FEAR AND INTIMIDATION BY CHILDREN

There is a problem in the Florida case that no one has mentioned. Oh, they have talked about Zimmerman 'looking' for blacks while also fearing blacks. That is not what I want to talk about. You may know that most adults are intimidated by teens. I have seen it over and over, particularly among seniors. You may have noticed it at malls or movies. Adults really try to avoid teens, especially if they are in groups or look threatening. They are actually fearful to get near them. They are afraid the teens might do something to them. They will cross to another side of the street to avoid being close. You have seen it too. Too many adults are afraid of teenagers. Now, having been in the high school classroom forever, I walk right on by and usually say something to them. That often almost intimidates them. They simply are not used to an adult saying something as simple as "Good morning" or "Did you see the movie?"

I have seen adults walk into a high school cafeteria and, when seeing 800 kids, begin to back out...  I don't understand it and neither do you; but so many adults are afraid. This is not an excuse for Zimmerman; it is rather something that all teen's parents need to know and teach to their kids. Kids need to learn that if they are in no way threatening, they need to make that obvious. That is a sad fact of life. People shouldn't react so quickly to their immediate thoughts, but we all do; and if something threatens us, we react... even if the threat is not real.

Home invasions are real. Is that what Zimmerman feared? We have no idea what went through anyone's mind; but one felt threatened by the other. I don't think we can ever stop people's fear of the not known, but perhaps we could prevent some of the problems if we taught everyone about the fear that is there and the things all of us do that not only intimidate others, but makes them fear us. It is not about right or wrong clothing or right or wrong music or anything like that. It is about the things that intimidate other people. You know, some like the power they feel when they intimidate others, whether with a hoodie or a gun.

Yes, Zimmerman had that gun in order to intimidate; and Trayvon probably had no idea that hoodies intimidate. And that is what is so sad. Understand.. I have hoodies; my niece wears hoodies; I have nothing against hoodies. But most adults see the hoodie as threatening, the sign of hiding something, symbol of rebellion, anti-social behavior. Worse, a black male plus night plus a hoodie plus anything else whatever is truly threatening to many adults. For days after Trayvon was shot, everyone wore hoodies in support. I wondered whether the sight of all those young people in hoodies didn't make some even more fearful of young, black males.

All we know right now is that something caused fear that night and we may never know what truly happened. But can't there be some way to remind all of us that sometimes we have to walk on the safe side, no matter just how unfair all that may seem? Perhaps, young black men should avoid wearing hoodies over their faces when walking at night. Hey, young white men should avoid wearing hoodies particularly if they also have certain haircuts, sport certain tattoos, wear specific boots. This fear of the unknown person is not limited to one young man in Florida. It is everywhere and everyone needs to be aware of the things we do that frighten others.

BTW, everyone talks of Trayvon as being a child. I have a thought about that you might also address. Yes, he was a child. But at his age, he was already making adult decisions and being allowed to make adult decisions. He, and every other young person of that age, makes decisions every day about smoking, attending school, alcohol and drugs, sexual behavior, driving practices, all kinds of decisions that affect them every day.

I always tried to teach with every piece of literature taken up in my class, the idea that every decision we make makes some difference in what happens next. Decisions made about serious life principles need to be thought about and even made well ahead of time so that when the moment comes, there is no stammer, but the individual known what he will do. When offered drugs, he will.....  Does anyone tells kids that anymore? Did anyone tell Trayvon that being out after dark with his face covered with a hoodie might cause him a problem? Did he ever think about it as he put on his favorite hoodied shirt? Probably not. But that's something we need to think about. Every decision brings along the results with it. Sometimes it matters and sometimes it does not.

Yes, I could also write on and on about the decision Zimmerman made, but my concerns are always for the kids. They have my heart. I don't want them making wrong decisions when information could make the difference.

            

I SHALL WRITE AGAIN

Fibromyalgia is absolutely no fun. Ever since I restarted this blog, I have been interrupted by flairs of fibro. So, please, know that I shall again write. Now, if I had a laptop, I could sit on the sofa and not move, but write. Just do not feel like or want to get up and come back here and write. I want to remain curled up under the blanket with the heating pad (many of you saw that my last few years in the classroom). Only then am I comfortable. But I want to write about how wonderful my life has been and is and how blessed I have been not to have the problems that so many people these days seem to have just getting to adulthood. Live my childhood with me a little longer and enjoy Camp Bowie a little more and then I shall celebrate.....  and write.  Again.

THE PERFECT CHILDHOOD

Yes, as I now think about it, I must have had the almost perfect childhood. I began school at 6 and we lived close enough that I could walk around the block to the school. You will notice that I said, "the school" and not the elementary school. That was because all of the school was in one building with the first and second grades in the basement, along with the high school science lab, the typing classroom, the restrooms, and the cafeteria. On the first floor were the classrooms for grades 3 through 8 as well as the superintendent's office; and on the top floor was the big auditorium with two classrooms on each side, on one side the Home Economics lab and on the other the English classroom. Everything else was in one of the other two rooms. And that was our school. First graders saw high school students in the cafeteria, the auditorium, and on the playground. Seventh graders talked to high school juniors and the superintendent talked to everyone. It really was a very nice way to go to school.


Of course, now that I know about schools and about learning, I know that it wasn't the best educational setting that might be provided. After all, a system that small couldn't provide either a selection of electives or advanced classes that would only serve a few. We had basic biology, but not advanced anatomy and physiology. But the classes that we had were excellent. I often said that I majored in English in college based on what I had learned during those years in that small school.


My home was also almost the perfect home in which to live. My parents were so good. I really never heard an ugly word spoken between them, much less one directed at me. Although my mother worked when I was very young, I was surrounded by family and family friends until we moved from Fort Worth to that very small town when I was four. Then, my mother was at home every day (except when she was organizing the PTA for the school or the WMU for the church and then I was either with her or at school). It was a lovely time for me. Mother could do anything ... and she did. She baked (even during the war when there was no sugar); she sewed (everything I wore  including underwear and coats during that same war); she entertained (the visiting ministers always stayed at our house); and she mothered, teaching me either to do all the things I do today or the fact that I could do those things.


It always seemed to me that everyone I knew led the same quiet, idyllic lives. I now know that surely someone in the group had problems at home that no one knew anything about, but it was never evident. Everyone seemed to live as happy and contented a life as I did. We went to school and in the summer, we all went to Vacation Bible School. Birthday parties came along every year and it seems that everyone was invited and we all seemed to get along together, at least until we went to high school! Doors were seldom locked and our small town didn't even have a policeman. I don't remember anything ever happening. Everyone (almost) went to one of the three churches in town, even the Presbyterians who didn't have a church and so went to the Baptist Church. And all in all, everyone treated everyone else as they should.


Looking through papers after the death of my dad, I learned that about the time I was in the sixth grade, my daddy earned about two thousand dollars a year. I think that must have been good. I really don't know. We had whatever we needed with mother making all of our clothes, and the Sears catalog providing our shoes for the year (how exciting it was to read the catalog in August before starting the new school year.) We had a garden and a locker downtown filled with the beef . The grocery store had  apples in the fall and peaches in the spring; but because strawberries weren't grown anywhere near, we only had those on rare occasions. Food wasn't picked early and shipped green across the country all year round. We had what was grown within a few hundred miles and was brought to us ripe and filled with nutrients.Our life was completely different from that of children today.                             


It seems that my memories of my small town growing up are everything anyone would want them to be. It was all very happy and easy and done with very little money. And kids today would hate every minute of our quiet, easy going existence. But I remember it with love and joy and all the fun I could imagine. In fact, you might say that my imagination was my favorite toy. It was the perfect childhood.

THE VERY BEST ENCHILADAS I HAVE EVER EATEN

About this time last year, I was with a friend in Roy Pope's Grocery while a woman and her mother were demonstrating their enchilada sauce in hope that the customers would like it enough to interest the store in adding their product to the shelves. When I tasted the offered product, I was immediately thrilled as it had the taste that I had been looking for since 1970, a wonderful blend of everything that everyone else seems to use, but mixed in such a way as to be better than any enchiladas I have ever eaten. And I have eaten a lot of enchiladas in the 60 years or so that I can remember eating Mexican food.

When David and I lived in Quanah, Texas, we used to drive to Vernon on a weekend night, eat at the Santa Rosa Cafe, and go to the movies. The Santa Rosa has long been gone from Vernon,. but I can still remember the taste of their food; and their enchiladas had a very special flavor. And now, here in Fort Worth were two women making a sauce with near that same flavor. I had thought of going over there and buying the sauce and making enchiladas several times, but had simply never done it. But this week, I decided that this was to be the week. And so, this morning I went to Pope's hoping the sauce had been a hit and would be on the shelves.

I walked into the store and asked about that product I had seen demonstrated so long ago and the woman at the desk brightened and said, "Enchilada Ole! Oh yes, we have it." She seemed as excited as I was that I was about to purchase the sauce and not stopping to tell me where to find it, she hurried down the aisle, me trailing behind, and handed me two jars.which I paid for and brought home as if it were a precious gift. I could hardly wait to try it.

Good sense directed me to shred the cheese and chop the onions before I did anything else and I was so glad to have a food processor that made very short work of shredding two pounds of cheese and chopping two onions. And now, I was ready. I tossed the cheese and onions together in a third bowl, opened the package of corn tortillas, and heated the sauce. Soon, I had a huge baking dish filled with enchiladas which I topped with more cheese and onion and another layer of the sauce. As a final touch and remembering the enchiladas at the Santa Rosa, I added more cheese to melt on the top, stuck the dish into the oven, and waited for the cheese to completely melt into the sauce.

Now that I am thinking about it, I am sure that at the Santa Rosa, they stuck the customer's plate of enchiladas under the broiler to get that last good melt of the cheese so that it practically became a part of the sauce, but this was wonderful without the broiler!  I took the enchiladas to the table and served them onto my bright red plates, added a salad of tossed lettuces, onion, tomato, and avocado topped with sour cream and salsa. And we ate. Oh my! Did we eat. I had made 18 big fat enchiladas using two pounds of cheese, a quart of the sauce, and adding two sliced avocados. Oh yes, there were chips for scooping up every last bit of the sauce and cheese. We did everything but lick the plate.

Everyone who had a taste of these enchiladas loved them and no, it wasn't anything I did. It was that delicious sauce. I understand that the women are putting their products in other stores as well. I believe it is in Central Market both here and in Dallas and they have plans to put      Enchilada Ole into Albertson's. Surely, one day, it will be on a shelf in a super market near you. If so, try it. It's delicious.

http://enchiladasole.com/