The Week Of...

Lots of religious days of importance are happening this week - including the start of Holy Week for Christians coinciding with Jewish Passover celebrations. As my mother died on Easter Sunday, it's been a conflicting time for me for many years.

Twenty-seven years ago this week, my family was everywhere emotionally. We'd received the devastating news a few weeks before that my mom's breast cancer had metastasized to not only her lungs and liver (which she knew about), but also to her brain. In addition to the struggle that comes with knowing someone you love has only a short time left in this physical plain, my dad insisted that my mom not be told about the new diagnosis, and my disagreement with his insistence led to a lot of additional tension.

Hospice was around, as was a day nurse that helped administer medications to mom during the day. Back then, adjuvant treatment included oral dilantin to help eliminate brain swelling. It had to be administered every six or eight hours, if I recall - plus an N-G tube had to be taken care of to make sure liquid nutrients could be given as well, as she was unable to eat. Add the steady stream of family and friends happening by to visit, and it's not hard to get that there was lots of movement in and around the house during Holy Week that year. But the push to aim for normalcy was strong.

I'd moved back home less than a year before from Philadelphia to deal with a career change/transition from photojournalism that involved deciding if graduate school was the direction to take. In between gathering GRE and grad program application information, I was also training for an outside chance at trying for another Olympic team. Yes, things were crazy busy.

Because mom was pretty immobile, changing her bed sheets was done the same way hospitals do it: by rolling her over instead of getting her out of bed. But a new Hospice bed delivery required that we get her up to actually change beds. During the relatively quick exchange, we helped her sit in the big comfy chair in the room, a plush recliner that happened to sit near a dresser. Not two minutes after she got into the chair, she glanced into the mirror and was pretty shocked to see that all of her hair was gone from the radiation she'd received in the hospital when her metastasis was discovered.

"Wow," she said as she rubbed her head. "I'm as bald as a cue ball!"

She didn't ask where her hair had gone or why, but I think she knew.

As the Olympic Trials were around the corner, I had decided to open my outdoor track season with a meet in New Jersey that seemed to be about an hour or so away. My mom was always my biggest cheerleader, traveling the country with me to meets through the years - both during and after college. She was actually more excited about the meet than I was.

The night before the meet was Good Friday. As lots of folks called to see how she was, I remember overhearing my dad telling folks he hadn't seen in years that my mom was acting a bit delirious, describing her as "talking out of her head." That totally shocked me, because I hadn't witnessed anything like that at all. She and I talked all the time, although she talked a lot less than she use to.

I remember giving her a manicure that night. While I painted, she talked a bit about the meet, asking if my uniform was clean and if my car was gassed up and ready to go. She said she wished she could go and watch me compete. While I painted my own nails the same color I told her she'd be with me in spirit, but she was already fast asleep. I took this picture of our hands together a few minutes later.

My event started relatively early so I had to leave on Saturday when it was barely light outside to make it on time. But it ended up being much further away than I'd thought and it seemed like it took forever to get there. The whole while I drove, I kept thinking about how horrible it would be if my mom passed away while I was stuck in my car trying to get to or from a track meet. Those thoughts and the very cold weather made me warm up, take just one jump (winning the event at a pretty low height), get back in my car and drive home as fast as I could.

As soon as I poked my head into the room, she smiled and wanted to know how the meet went.

"How did you do?" she said.

"It didn't go so well," I told her.

"Don't worry - you'll get 'em next time."

Those raspy words were the very last ones she ever said to me.

Around midnight, when I went in to give the dilantin, her breathing was very loud and labored. I knew instantly that I needed to get everyone up and here as soon as possible. I told my dad, then called our pastor. His wife told me he'd be right over.

We - my dad, grandmother, great aunt (grandmother's sister) and the pastor - sang and talked to her for what seemed like both an eternity and only a few minutes. Sometime after 4am, her breathing got even more labored and shallow. I was standing near her left leg and just kept rubbing the tiny spot above her knee. Seconds later, she took her last breath.

My mom passed away from metastatic breast cancer on 4/19/92 at 4:19am.

Folks around the globe were getting up and prepping to get to Sunrise Services to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. I was calling the local funeral home to make arrangements for them to pick her up and prep for her funeral. I've always thought there was a strange irony in that.

This year the 19th is actually Good Friday, and I have been dreading it big time. Of course I remember the day she died, but because Easter Sunday isn't a fixed date on the calendar, the dates don't coincide every year. Memories seem to hit a smidge differently when they actually do, though.

In the years since, I've married, become a mother myself, divorced, been through all sorts of life changes and even married again. This is the first time I've ever written about those last days with her.Thanks for indulging the need to commit these thoughts and memories to virtual paper. I guess it was important for me to do this today and in this way.

May you enjoy your holy day celebrations with your families or with whomever you celebrate. I plan on trying my best to do the same. 

Don't Go There...

You ever had that in-person convo turn to things like finance, religion or politics and suddenly go awry? Have you been finger-wagged on social media because someone didn't like how you expressed yourself? Ever felt some type of way over either but weren't really sure why?

I certainly have. Happened just a few days ago actually. And I was really irritated after the smoke cleared, too. Felt a bit out of sorts because of the responses during the exchange, which rubbed me all types of wrong.

It was so bad that I actually dreamed about a situation the night after it happened. When I woke up, I knew instantly why I was so bothered.

I was angry over being tone-policed.

Tone policing is when someone steps in to regulate a conversation by suggesting the person not respond so _______-ly (any adjective like loud, disrespectful, forceful, etc. can go here). It's designed to remind said person to mind their manners by suggesting they present their point in a way that is more appealing to the complainer. Tone policing is a close cousin to gaslighting.

The problem with tone policing is this: Trying to regulate how a person says a thing is simply a matter of control. Think about a discussion where one person interrupts by asking "Why are you getting so upset?" when clearly the person with whom they were speaking is not upset. It's simply designed to keep a person in check and dismiss what they said because they don't like how it was said.

Here's an example: A few days ago, a friend posted a meme on Facebook about a pregnant woman who respectfully asked a male sitting on some form of public transportation if he would be willing to give up his seat for her because she was starting to feel nauseous. The guy refused and chastised her about being willing to stand if she, as a woman, "really wanted equality." She replied by tossing her cookies on his lap, paper, coffee and laptop, which, she said, was a bit satisfying.

The first comment from a friend of my friend proceeded to mansplain why her response was actually assault and blah, blah, blah (seriously - I stopped reading and just skimmed after about two sentences). So I told him that it was well-past ridiculous to make the victim the heavy and let the actual idiot who started the whole mess with his meanness the wronged party. He apparently didn't like that I ended it with a "GTHOH with that silliness" and responded by telling me that I wasn't acting very nice and that I should really learn how to read a bit better. So, yeah, I tried my best to verbally rip him a new one before telling him to again GTHOH with that foolishness.

It's not up to anyone to decide if/when my responses aren't nice enough - especially when they are hardly even trying to be nice at all. Why should I always have the onus to be pleasant, polite and extending olive branches if others aren't trying to do the same? Is niceness expected simply because I'm female?

In-person and as a person of color, I find that sometimes, expressing my opinion with any kind of veracity is interpreted as me "getting upset" or heated. It feels like any disagreement that isn't whispered instantly brands me as the epitome of the Angry Black Woman. Seriously, it happens all. the. time.

In online circles, I'm pretty careful as to how I present an argument. I more often than not detail my response in a way that gives the person I'm dealing with only a few choices: agree or disagree. I have no problem with the later, but if you step in to remind me to be calm/polite/respectful, etc. without ever bothering to do the same, that IS a problem. How hard is it to understand that your interpretation is not the only one there is - and that it's not a bad thing if folks remind you of that every once in a while?

Yeah - don't don your Tone Police badge in my presence. Generally speaking, reminding someone to calm down - even when they are upset - isn't really a good idea.

High Fashion: How the Fashion Industry Misses the Mark

Today as I tried to shave down some of the inbox clutter, one of the newsletters I get lured me to its lead story with an interesting headline, all about a fashion show in Times Square designed to remind the world that beauty can be non-traditional as sexy "comes in all sizes."

I've always been an optimistic, "glass half-full" kinda person, but even I know titles like that don't really mean that every size is included. Usually, they mean they've focused on plus-sized women, forgetting all about the "others" who usually don't get very much attention, either - like the very petite or the really tall.

I get it: Our society has a way of stamping a particular look as THE standard of beauty - a box that only a handful of people actually fit into. Most of us wouldn't ever be able to fit the Fashion Week runway looks even if we could afford them because they don't come in our size. But trust me - even when tall and svelte is seen as the pedestaled shinny apple, the fashion industry's idea of "long" shirts and pants always leave much of my forearms and shins uncovered. Always.

How big you are or aren't shouldn't be the issue, but it always seems to be.

I'm all for expanding that worn definition of "standard beauty" by including women who wear larger sizes and even members of the trans community who may need clothing that is nearly impossible to find off the rack, I really am. I just think it's important to also think about the others who can't find crap to fit them, either, like:

• The A-Cup women
• Females without much junk in the trunk
• Pregnant women who hate anchors, cartoon animals or bows
• Ladies who like clothing traditionally labeled "mens wear" (ties, suit jackets, boxy jeans, trousers with functional pockets, Oxford shirts, etc.)
• Women who don't wear heels
• Women with small or large feet who do wear heels
• Anyone with an inseam over 34"
• Anyone with an inseam under 24"
• Folks with long limbs who only need extra material for length, not necessarily girth
• Women who don't want to flash cleavage in a cocktail dress or evening gown
• Jeans that actually freaking fit but don't cost a tuition payment to own
• Pants that still cover your ankles when you sit down  

What do you like to see on your clothing store shelves?

A gentle reminder that we should all stop and smell them every now and again...

Time's Been Up

Doesn't matter if it's Bill Cosby, President Trump, singer R. Kelly, producer Harvey Weinstein, editorial director Lockhart Steele, CEO John Besh, news director Michael Oreskes, Minnesita state senator Dan Schoen, comedian Louis C.K., Ohio state representative Wes Goodman, journalist Charlie Rose, journalist Matt Lauer, Broadway casting director Justin Huff, venture capitalist Shervin Pishevar, playwright Israel Horovitz, federal appeals court judge Alex Kozinski, political analyst Ryan Lizza, chef Mario Batali, ESPN host Eric Davis, filmmaker Morgan Spurlock, Carolina Panthers owner Jerry Richardson, conductor Charles Dutoit, dancer Marcelo Gomes, Bank of America director Omeed Malik, Big Apple Circus clown Barry Lubin, casino magnate Stephen Wynn, CEO Wayne Pacelle, Hollywood manager Vincent Cirrincione, Hispanic Chamber of Commerce chief Jaview Palomarez or anyone else – enough. is. enough. 

And if women in your life are saying #MeToo and you keep insisting the movement has “gone too far” – go sit down somewhere.

Zora Was a Genius

You ever think about the slights and micro-aggressions you experience in your day-to-day? I don't, usually, but a few days ago, I remembered a particularly weird incident that happened when I was just out of college.

As I was finally working in my field full-time, my mentor and former Temple University instructor asked me to come in to speak to his undergraduate photojournalism class about what a day-in-the-life of a woman earning a living shooting images for a daily newspaper was like. I don't really remember much of what I talked about specifically or what questions I answered, but I do remember one student who would not look me in the eye and actually laid down across the edge of the table - flat on his back - as the class gathered around to see my portfolio. He wasn't disruptive as he stared at the ceiling, but his body language and behavior said he just didn't want to be bothered and had no interest in anything I had to say. I wrote him off as an insecure know-it-all idiot and kept it moving.

A few months later, we ended up freelancing for the same suburban Philadelphia newspaper and I was right: He as an insecure know-it-all idiot.

Whenever out of the ordinary stupidity like that happens, my first response is usually to be a bit taken aback - in a "Wow! Did that just really happen?" sorta way. After a few minutes of processing it and trying to figure out what the heck would possess anyone to act in such a way, I next quite honestly feel a little stunned that anyone would have the audacity to try such foolishness with (or to) me. Then I channel my inner Zora and keep it moving.

But sometimes, I remember the bigger crazy and try to decipher what the deal was - like when:

• I was 18 and working as an automotive sales associate in a department store one summer and a fool grabbed my butt as I lead him to the back to check out two tires he needed (I spun around with my fist up, ready to clock him square in the nose until I remembered I was at work which was the only thing that saved him). 
• I was 26 and a man in the pharmacy I saddled up next to (when I was nine months pregnant and my swollen hands hands made wearing my wedding ring an impossibility) who looked over, saw my huge belly, immediately dropped his eyes to my left hand and sucked his teeth in disgust before turning his head away to look in the other direction.
• A few years later when the elderly female owner of a house my (then) hubby and I were going to rent - which was about 400 meters away from her own home - took our security deposit but waited until we got home 30-minutes later to tell us she didn't think our living in such close proximity would "work out."
• Four years ago when a male boss at a newspaper I was working for refused to give me Mother's Day off because, although was the only female out of five editors on the desk, the men had plans to spend the day with their children or mothers. He said the same thing when Father's Day rolled around.
• Two years ago when publisher of an area magazine interviewed me for the editor position I'd applied for, told me I was hired and she would connect after Thanksgiving to give me starting date details. By early January, after she never returned any of my calls or emails, I figured out that I probably wasn't going to ever get that "Here's your start date" correspondence.  

If I spent time examining each of the above, I'm sure I could find some plausible explanation as to why they went down like they did, but, I'm good. I'm sure I didn't misread or mis-interpret at all. And no, there isn't more to any of the stories than what is there, so the "yeah, but..." really doesn't apply.

Sometimes, people are ugly. Sometimes, they can do things to try to make you feel less than significant or important. Sometimes, they succeed.

But the option to straighten your crown, channel your inner Zora and step over the BS is always, always there. 

Proceed With Caution, Please...

So, yeah, there are a lot of males who have behaved badly and are being called to the carpet for their past actions. Hats off to the women who have had the courage to step forward and display their inner turmoil in such a public way. Remarkable courage - especially since, as always, their motives, recollection of the events or their level of participation (whatever the heck that means) are all questioned. Yeah, still amazed that the "Well, what did SHE do to bring on such behavior?" is almost always the default - and also that it takes an average of four accusers before folks seem to be at least willing to accept the idea that the accused may, in fact, be a flaming bag of puss who fooled us all (one woman telling her story just never seems to be enough, strangely.).

But I’m also amazed that after all the sexual and workplace harassment awareness and legislation the Clarence Thomas confirmation hearings ignited way back in the early 90s, we seem to be right back where we were before Anita Hill testified. Seriously, what is the deal with that? I thought we DID this already…

And what is up with assuming some men are just too nice, or too good at what they do, or too famous to have done what they are accused of? Please at least be open to the idea that even good people who have done tons for the community at large can - and do - treat folks very badly. The two are not mutually exclusive.

Also - a gentle reminder: The idea of inappropriate touching, advances, propositions, vocalized expectations of sexual "favors" and reduction of women to mere body parts happens. All. The. Time. Many, many women have and do experience it, and most of us keep quiet so we don't have to also experience victim blaming and being told to forget/ignore it when we do voice it to higher-ups. That being said, every woman's "This is what happened to me" story - and the "I don't believe her/them" comments - are potentially triggers for lots of people. 

There is a lot of emotional distress happening right now as a result of the headlines, make no mistake about it. Please don't discount that when you wade in to express your opinion. Women are watching. More importantly, young women - and young men - are watching, too. How we treat this thing collectively and individually will tell them a lot about how they are expected to behave.

This is a systemic issue that won't go away with one, five, 10 or even 100 firings or forced resignations. It's bigger than that, and until we recognize that, come correct and try to address all the contributing factors (the biggest of which, I firmly believe, is rape culture in this here land of the free), the piece-meal efforts will not add up to much of anything, and, as we're starting to witness, women will be blamed for calling out other folks' favorite politician, news reporter or entertainment company CEO.

Say it with me now: IT. IS. NOT. HER. FAULT. IT'S. HIS. Dismissing it away or referring to it as just a fluke, a "minor" transgression, or her word against his (and he said he didn't do it!) just ain't cool. So stop that - like, yesterday.

Words are powerful. Please use them accordingly.