Hey Ma, I’m gonna do something that might make you mad

It has been my experience that my boy doesn’t call often and when he calls his conversations generally consist of very select topics or direct questions. When my phone rang and I saw that it was my boy calling, I was especially sparkly inside. He wasn’t calling to ask for money or to share some news about a new sports shoe being released that I needed to “help” him buy. I felt warm and sentimental because he called and engaged me in a free, open conversation.

That particular day he called to engage his mom in a casual, light-hearted conversation and my thought bubble read, “How sweet!” I thought, “My, how he’s growing up” and “What a cool kid!” This conversation with him resembled conversations with my daughter which felt odd. Calls from the girl are at random times and she often calls or texts to just ask me what I am doing. She has called me to keep her company on a road trip or she has called so that I would be her companion during a meal in whatever city she found herself visiting. So, while my needy, maternal, empty-nesting self longed for this call to be all about me and my son’s need to spend time with his mother (during his out of town visit to a friend’s house), I knew in my instinctive mama world that this call was more about something else.

And then he said, “Hey Ma, I’m gonna do something that might make you mad – get my ears pierced.” I am not really sure how I managed the balancing act between my personal opinion and the need for me to let him make some life decisions on his own. I have always told my kids that their time at home was a time for them to explore and try new things because I would be there as a safety net to catch them. I also told them that there were some things I said “no” to because perception matters in classrooms and in society for some people more than others. For my brown son, I always coached him on how “not to fit the description” and having earrings was a part of “the description” so I always said, “No.” And my “no” was not negotiable.

In order to make it through the next phase of this conversation, I had to add some humor. I asked, “So, is that what this call was about?” Then, I said, “When we get off the phone, I’m gonna look to see how long it took for you to get to that.” He laughed and replied, “Twenty-five minutes.” Why twenty-five minutes? Because he thought “that was a good amount of time.” After a little more laughing, I asked, “Why now?” He said because “I’m old enough.” He followed that statement with this one: “I never did it before because I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He was right that he was old enough to make a decision to get his ears pierced. The fact that he considered my feelings also suggested to me that he considered the lessons taught about image and perceptions and that he believed he could manage that aspect of his life. The hard truth was that I really could not stop him from doing anything. So, I made a decision to demonstrate trust and affirm his thoughtful, respectful consideration of my opinion and my feelings because that was special and mature. I gave him my blessing with a reminder of my why. He said, “Aight Ma, I feel you…(pregnant pause)…Ah, I won’t be getting a tattoo.” And we both laughed out loud before we hung up.

Steve said “jump!”

Because of @IAmSteveHarvey I created a vision board for myself and then I created one for the staff in my office. I was reminded of this vision board exercise after watching a video of Steve Harvey addressing one of his audiences about taking risks and making decisions that can provide a “way to soar.”

One evening I saw Steve Harvey on the OWN network talking to Oprah. He said that he and his wife have a vision board with some ridiculous goals. I decided that my vision board would include some things I really could see happening for me and some ridiculous goals that make me do a happy dance if they happened for me. I encouraged my staff to do the same. It has been really cool to see people vocalize their goals. It is also interesting to watch people limit their dreams because the dream or goal seems so ridiculous. We have seen degrees earned, jobs obtained, special appointments and honors received, and a book published.

I learned from this exercise that when you dream big and have limitless expectations of yourself those around you begin to believe that big dreams are possible and emit an energy that is electrifying and contagious. The people in my office began to see potential in each other that they either didn’t see before or just didn’t verbalize until we started the vision board. They expressed hope for their peers and others who came into the office. They encourage each other to do what Steve advised his Family Feud audience to do – “Jump.” What has been really cool is watching coworkers enter my office to add dreams to someone else’s vision list because they don’t think that person dreamed big enough for themselves. When my book was published, I sent text messages to some of my coworkers with the announcement and one of them responded that it was time to check one more thing off of my vision board. The next morning that employee walked into my office, said good morning and went to the vision board to put a check next to “publish an ebook.”

I also learned from this exercise that when you dream big and say it out loud (or write it on a vision board for the world to see) there will be haters and minimizers. A person walked into my office one day, looked at the vision board and laughed a hearty laugh then said, “Who do you think you’re gonna be, Oprah?” Honestly, it made me mad and aggravated, but what it didn’t do was make me change my visions for myself. Like I said, I made the vision board after watching Oprah interview Steve. I decided that it would be stupid crazy to dream about spending time with both of them so I wrote that I wanted my husband and I to have lunch with Steve Harvey and his wife and that I wanted to shadow Oprah for three days. Heck, if my life of village building for young people is gonna be fruitful and multiply, I need to be around people who are doing that successfully. Oprah and Steve are putting in the work and their messages of village building for young people is global and effective. So, I am letting the haters hate and I am moving forward with my plan to take my message to those who need to hear it.

The vision board opened the dream door and when I committed to enter I found kindred spirits who wanted only the joy of seeing me succeed. I was so used to being the encourager that it overwhelmed me to receive encouragement and support of my gifts. Recently, Steve urged his Family Feud audience to live their gifts. He quoted the bible saying that, “Your gift will make room for you.” I am living “in my gift” right now and I encourage those around me to do the same. While I couldn’t see a book publication for years, I met a stranger in an airport who connected me to his friend, a publisher, and less than three months later I was a published author. Because I vocalized my desire to have warmer, more inviting digs in my office for those we service, other departments gifted us with cool furnishings and my staff and others have dedicated time and energy to this office makeover. I am so excited about living “in my gift” right now!

I have seen some benefits of making one jump, but after listening to Steve’s monologue about making a “jump” I don’t believe that I have made the biggest jump yet. I think that in life we take safe jumps in order to make sure we can see where we land. The last “jump” I took came as a result of a situation that forced a crisis-like response. It was not a calculated jump. In retrospect, I think that there was a benefit and safety in the fact that everyone knew what prompted me to jump into this situation. The fact scenario gave me a built in excuse if it didn’t work out well. At this time, that move seems like one of those moments that you stick your toes in the water to test the temperature before you jump into a pool. In those moments, you learn something from the test, but it’s not a full commitment to the journey. Prior to the book publication, I had been posting to this blog, but the blog was nameless and faceless. Putting my name on the book and on my blog felt like a major a jump to me, but now I know that it’s not the biggest jump I will make. It was not a full commitment to the journey of village building for young people and those who share the earth with young people. It was not the most full and purposeful extent to which my gifts could be employed to deliver the message.

I will update my vision board and make official the “jump” plan. I will take the “jump” that appears not to have a safety net. I will take the “jump” that appears to have no built in excuses. I will take a “jump” that is contingent on me using my talents and gifts to achieve the successful delivery of the excellent villager message. Making these proclamations feels as scary to me as the time I did a trust fall hoping that a group of high school students would catch me. It feels like the anticipation of the drop on a rollercoaster after you make the slow, deliberate ride up the incline that delivers you to the highest point on the most revered rollercoaster. It is my expectation that when I take that “jump” I will experience what I expect from the rollercoaster drop: a euphoric, gratifying, perfect ride that inspire me to ride again. Moreover, I expect that the “jump” will breed encouragement, empowerment, and enlightenment for those in my space much like the excitement, entertainment, and enjoyment spectators experience when they watch the rollercoaster enthusiasts make the big drop.

Making champions!

Reflections on my championship run…

All the talk about the college national championship game reminded me of something a football coach once said to me: “We are trying to make champions over here.” At that time, I was a mom who had been living with the decision to step away from my career goals and dreams to dedicate my energy, time and genius to childrearing. When I made that major life decision, I really had no idea that my home would become a safe house and my car a safe ride for my kids and countless other children. This safe house, car ministry phenomenon became my reality without any planning or any expectation on my part. I learned that I had a kid magnet that drew children into my space on a regular basis. My existence became defined by the steady presence of children in need of food, encouragement, rides, safety or just an adult who would listen before speaking in a place free of judgment. Not only did I believe I was providing a much needed sense of community to kids, I found that those watching this developing trend affirmed my spirit, passion and burden to be a caretaker of children in the community. They entrusted me with their most precious cargo. When the children appeared, my attention turned to discovering the child’s immediate needs and then doing my part to address those needs.

Because I spent so much time and energy looking out for children in the community, the coach’s statement about “making champions” struck a nerve and I gave a response that was fueled by a bit of aggravation, shock and insult. I replied, “What do you think I’m doing at my house; I am making champions too!” I never forgot the pregnant silence precipitated by my passionate, educational and enlightening response. At the time, I believed the only product of that exchange was that awkward silence. Instead, our emotional exchange made me aware of the similarities between team building in the structure of the workplace and the need for a team consciousness in communities. Communities desirous of successful, competent, well-rounded children must intentionally and purposefully operate like members of a professional workplace.

Verbalizing that my goal in life was “building champions at my house” made the mission of being an excellent villager a living, breathing thing. My role as an established villager meant welcoming children into my “home” whether “home” was the house, the car, the bleacher seat next to me, a camp site or the concession stand. The saying that “Home is where the heart is” was applicable in my life as a villager. Excellent villagers should allow the warmth of their hearts to permeate the space they occupy and fill the place with the life, hope, and vibrant energy of a beating heart.

I learned that the vitality of the village rested on a movement of steady infusions of warm, caring, positive, hope-filled message. The children listened when the messages were presented with a calm, attentive and concerned voice. Excellent villagers focus on how to consistently encourage children in the village to achieve greatness in personal, academic, and social endeavors or challenges. Most exciting was the realization that the children who championed these ideals generally felt successful in their lives and that success had the potential to breed more success. I found out that the strength of an excellent villager was in the ability to manage his or her individual roles assuring that the productivity of the village aligned with the expectations of high achieving well-rounded, secure children. Excellent villagers considered it an honor to provide for the children when they needed support.

Excellent villagers may not change the world all by themselves, but they can certainly live out my dad’s directive to “make a difference in the place where you find yourself.” What children in your community need the positive influence of an excellent villager? Make it a goal to connect at least one child in your community to someone who will offer them support in personal, academic, or social needs.

2016: The year that loss and change will enhance villages!

symbols of change, maturity, hope&courage

I am sure you are wondering what toy cars and trucks have to do with anything. Well, after a year of change and loss, I have decided to embrace changes and to set new, crazy, stupid goals for myself. Heck, if I survived 2015, I can certainly harness that same strength and energy to do something I plan to do to achieve a few goals I set for myself.

January 2015 began with my son making a decision to graduate from high school early in order to enroll in college in what would have been the last semester of his senior year. While that is an exciting decision and a praise worthy accomplishment, I became an empty nester about six months ahead of schedule. Then, a week after my boy moved out my mother died and my duties and habit of being a caretaker were no more. Separation from my previous roles meant that I had to manage the emotional clutter and the literal baggage that remained after their unexpected departures. I had to sort through their belongings and decide whether to keep or discard items. It was very difficult for me to throw away, destroy or give away items that belonged to my children and my mother.

The sorting process was painful and necessary. I have often referred to this process as purging. However, after I looked up the word, I realized that although I really didn’t use it correctly, I realized that I still experienced the outcomes of the process that occurs when one purges. My initial goal of sorting and purging was to separate from things that no longer had value to my home or my mother’s home because the people who claimed ownership of the things were no longer present. What I found was some weird connection to their things. A connection that caused me to feel like eliminating the things from my space would increase the distance between them and me. This feeling made no sense because they were both gone from my space and my actions could not change the moments that took them away from me. Each time I picked up, touched, or looked at an object I transferred energy that gave new life to the thing. Suddenly, I found myself surrounded and overcome by dancing memories, thoughts and emotions brought on by things that I aimed to categorize as useless and worthy of the pile of things to be discarded. I realized how people might become hoarders or why I hang on to that pair of shoes or that box of books in the garage or that plastic container of cars and trucks years after any of those things serve any purposeful existence other than as place holders.

I allowed myself to sit with each thing and reminisce about how we came to be acquainted and how we were blessed to share and enhance the life of someone we both held dear. The shared moments with the stuff mirrored a lyrical continuum of a classical composer. Like symphonic movements, my emotions filled my body from the deepest place inside and engaged me completely. Whenever I relaxed into the moments and permitted the emotions to take hold of me, they made me laugh until my stomach hurt or sob until I was breathless. Months of this process was exhausting.

By the end of 2015, I made a decision that it was time to experience the freedom from the clutter that my loved ones left behind. I accepted that in most cases the value in the things laid in the experiences with the ones I loved and not in the inanimate objects. I bonded with these things like they could keep the spirit of my loved ones breathing in my space. I empowered the things to do what I feared I could not – remember the moments with my loved ones that I cherished.

In 2016, I have decided to find new ways to hold on to and honor the legacy of the journey with the parents who I still love and the children I raised. In 2016, I will preserve those memories by telling stories through my writings and by use of my voice. I will speak about the impact of parts of the journey with them that made me laugh and some parts that caused me pain. I will speak from my heart in a way that I hope will bless my audience with encouragement, empowerment and enlightenment. In 2016, I will purposefully and intentionally pass on things that I hold dear with great hope that their new owners will love them and make new memories that provide enjoyment, pleasure and empowerment.

I took a picture of the toy cars and trucks as a way to preserve the memory for a later date. These toys were my son’s favorites and I bought him cars to add to his collection whenever I traveled. They also made neat stocking suffers for Christmas (not to mention that were pretty inexpensive). These toys are the first specially cherished things I have been holding on to that I will pay forward. I am excited that this decision to share my family legacy of love and support has presented an opportunity for me to heal while simultaneously arousing creativity, dreams, and enjoyment for the recipients of the gifts! These gifts will be kindling in a fire built to encourage, empower, and enlighten many villages.

In 2016, what will you pay forward from your journey?

50 things I couldn’t imagine!

I couldn’t imagine life without my parents.

I couldn’t imagine my first anything without them.

I couldn’t imagine mentioning them in the past tense.

I couldn’t imagine saying what they used to say.

I couldn’t imagine my sadness when my last shopping trip for my mom included paying for her funeral expenses.

I couldn’t imagine my holiday plans not involving spending time at home with them or having them at my house with me.

I couldn’t imagine being separated from the sound of their laughter while we looked at old pictures of us in outfits we thought were so cool and hip.

I couldn’t imagine that my parents would miss high school and college graduations of my children.

I couldn’t imagine that so many people and relationships in my life were connected to them and their presence.

I couldn’t imagine that I would ever miss my dad slurping the last sip of coffee or soda just to aggravate me because he knew how much I hated for people to make noises when they ate.

I couldn’t imagine missing the “shh, shh, shh” from my mother when I discussed anything she didn’t want to hear about or that she didn’t want to talk about.

I couldn’t imagine life without their smiles and hugs whenever I returned home to visit them.

I couldn’t imagine life without them having all of the things we liked at the house whenever they knew we were coming to visit – chocolate cake, pound cake, chocolate ice cream, Coca-Cola, bacon, grits, and a host of other foods dipped in grease.

I couldn’t imagine purging through their things and trying to decide what to do with all they treasured and left behind.

I couldn’t imagine that I would ever appreciate my dad’s curfew rule that, “Young women know what time a young woman should be home.” Oh the pressure!

I couldn’t imagine the cool memories and practical lessons I would learn while I helped my dad refurbish the old boat he towed from Hartford to Montgomery and that old beat up white van he bought for $500 because he always dreamed of owning a boat and a motor home.

I couldn’t imagine that their stories about living through segregation and the integration of public places and schools would still be a relevant conversation after they were gone.

I couldn’t imagine that I would have to trust my memory to recall the lessons they taught me because I wouldn’t be able to ask them to repeat the lessons to me again.

I couldn’t imagine that I would wish that my father could be alive to see the advancements in technology because he absolutely love working on the televisions, being the first to have the latest electronic invention, and his passion for HAM radio was evident in his car and my first bedroom that he converted into his office.

I couldn’t imagine that my father’s instincts with electronics would live in my son.

I couldn’t imagine that my daughter would house my mother’s pensive, classic presence that allowed her to show up and own a situation, social or professional, in a meaningful and purposeful way that was not aimed at diminishing the strengths of anyone else.

I couldn’t imagine what a wonderful blend of my parents I would see in my children who are smart, witty, socially conscious, caring, well-spoken, respectful, global thinkers who are also easy on the eyes.

I couldn’t imagine the parenting lessons I would later grasp from my dad’s genius move of teaching me to fish at pond where they raised catfish – the art of baiting the hook, how to cast the line, to reel in the catch, and how to enjoy the moments that you spend waiting.

I couldn’t imagine how my daddy’s quotes would still make me laugh after all the years he’s been gone.

I couldn’t imagine how alone I would feel when they were both gone.

Now, I can’t imagine having any other people as my parents.

Now, I can’t imagine my life without their love and support.

Now, I can’t imagine my existence without the lessons they taught me.

Now, I can’t imagine learning from my mom that quiet strength and well-timed comments are critical.

Now, I can’t imagine my conversations without my dad’s comedic timing.

Now, I can’t imagine being a villager to others without the compassion and nurturing spirit of my parents.

Now, I can’t imagine what I would have done if mama hadn’t answered the phone to gossip and giggle with me about whatever the subject was that day.

Now, I can’t imagine life without my dad’s directive to ask because I have a fifty percent chance of getting what I want or need.

Now, I can’t imagine my life without their guidance and encouragement to dream outside the village.

Now, I can’t imagine life without the benefits of the higher education they encouraged me to seek and then helped me finance.

Now, I can’t imagine missing the lessons on screw drivers, lawn mowers, and basic car knowledge I learned while hanging out in the yard with my dad.

Now, I can’t imagine learning from Mama that “Everything ain’t for everybody,” especially where the wardrobe is concerned.

Now, I can’t imagine life without Daddy’s lesson to treat everyone the same because “We all put our pants on one leg at a time.”

Now, I can’t imagine life without my parents’ lesson to take good care of those “who cook, clean, and take care of stuff around you because they know stuff and they will look out for you.”

Now, I can’t imagine life without the memories of dancing to big band music and blues with my dad and smiling now because I am comfortable dancing and singing whenever and wherever the music makes my soul smile.

Now, I can’t imagine thinking about learning the art and therapy of shopping from my mom and accepting that I am still unable to achieve her diva status that included coordinated outfits every day at home and on the go.

Now, I can’t imagine walking through life without remembering my dad’s lesson that, “my rights end where the next person’s rights begin.”

Now, I can’t imagine my life without learning the art of people watching from my parents that could generated gut wrenching laughs especially when the master of the art, my dad, was providing the narratives and commentary.

Now, I can’t imagine not understanding the necessity in life to laugh at myself, laugh through my pain and challenges, and to just find reasons to laugh until it hurts with people I know well and those who are new to the village.

Now, I can’t imagine being raised by the guy who wouldn’t give money for good grades because “You are expected to make good grades.”

Now, I can’t imagine life without parents who opened their home often with little notice to provide shelter, food, fellowship and a stable environment to most of the folks who needed it whether they were family members trying to finish college or kids in need of sitters while their single moms looked for work, or folks who just needed a place to hang out to watch Ali fight while they enjoyed food, a shot of something to warm their spirits and a cigarette from my daddy’s pack of Kool’s.

Now, I can’t imagine my life without the character check my dad gave me my freshman year of college: “Don’t become the people you don’t like.”

Now, I can’t imagine life without the lesson I learned to work at my craft and be really good at the things I know.

Now, I can’t imagine the lesson I learned from my parents to welcome the knowledge and expertise of others in areas I am not well-versed in to further the cause and the mission.

Now, I can’t imagine living life without their legacy of class, compassion, dedication, hard work, strength, humor, dreams, and the mission of being an excellent villager. #Lola&Charles

Pretty please!

If we are honest, we all have some learned behaviors from our pasts that lie dormant n some crevice in our brains. Those behaviors lie in wait for the moment that a trigger will awaken them and deliver them to significantly impact our present situations. Unfortunately, those behaviors that you thought were forgotten and lost in the place where old things go to retire are really sitting in the cut anxiously anticipating the invitation to participate in your life. The learned behaviors can be like bullies in that they serve to remind you of your imperfections and challenges. You subconsciously walk through life knowing the bully lies in wait like the guard dog, King, who lives behind the fence at the house on the corner. You allow yourself to be punked by them over and over again until they literally wear you down. In my adult life, I became aware of the presence of one of my childhood bullies. I resolved to acknowledge the bully and the fact that I had allowed the bully power in my life that it did not earn or deserve.

During my childhood, I learned about the need to please. I have learned first hand about the emotional and physical drain that comes with pleasing people. At times, I have pleased others or worked hard to be an excellent pleaser simply because I believed that people expected me to do so. I believed that I was expected to consistently meet the standard of an excellent pleaser. In addition, I enjoyed the praise that came with the completion of every task and the comments that made me resemble a savior because my response to a crisis left the situation better than it was before I entered the scene. Over time, the recipients of my efforts to please expected more and more. As the list of pleaser seekers grew, it became apparent that I couldn’t keep up with the demands. It took too much energy to perform at that level to complete tasks and carry concerns and challenges for other people all of the time. Rarely did the pleaser seekers, as I call them, willingly give me time off from my task of pleasing them. I, the pleaser, enabled the seeker and that realization became a new unexpected burden for me.

As a pleaser with a goal to make everyone’s challenges more tolerable, I created a completely different set of challenges. In my role as pleaser and caretaker, I got pigeon-holed into a role by those who benefited from my efforts. The recipients of my deeds often contributed to limitations in my growth by holding me close. Their ability to keep me, the pleaser, in close proximity to them was important and necessary if they were to successfully attain their goals with minimum output. My absence or a change in my focus would significantly impact them and their ability to use me as a resource. I was thankful that I was available to help my family and friends, but I realized that it took me a long time to assert myself in a way that set boundaries and limits on how I would use my skills, my time, and my energy. In my efforts to understand my need to please and support others, I learned that there was freedom in standing up for myself. Codependency did not look good on them or me and my decision to take control of the use of my time, my energy, and my emotions made me stronger which strengthened those I sought to please.

Thankful.

This month I have seen friends and family on various social media sites posting statements of gratitude and thanksgiving for things, events, and people. I am really not one to participate in chain emails or chain posts on social media and I don’t tend to accept invitations to play any of the games I am invited to play either. I am not sure if that really says anything about me as a “friend” or “follower,” but that is a truth about me. And there is a part of me that still wonders if the expressions of thanksgiving are real or just people regurgitating old cliches. I wonder about their sincerity like I wonder about the people who ALWAYS respond, “Blessed and highly favored!” every time they are asked how they are doing. Don’t misunderstand me. I am blessed, favored, and thankful. However, when I ask people how they are doing, I really am interested in knowing what’s going on with them on more than a surface, artificial level. So, when I hear someone give the same response EVERY time someone greets them , I just figure the person really doesn’t want to be known on a deeper level or they really don’t want folks in their business. Although this may not make sense to anyone else, “The reasons I am thankful” posts remind me of those rote greeting responses. The result of both situations is that my critical mind takes over. Although I am somewhat cynical, I have succumbed to the pressure and feel the need to express my gratitude and thanksgiving in a simple, yet public way. You know, simplicity can be impactful and powerful.

I am thankful that:

Winter is only ONE of the seasons in a year.
I have seat warmers in my car.
My kids are smarter than me.
My canine kid is happy to see me EVERY time I walk into the house.
I can be easily entertained.
My kids can carry on an entire conversation in song lyrics.
Ink cartridges come in multiple colors.
My bottom survived the years of sitting and waiting on kids to finish stuff.
Aloe vera lives in my medicine cabinet.
I found at least one box in the garage that has stuff I really should have saved.
My kids chose not to use those journals I bought them to write about their life experiences because they knew one day their mama would be a writer and need them.
People don’t judge me for being a coffee snob or a chocolate snob.
The leagues and networks have figured out how to start basketball coverage before football season ends.
Living on the West Coast often means avoiding social media for hours Thursday nights to avoid the threads that have no spoiler alerts.
I still have hope that one day I will be invited to go to Ellen’s Twelve Days of Christmas with my daughter.
The dirty dish fairy feels welcome in my kitchen.
There are no smelly, dirty, clothes and shoes hidden in the back of my car making it smell like a locker room.
We don’t use dial up at our house anymore.
I never have to worry about whether my handbags are gonna be too tight.
My husband likes to drag us into bookstores to wait for him to read every word in some book on the history of some random topic.
At least summer reading programs at local libraries got my kids to read books even if only for the microwave popcorn and trinkets they could earn.
The book mobile came to my neighborhood when I was a child.
I know my neighbors by name which unfortunately ain’t common anymore.
My childhood church family valued public speaking and leadership opportunities for kids.
My neighbors care about my business, but try not to be in my business.
My “kid cab” provided countless safe rides to kids for many years and the “car ministry” blessed kids with a place to laugh and talk about kid stuff.
I have a closet full of board games and the kids will be home this week.
I can’t shake the need to follow the sweet with the salt.
We still pop popcorn the old fashion way with olive oil, kernels, sea salt, and butter.
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“Salt in His Shoes Michael Jordan In Pursuit of a Dream”

Deloris Jordan and Roslyn M. Jordan authored this encouraging children’s book about Michael Jordan and his pursuit of his dream to be a great basketball player. This book was one of my son’s Christmas presents when he was five. It was the same Christmas that I gave my daughter “Dancing in the Wings” by Debbie Allen. While neither of them probably understood the richness of these two books under the tree, these books held treasures of encouragement, empowerment, and enlightenment for them and for me as a parent seeking to be a part of excellent villages for my kids.

The Jordan family told a story of a young boy who struggled with holding fast to his dream inspire of his current situation. Young Michael, like most children, believed that his current state would be his permanent state. Children see life very literally and what they see with their eyes and hear with their ears often becomes the truth that shapes their futures. Excellent villagers must continuously speak about potential for greatness that the young, inexperienced mind is not yet able to fathom. Excellent villagers must speak with excited, welcoming voices when children dream aloud in your presence. Excellent villagers motivate children to keep dreaming and coach the children about ways to realize their dreams. Excellent villagers also make efforts to find people more knowledgeable about the subject of the dream or who have more time or means to aid in supporting the young dreamer. The excellent villager becomes a safety net for the child to protect the child if there are hiccups in the child’s plan or if the plan evolves into some other unforeseen dream or vision.

I loved reading this book at bedtime to my five year old son. My boy was in the hundredth percentile of every category on the pediatric chart for child development, but he still wanted to be taller. Because my son loved the book so much, I read this book to classes of young children and they love it too. It seemed that most of the young boys I read to, including my son, doubted that their gene pools would grant them more size. My son didn’t realize that he was a product of two gene pools that have produced some large bodies. Because I knew his genetic history, I didn’t doubt that he would develop into a large individual at some point in his life. But, for my young boy the growth spurt could not happen soon enough. I had to repeatedly respond to his inquiries about whether or not he was taller and I had to watch him routinely stand next to me using his hand to measure from the top of his head to a spot on my body that was never level with the top of his head. His biased measurement always confirmed his proclamation that he was growing taller.

The invitation into the Jordan home taught me to remain steadfast and calm in my support of my kid who dreamed of being taller. Deloris Jordan’s teaching moments with Michael were loving moments of unscripted exchanges between her and her boy. During those moments, she encouraged him to maintain hope that he would develop physically while she planted ideas about other choices he could make to enhance his development spiritually and athletically. Although Michael’s mom and dad experienced moments of concern during his childhood, they continued to provide opportunities for him to voice the reasons for his sadness and his disappointments. His parents listened and reaffirmed to him that he possessed everything he needed to be successful: passion, determination, and opportunities to practice and pray.

These wise parents communicated to their son that waiting for growth is often an exercise in patience, trust, timing, hard work, and an infusion of something that makes the moment feel magical and illogical. In this case, the illogical ingredient to success was found in Deloris Jordan’s advice that Michael put salt in his shoes at night. According the book, Michael trusted her strange suggestion because she made the rose bushes in her garden grow taller. Throughout Michael’s childhood, readers witnessed a consistent offering of support and encouragement by his parents. Michael’s parents fueled his passionate efforts to live his dream by listening, praying, counseling, and putting salt in his shoes at night. As my insides warmed with excitement about the parenting and dream chasing at the Jordan house, my five year old was focused on growing taller, faster, and better at sports. It wasn’t until I saw a trial of ants in his room leading to his shoes that I realized that the lesson he took away from the book was not the same heart-warming theme I grasped. He learned that he needed salt in his shoes at night. The only problem was that he used the other white granular substance from the kitchen cabinet – sugar.

“Dancing in the Wings” by Debbie Allen

I bought the book “Dancing in the Wings” by Debbie Allen for my daughter when she was about eight years old. While many parents stop reading books to their kids after age six or seven, I kept reading books at night for as many years as it made sense. I think the reading at night stopped as homework demands increased and after school activities shortened the amount of time we had left for reading before bedtime. Instead of reading books of choice before bed, we were reading textbooks and working on school projects.

My goal at story time was not to just read books that entertained my kids. I also aimed to teach them about self-esteem, staying true to their passions and becoming comfortable in their skin. I encouraged my kids to view their anatomical characteristics and their skill sets as gifts bestowed upon them to enable them to achieve greatness.

I was reminded about this book last week when a friend told me about a challenge his daughter was having with other girls during her practices. Children in competitive activities can be tough on one another especially when the environment has convinced some of the kids that for whatever reason they are better at the activity. I have found that children tend to minimize the abilities of other children in an effort to gain a competitive edge. These types of behaviors are promoted by grown folks who have also promoted the idea that everyone deserves the same prize for less than equal performances in the field of play. These kids never have to consider how to work to improve their areas of challenge. Rarely are they taught to appreciate the strengths of others, the possibility that they have a ceiling or that maybe they are not as gifted in that specific arena as they like to think (And that is a blog post topic for another time). Finally, it doesn’t help when the grown folks in the environment suck at being excellent villagers for ALL of the children and participate in behaviors that encourage the nonsense.

In this book, Debbie Allen presented a story about a beautiful girl who dreamed of being a lead ballerina. The main character was blessed to have a mother who repeatedly found a way to spin every painful joke and mean-spirited comment about her daughter into a positive statement that encouraged and motivated the young girl whose nickname was Sassy. Sassy was teased by her brother, his team mates, and some of the students in her dance class. The jokes focused on the fact that she was tall and gangly with long arms and legs, and “big feet.” She was taller than all of the students in the class and found herself standing “in the wings” watching other students receive solo dances and duet performances.

When Sassy’s dance teacher learned that a master teacher would be visiting their dance school searching for young dancers for a special summer program in Washington, D.C., all of the dance students got excited. Some of the girls in the class discouraged Sassy from auditioning for a position in the dance troop for “the summer dance festival.” I love the fact that Debbie Allen presented a strong girl who did not let the negativity of others stop her from envisioning herself “dancing on the Milky Way” and talking herself into doing what she needed to do in order to achieve her goal of being a featured ballerina. Sassy said, “I’m goin’ to that audition, big feet and all.”

Sassy stepped boldly into the audition. Her nerves and her naysayers were present also. Mr. Debato, the visiting instructor, guided the dancers through a series of rounds until he weeded them down to one. He selected Sassy to represent her studio at the festival and she was thrilled. The illustrations in the book are brilliant! Kadir Nelson, the illustrator, did an excellent job capturing the moment when Sassy ran from the studio to share her special news with her family. The expressions of her mother, Uncle Redd, and her brother, Hughie, and his friends made me smile and rejoice with Sassy. Hughie and the friends who enjoyed teasing her previously all shouted and celebrated her accomplishment as if one of them had scored a touchdown for their football team.

I am so excited about the examples of excellent villagers demonstrated by Sassy’s mother, Uncle Redd, and the dance teacher. The adults individually and collectively built a village of encouragement and support for Sassy that kept her motivated to keep dreaming, courageous enough to keep showing up in spite of the hecklers in the studio, and strong enough to keep standing and believing that her stature was a blessing and not a curse. Each of them gave her space and freedom to make mistakes. She felt safe with them so she talked about her goals, she cried when her feelings were hurt, and she trusted their advice that she should keep being Sassy without making any attempts to be like anyone else. In addition, I loved that each villager uplifted Sassy with humor and quick wit when others attacked her. When the children teased her, the village stood in the gap for her which affirmed her and built a trust relationship between each of them and Sassy. Ultimately, their actions forced others to respect Sassy. The support of her mother, Uncle Redd, and the dance teacher created a village ripened and ready to celebrate with Sassy when she was selected for the program in Washington, D.C. and when she achieved her dream of being a featured ballerina. This is such a wonderful book for parents and supporters of children who are looking for examples and direction on how to be an excellent villager. This book can teach all villagers how to encourage a child to stand boldly in their uniquenesses while working hard to live out their passions and dreams.

Hey Ma, I had a nightmare!

I usually write about “Hey, Ma” moments with my kids. But, this post is about a personal “Hey Ma” moment. I remember having a lot of nightmares when I was a child. My earliest memories of nightmares date back to about age six or seven. I remember waking up terrorized by something in my dreams. I would open my eyes to darkness and realize that the monster was in my dreams and not in my bedroom. But, could I really trust that the scary thing in my dreams had not escaped my dreamworld and found safe harbor in the darkness that filled every inch of space around me. Was the creature lurking in the closet? Was it hiding under the bed? What should I do next to ensure my security and protection from this creepy creature?

As an adult, I realized that the hallway from my room to my parents’ bedroom was really not that long. However, in my childhood mind that was consumed by terror and the reality of a racing heart rate, I thought their room was miles away. It always took a few minutes for my brain to convince the rest of me to throw the covers back and make a mad dash down the hall to their room to secure the protection I needed (and hopefully some sleep). Once after going through the whole mental exercise of escaping the thing that lurked in my dreams, I climbed into my parents’ bed and slide under the covers next to my mom and breathed a sigh of relief. She would generally ask, “Kim, what’s wrong?” I would tell her about the bad dream and she would say that it was only a dream and that I should go back to sleep.

After snuggling up next to her and feeling all cozy, I looked up and saw that their closet door was open. Oh my goodness what were those shadows in the closet? Surely the creepy, scary thing did not follow me from my room. The monster couldn’t be that bold and brave. Is it possible that Mama had heads of people in that closet! Who will get up and close the closet door so that I can sleep? Well, needless to say, I laid there most of the night looking through the darkness at the ceiling and wondering about the heads in the closet. When daylight broke, I could see that Mama had a few wig stands maintaining the structure of her most prized wigs. Those things literally shocked my senses all night. The lesson I learned from that experience was to plan ahead. Moving forward, I closed their closet door every night before I went to bed to ensure that my safe place felt like a safe place if I needed to find solace next to Mama again.

I had so many nightmares that when we traveled it was a topic of conversation because I needed to make sure I had my route to safety mapped out before bedtime. One summer we visited the home of friend in Florida. She was a wise older woman who listened intently as I discussed my sleeping arrangements and routed my path to the room where my mom would be sleeping. The woman asked me to go collect my crayons then she gave me a piece of paper and asked me to draw a picture of the monster that I saw in my dreams. Draw a picture of the monster?! I honestly didn’t have a recollection of the physical characteristics of the monster. I just knew that it was scary.

I put the crayon to the paper as instructed and drew what looked like a blob with pointed edges. I scribbled with purple, brown, black, orange, green, and red crayons. With hesitation I presented the portrait to her. She smiled and agreed that the monster was scary. How wonderful for me to have received affirmation from a grown up that scary monster things could exist in my dreams and frighten me out of my bed in the middle of the night. Next, she gave me some tape and told me to put the picture on my door. She assured me that when the monster saw himself he would run and I would be safe. Genius! She also gave me a small bible to put under my pillow. She said that evil could never lurk in the presence of the Word. I didn’t understand that statement at that time, but I trusted her enough to do what she said because she was the only adult who believed that my fears were real. I had no nightmares at her house.

I did everything I could do to save my kids from experiencing nightmares. I didn’t allow them to watch horror movies at home or at the theatre. When they were old enough to choose to watch them they did and for the most part they told me that the movies were comedic. They also said that they could see how those movies would have been scary when they were younger. There were no comments about me depriving them of the opportunity nor was there any resentment because they had to wait until they were older to experience horror flicks and haunted houses. When others were racing through the darkness filling sacks with treats, we practiced other family traditions because I was not a fan of people jumping out of bushes or using other scare tactics to frighten kids. I was not a fan of monster costumes and the dark tales told to arouse emotions of fear, insecurity, and gloominess. Furthermore, I like my sleep. My kids needed to sleep and not be running through the house jumping in my bed waking me up to assure them that they were safe from the boogie man. I worked to protect my babies from a boogie man intent on causing them mental anguish, paralyzing fear and insecurity.