or heiresses, or with stem cell research, but are familiar with the morality issues that Bush so often touted.

And so I will continue to worry about my finances as I suspect they will not improve, but remain the same, or perhaps, get worse with this same administration. I applied for an interdepartmental position at my place of employment and requested a salary lower than what I knew was deserved for such a position and the work it entailed, and was not called to be interviewed. When I called to inquire what was happening with the position, I was told my salary request was too high and only others who requested substantially lower would be interviewed. Whomever gets the job will learn quickly they are not being paid appropriately for the work they do. Such is the fate for many Americans because of this and the prior presidential election.

Homeward Bound

I am home and I am comfortable after a long day at work. I've just arrived and cannot quite remember how I got here. Often when traveling to and from work I steele my mind to the commute I am about to embark on. At my doorway as I exit, saying a prayer that I arrive to my destination safely, put my game face on and get to walking. I do the same when leaving work. Often when I put my key in my front door or when my hand goes into the machine so I can be scanned and clocked-in, I revel as to how I got to that point. I do not have instant recall as to what transpired during and how I commuted to that point. I am in a state of wanting to arrive to my destination safely and without drama, and as such, quell my anxiety by having a demur and dream-like existence during the commute to and from work.

I know were to position my self on the platform of my train stations so that the door of my train arrives at a precise point at the precise seat that I take to be away from the packed crowds of the NYC transit. I sit in the corner seat closest to the connecting-car door as it keeps me away from the crowds and often no one stands over me as the door that connects the adjoining cars is perpendicularly situated to me and should anyone stand there they would block all access to both cars. So I often don't have anyone standing near or over me. I also have the benefit of keeping space between myself and the wall that makes up the corner I am sitting in so that though someone can squeeze in next to me I will always have space on my other side. I have easy egress from the train because the passenger outlet door is almost directly on front of me and I can be out of the car in 2 steps. If anything were to happen, be it any kind of commotion, I have two means of egress to get away; the door in front of me and the door next to me that is not more than an inch from my foot. I have mapped out all that I will do in case of any type of trepidation, but I do hope for the best.

It is in these moments of transporting that I kind of daze out to take away from the tediousness of an at minimum 45 minutes commute that often has me unwillingly sitting next to people who have stepped on my feet, bumped me, elbowed me, and not said excuse me. of whom I am forced to smell their unwashed bodies and bodily functions, and do so without getting mad and going off and demanding an apology. On occasion I have demanded apologies and have often gotten the apology and a response that the person didn't know they'd elbowed me in the head. I suspect they said that to save face that they were being down right rude and embarrassed that I called them out on their Neanderthal behavior.

It is these types of moments that I steel myself against and thereby get into a out-of-body state so that I can function within the stark reality that I am stuck in a metal box, racing under the streets of NYC at 75 miles an hour, packed like sardines with other commuters, who I don't know and probably would not want to know, to go to a job that I don't particularly feel respects my work but profits from it immensely.

So I sit here tonight not remembering quite how I got to my home from my job. I am happy with the knowledge that I have established a coping mechanism that allows me to function within the confines of a stressful twice daily situation that steels me in an armor that keeps out the unpleasantness of my commute, and allows me to get to my destination with the least amount of mental anguish.

I am stepping out of my metaphorical armor and am now opening up my mind and getting out of my dream-like state. I am HOME.