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There is so much in life I will not claim to understand. 

I only know that I am so lucky to have amazing friends.  You guys don’t even know how grateful I am to have found you on the road of life.  Truly.  I’m still bruised emotionally and a little sad too from last night’s unfortunate episode but you know what?

I’m still gonna live like Maude. 

And you won’t stop me from being happy.

 I’m still gonna sing out.  I’m still gonna laugh.  I’m still gonna eat chocolate everyday. 

If you know the film Harold and Maude then you know what I mean.  If not, I highly recommend seeing it.  I love her and everything her character stands for. 

 

 

 

 

 

On Being Unique

 

 

 

 

When people show you who they are…believe them.  – Maya Angelou.

I never understood this until last night.  I do now.  I feel like somebody sucker punched me in the gut.

Thankfully, I had a very dear friend named Andrea stand with me to walk me through the pain.  And then, I read your post Angelia.  With your indulgence, I am posting the poem you posted.  I can’t tell you how much I needed to read it. 

Still I Rise (by Maya Angelou)

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

The sound of the bell rings for sweet freedom.  Recess! Nina can hardly wait to run around with Wendy on the black top and play four-square for one half hour.  Sweet freedom! 

Nina wait up for me! Wait!  I can’t go yet. I have to clear off my desk.

Wendy you have the messiest and most smelly cubby hole in the whole fourth grade! 

Nina help me! 

Of course Nina will help Wendy because they are best friends.  I watch in the corner of the room as they hurriedly throw pencils, paper, erasers, and pens into Wendy’s cubby and run out the classroom door.  Quietly, I follow behind and watch as Nina and Wendy play hula hoops and laugh and run over to the metal bars to practice the “Dead Man’s Drop.”  I should be afraid to watch this but I am not because Nina is the best of the best on the playground.  The others watch as she climbs to the top.  She knows her adoring crowd is watching so she plays it up and with much bravado she throws both legs over the bar so she is sitting on top of the metal.  With full concentration and serious attitude Nina jumps up and throws the weight of her body up and back so that as she falls backward the bar catches her legs and under she swings.  Coming up around the bottom; with swift force Nina lets go of the bar with her legs and in mid air she throws out her arms to the side to stick a perfect “Nadia Comaneci” landing.  The others clap with enthusiasm at the beauty that is Nina. 

 Nina, that was great.

Thanks Sam.

No really.  It was cool the way you landed.  You didn’t look scared.  Cool.

Thanks.

Wendy, do you want to play jump rope now?

Ok Nina. Let’s go.  Bye Sam.

Bye Wendy.  Bye Nina.

Cristina Maria Angelica Santander.  From this noble name came Nina. She was born into a family of one.  The only child who was the apple of her mother’s eye and could do no wrong in her father’s heart. In this house Nina grew up in the fullness of love and acceptance. Silly, funny, always ready to fight any boy who dared to tell her she couldn’t ride her bike as fast as they could or even go topless on a hot summer day.  And what a day that turned out to be.  It was an unusually hot day in the canyons and Nina asked her mother if she could take her shirt off like her neighbor David.  Her mother was a typical happy hippie who believed in letting it be so she said yes.  Without a moment’s hesitation Nina flung off her shirt and decided to go walking down the street with nothing but her long thick to her waist hair and flowered shorts. Nina didn’t understand why a car with a woman would stop in the middle of the street and say,

Little girl.  Little girl.  You have to put a shirt on.

Why?

Because nice little girls don’t go around in public with no shirt on.

Why? Nice little boys do.

Yes but… you’re different.  You’re a little girl.

But we look the same.  Except I have long hair.

Yes but…you’re a girl.

But my mother said it was ok.

And with that Nina snorted, left the car sitting in the middle of the road to its’ own devices, and continued to walk down the street to Wendy’s house.  Upon opening the door to find a half naked Nina-child Mrs. Van Horn shrieked for Wendy to come down immediately with a shirt for Nina.  Mrs. Van Horn then had to explain about future boobies and why it was important to cover up to be a lady.

It makes no sense Mrs. Van Horn.  I look just like a boy. 

Yes I know but someday you’ll look like a woman.

Someday.  Right now I look like a boy.  With long hair.

Alright Nina that’s enough.  You have to wear a shirt in public if you are to play with Wendy outside.

Yes ma’am. 

I followed behind quietly and watched as Nina and Wendy rode their bikes down the canyon road to the Thrifty’s to buy a 5 cent scoop of ice cream.  I love Nina very much.  My name is Michael.  Michael James.  Nina doesn’t know me but dreams about me every night. She doesn’t know me yet because, you see, I am not yet born.  Nina is my mother.  I am her son. I don’t yet know my last name.  I only know that I love her and cannot wait to be with her when she becomes my mother.

Story to be continued…

Intermission….

Hola everybody!

I’m in the middle of working on two story ideas so that’s why I haven’t posted anything new yet.  I hope you will like them very much.

In the meantime “please to enjoy” the following new video from Shakira.  Who hasn’t had a love relationship like this song?  :)

 So….I’m sittin’ in my 3rd period –we’re in the lab today and my students are always joking that ”Jane Apple“*  and ”Mark Orange“ *should get married because they’ve known each other for EVER and are always bickering (like an old married couple).  We all laugh and giggle about this ‘cause, you know….. it’s funny.

And then I say, “Well my sister Yvette and her husband Mark met in 9th grade at Hannah Banana High School*and they’re still happily married to this day.”

Suddenly, from the back of the Language Lab Coconut*  asks, “How old is your sister?”  I am thinking out loud…”Hmm…I’m 45 so she is 41!” 

To which Coconut responds, “Really?  You’re 45?  Gee, you only look like you’re 40!” 

Yep.  That Oil of Olay Youth Crème is really WORKIN’ for me, huh?   Ha! Ha! Ha!

*Coconut (That’s my nickname for this student because of his perfectly round head)

*Names have been changed

 

 

 

 

 

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