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Running the Gauntlet

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There’s the bell for first class. Walk slowly. Time it just right and maybe you ‘ll be the last one to sit down at your desk. Pretend you don’t hear them.

“Faggot.”
“Dyke.”
“That’s so gay.”
“No homo.”
“Tranny.”
“She-male.”

At least once during the day, LGBTQIA+ students, a reported estimated 1.3 million high school students identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, asexual, will hear an epithet casually and purposefully thrown at them, intending to hurt, belittle, ridicule. An excellent article in The Seattle Times, Aug 12, 2016,”Heartbreaking” is a survey on abuse of gay students” by Jan Hoffman with additional Federal data, reports:
The first nationwide study to ask high school students about their sexuality found that gay, lesbian and bisexual teenagers were at far greater risk for depression, bullying and many types of violence than their straight peers.

“I found the numbers heartbreaking,” said Dr. Jonathan Mermin, a senior official at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, which includes a division that administered the survey.

These adolescents were three times more likely than straight students to have been raped. They skipped school far more often because they did not feel safe; at least a third had been bullied on school property. And they were twice as likely as heterosexual students to have been threatened or injured with a weapon on school property.

More than 40 percent of these students reported that they had seriously considered suicide, and 29 percent had made attempts to do so in the year before they took the survey. A conservative estimate is 1,500 LGBTQIA+ commit suicide every year. The percentage of those who used illegal drugs was many times greater than their heterosexual peers. While 1.3 percent of straight students said they had used heroin, for example, 6 percent of the gay, lesbian and bisexual students reported having done so.

Look at these statistics! They are heartbreaking and horrifying. Understand that 1.3 million people who report to be LGBTQIA+ is roughly the population of Los Angles, California. Our children are daily engaged in warfare at school without any armor or protection—and for many who come “out” to parents, are kicked out of their home to fend on the street for themselves. Dr. Mermin, director of the National Center for HIV/AIDS, Viral Hepatitis, STD, and TB Prevention at the C.D.C., said it better than I: “Nations are judged by the health and well-being of their children. Many would find these levels of physical and sexual violence unacceptable and something we should act on quickly.”

What we can do as peers, parents, teacher, mentors, and our community is give support through educating our youth in the home and classrooms about basic issues of how to respect one another as human beings and not as ‘others’. With the ubiquitous internet and social media, it is imperative to teach our youth hard core values; to be very clear what is bullying and not acceptable behavior towards anyone for any reason. If not in the home, then at school. There are excellent programs, like Green Dot etc., used by the Air Force, that effectively teach strategy for violence prevention, and what to do as a bystander in bullying and violent situations.

As Dr. Mermin stated emphatically “connectedness — or social bonds — to peers, teachers, schools, or community organizations is key to protecting the health of these adolescents. Students will succeed if they know they matter, and feel safe and supported socially, emotionally and physically. Solutions may not be simple, but we can take action to build support for lesbian, gay and bisexual youth at multiple levels.”

I have written several articles emphasizing the need, and the rights of our children to be safe from bullies—-and I especially feel we have an imperative to protect the most vulnerable of our children—-those who are harassed for being different, either racially or because of one’s sexual orientation. We need to have a continuous dialogue with our children, our family members and community, to talk honestly about bully issues.

To gain insight into the reality of a child being LGBTQIA+ in their daily arena, please take some time to explore websites like:

Read an excellent article by Kevin L. Nadal, PhD “Stop Saying “That’s So Gay!”: 6 Types of Microaggressions That Harm LGBTQ People” for an enlightening perspective.

Ask yourself what would this world be like without the diversity, talents and skills that the LGBTQIA+ have given us since the beginning of mankind? The list I could make of the contributions in arts, sciences, politics and humanity of the LGBTQIA+ would be awesome in its breadth and sheer numbers of people who have influenced and enriched our lives in spite of the obstacles, the prejudices and hostility they have endured.

It is imperative that we, every one of us, ensure that our children, all our children, thrive in a environment that is safe and respectful, especially for the most vulnerable of children, the ‘others’, who are targeted for being different, for being lesbian, gay, bisexual, transsexual, intersexual or questioning. Too many of these children are at risk everyday of their lives. Tomorrow will be too late for many of them. Today, not yesterday, not tomorrow, but today, is the time to stop the cycle of abuse.

L – Lesbian. Lesbian is a term used to refer to homosexual females.

G – Gay. Gay is a term used to refer to homosexuality, a homosexual person, or a homosexual male.

B – Bisexual. Bisexual is when a person is attracted to two sexes/genders.

T – Trans. Trans is an umbrella term for transgender and transsexual people.

Q – Queer/Questioning. Queer is an umbrella term for all of those who are not heterosexual and/or cisgender. Questioning is when a person isn’t 100% sure of their sexual orientation and/or gender, and are trying to find their true identity.

I – Intersex. Intersex is when a person has an indeterminate mix of primary and secondary sex characteristics.

A – Asexuality. Asexuality is when a person experiences no (or little, if referring to demisexuality or grey-asexuality) sexual attraction to people.

+ – The “+” symbol simply stands for all of the other sexualities, sexes, and genders that aren’t included in these few letters.

website: lgbtqiainfo.weebly.com

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Inside the Secret World of Teens

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If you missed the CNN Special Report Special Report, “#Being13: Inside the Secret World of Teens,” from October, 2015, I highly advise you to watch it soon. And, be sure to read these articles with additional information.

Being 13: Perils of lurking on social media

“Most adolescents with access to smart phones are living their social lives online as much as they do face-to-face. Adults worry that teens are hooked on social media, but most have no idea what teens are actually doing online.

In this study, we examined the content of what teens actually say and do on social media, not simply what they say they do — and what it means to them. Not only are 13-year-olds using social media to post, tweet, share, friend, block, and unfriend, adolescents are spending vast amounts of time just “lurking,” reading the never-ending stream of their peers’ activities without posting anything themselves.

More than one third of them said they check social media without posting 25 times or more per day on weekends, and our heaviest users said they use social media over 100 times daily, including during classes at school.”
Read the entire article>>

Are you raising an Internet bully? Here’s how to end that behavior.
By Monica Leftwich, The Washington Post
“Faris dispells the notion that most kids directly model behaviors online that they witness at home, dismissing the idea that many kids cyberbully because their parents engage in similar actions. However, he does suspect that parents’ priorities could affect how their kids behave online.

Faris uses the example of “status games.” In short, some parents who get overly involved with their kids’ popularity or social status, or who themselves try to “keep up with the Joneses,” could be creating a sense of social competition in their children. If the parents put a high value on social climbing, Faris says, their children may do the same. This could create an unhealthy sense of rivalry in teens who prioritize popularity over true friendship.

That can spawn online aggression. For example, kids who value popularity will start vicious rumors online about other kids in order to tear them down while increasing their own “likes” and followers on social-media platforms.”
Read the entire article>>

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A Penny in Time Chapter 7: Changin’ Addi-Paddi (part 1)

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I could not settle down, so I got up and wandered around the house. Normally, I’m not a worrywart, but I was upset that there wasn’t anymore food for Yugo, and worried what little he had had to eat would only make him hungrier when he woke up. To distract myself, I thumbed through a history book in Mr. D’s library and read the two page-history of the Perpetual City while Yugo and Mr. D slept. Their whispery snores were in sync with one another, which made me laugh out loud as I came back into the room.

I scrunched down on the couch. Yugo curled up beside me, still sound asleep, but sending warm vibes that coated me inside out. He purred and I read.

Although their civilization was thousands of years old, the history book only recounted the last thousand of years: from 999 to 2000, the city, the people, the society, everything was exactly like it had been, was and would be. The rest of the book was pictures, and I had the creepy feeling I could walk outside and find those very landmarks still in existence. Maybe, I looked over at Mr. D sleeping, the very same people. I had heard that history repeats itself, but I had never thought about it literally.

One fact snagged my attention, about the race itself. Mr. D’s genus was Mono, of the family sapiens, and reproduction was “homogenesis”, which I found in the glossary meant “reproduction in which successive generations are alike”. I folded the book shut, wondering if ‘they’ were all of like minds, too. Maybe I stood a chance against a committee that shared genes with Mr. D. Then again, maybe I didn’t, if Mr. D had mutated from the rest of ‘them’. Back and forth, back and forth went my thoughts, always leaving me flooded with doubts. I wish the whole process had started, therefore, had been decided, and was already over.

I heard rustling outside, then a thump against the door and nearly knocked Yugo off the couch when I jumped to my feet. Mr. D bolted from his chair and with his massive hand upraised, blocked me from the front door.

“No, childling, stay!”

Any other time, I might have been offended at being ordered like a dog, but Mr. D, obviously unnerved, only meant to protect me. And Yugo, I think.

“Mr. D, I don’t think anyone is trying to break in.” I pointed to the billowing curtains. “It would have been easier to come through the open window.”

He patted his chest, where I imagined his heart beat. “I have never witnessed so many strange events.” He appeared thoughtful, looking from the window to the door. “I’ve never left that window open before now. And there’s never been any disturbance at my front door.”

“Mr. D,” I took a step forward, “let’s look outside and maybe we can figure out what’s going on.”
He nodded to me. “But you must stay here.” He took purposeful strides to the door and whipped it open.

There was a brown package on the welcome mat. Mr. D stooped and gingerly peeked inside. “Oh, my!” he gasped, as I bumped into his back.

“What is it?” I knelt beside Mr. D, nudging his leg to get a closer look, trying to send reassuring vibes to Yugo so he would stop his frightened mewing.

“It’s…” Mr. D plucked the bag up and smiled at me, a rather pained smile I thought, “a care package. For Yugo.”

Mr. D stepped over me, back inside. “Well, Dusty, I dare say that Yugo will have something good to eat, real food for the nuzzling. I’ll fix it and you feed him.”

After I dusted off my knees, though I really didn’t have to because there wasn’t any dirt on my jeans, I followed Mr. D into the kitchen. Yugo had slipped off the couch and was waddling behind me. “Look at him, Mr. D! Isn’t he cute?”

Mr. D kept his back to me. “Who would do such a thing, leave this for a misbegotten?” he mused, fussing over the large nursing bottle.

I hadn’t forgotten that Mr. D called Yugo ‘nuzzling’, which I thought might be an affectionate term. “Maybe his mother did. Or someone else who doesn’t think it’s right for babies to be left out in the desert to die.” I took the bottle from Mr. D, who frowned like my old principal did the time he caught me swearing when I slammed my locker shut on my left hand.

Yugo pawed at my legs until I picked him up. He snatched at the bottle, giving short ‘yurps’ as he suckled and I tried to balance both him and the bottle with my hands. Mr. D marched out of the kitchen, leaving me alone and wondering what I had said to upset him.

Yugo must have sensed my confusion, for he stopped sucking long enough to peer at me intently, and suddenly a lot of unfriendly faces flashed through my head. Mr. D must be as anxious as I was about this upcoming confrontation. Maybe he had mixed emotions about which side he was going to be on, or what the outcome would be for Yugo and me. I had only begun to appreciate how hard it must be for him to accept changes, let alone campaign for them. But there was someone else out there who wanted to help us, too.

“Mr. D,” I walked over to his chair and he looked up at me, “if there are two of you that feel the way I do about Yugo, then maybe there’s a lot more. We might stand a good chance of convincing the Perfect Council yet.”

Yugo started hiccupping. Mr. D’s nostril flared and he sighed, impatiently waving his hand at Yugo. “He needs to be patted on the back.”

I flipped Yugo over my shoulder and burped him. “There’s something you’re not telling me, Mr. D, something that’s troubling you. And it’s not Yugo, is it?” I put him down on the couch.
Yugo was content to settle between the cushions and go back to sleep. He seemed to have grown another six inches since I had fed him. Yugo gave back to me the love I felt for him as I scratched his head and I was reluctant to let go of the good feelings that flowed between us. But I had to get some things clear. I went over and sat on a footstool in front of Mr. D and waited for him to speak.
He cleared his throat a couple of times. “You’re right, Dusty. Something is wrong, very wrong.” He startled me by reaching over and touching my cheek lightly, then continued. “You have read,” he gestured to the closed history book on the arm of the couch, “about our history. Was it not extraordinary?”

The way he said it, gave me the impression he meant it in a negative way. “Yeah,” I replied, “I thought it was a bit odd.”

“In what way?” he asked kindly, leaning closer to me.

“Two pages about a perfect society. I mean, I guess I thought history told about wars, conflicts, changes, you know, all that happens over years and years. Like evolution.”

“Exactly.” He smacked his hands and smiled like I had answered the winning quiz question.

“Exactly what?” I retorted, baffled by his smug expression.

“Our recorded history begins with the perfected society.” He massaged his knees. “From the time of our recorded history, there are no wars, no unresolved conflicts amongst us. That is why we can exist in the Perpetual City in harmony, a totally homogeneous society. There is no poverty here, for here everything is in balance with our resources. Even our arts and sciences have reached the state of perfection, where all needs are satisfied, for each and everyone of us. Everyone is alike, and there is always agreement. Every action is carefully considered, every consideration balanced. Our marriage contracts are forever and each couple rears two offspring until the age of twenty-one, one quarter of a life span. We are a self-perpetuating society.”

He paused and took a breath. I let all this information sink in, trying to pinpoint what it was that disturbed me. After all, it sounded just fine to me. “Families stay together, right?”

“Yes.” Mr. D locked eyes with me.

“I don’t see the problem.” I held his gaze for a long minute.

“Couples partner for a lifetime; there is no such thing as separation. Each misbegotten comes from an unlawful union, and threatens the balance. Ergo, there cannot be misbegottens.”

Mr. D stroked his chin, and I was hypnotized by the long, silken strands undulating along his arm. I knew his reasoning was wrong. “What about love?” I blurted out, startling both of us.

“There are many forms of love, Dusty,” he answered quietly, and I detected a note of sadness, too. “The good of all is the highest form of love, is it not?”

But before I could answer him, there came a resounding knock on the door. This time Mr. D seemed neither surprised nor unprepared as he opened the door.

“It’s a summons for us to go to the courthouse immediately.”

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What makes a child become a bully?

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How A Child Becomes A Bully
by Dr. Gail Gross, HuffingtonPost.com
“While there is no one single profile of a child bully, in my years as a researcher and educator, I have witnessed a few different situations that describe the majority of child bullies.

Like Parent, Like Child. Children model what they see. If a child is bullied by his/her parent, or is being abused or treated in a disrespectful way at home, that child is likely to imitate this behavior at school. They are learning from their parent that this type of behavior is acceptable.

The Powerless Child. Sometimes, the child that bullies is the child who feels completely powerless at home. Perhaps this child is abused, or watches one of his parents abuse another parent, and he/she is left feeling scared and powerless at home. This child may attempt to gain back power by bullying others at school.”

Read the entire article>>

Your child might be a bully. Here are 7 ways to stop that behavior.
by Lev Novak, The Washington Post
“As a former after-school teacher, I’ve spent three years working with kids in a more relaxed environment than the classroom. And, in those hours with kids as their less-guarded selves, I’ve seen the bullying, teasing, whispers and shoves that scarcely get reported home to parents.

There are no one-size-fits-all approaches to preventing or stopping bullying, and zero-tolerance policies are often a blur of good intentions poorly applied. But below are some strategies I’ve found effective for various children.

Avoid cliches. Generalizations sound like static to kids, who don’t apply morals and have heard the “don’t bully” screed delivered in the same monotones by the same authority figures all their lives. But specifics help, and authenticity matters. Names, events and situations anchor vague morality tales in practical terms. Sincerity can bring real empathy to a subject that all too often is artificial.”

Read the entire article>>

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O, say can you see…

I cannot carry a tune so I mouth the words as I stand whenever the national anthem begins. Initially I was angered at Colin Kaepernick’s protest sit-down on August 26, 2016, when the national anthem was played. How ironic, I thought, that a football player who plays a game woven with politics and big money and tied into the military and traditionally overtly patriotic, would disrespect the very symbols that support his (12 million dollars a year) livelihood. And, without any risk to himself or to his professional status, as the players are not required to stand during the ceremony. But then something happened, a chain reaction of events and voices in support of his statements that caught my attention and made me examine my premise. I have since reconsidered.

It is the ironies that are much like a can of wiggly assumptions being let out that made me think about Kaepernick’s protest from another perspective. I have always had trouble with “The Star Spangled Banner” being our national anthem; it is a war hymn, glorifying the victory of the Americans against the British at Fort McHenry in the War of 1812. The United States prides itself on being the peace-keeper of the world. In the War of 1812, there were ex-slaves fighting with the British against their former owners, which makes my favorite goose-bumping refrain, “O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave”, hypocritical.

It is a difficult song to sing for best professional singer, let alone the average person, but it has been preformed magnificently by many. And, spoofed and lampooned and disparaged by high and low minded of all genres. Remember Jose Feliciano’s performance at Tiger Stadium? Remember athletes Tommie Smith and John Carlos with raised fists at the 1968 Olympics medal ceremony?

Sadly, in 2005, a government-sponsored program, the National Anthem Project was initiated after a Harris poll showed many adults did not know the lyrics or the history of “The Star Spangled Banner.” And, there are translations into several languages, including Latin, and the indigenous languages of the Navajo and Cherokee, many of whom fought with the British and Canadians against the Americans in the War of 1812. Yet, after the September 2011 terrorist attacks, the Queen of England allowed a performance of “The Star Spangled Banner” at Buckingham Palace during the Changing of the Guard and the next day, sang the anthem at a memorial service at St. Paul’s Cathedral, as a tribute and act of support for Americans. That, in my opinion, is the best example of transfiguration.

I am of two minds about this, but I do not see it as hypocritical or indecisive to say that I have a deep and true respect for what the flag and anthem stand for, the ideal. Yet, I do not appreciate, nor condone, our nation’s past or current history of racism, waging unconscionable acts of aggression and wars internationally and nationally, against its own citizens. When those who protest bring to the forefront issues we must face and address, I am proud to be an American citizen where protestors have a voice, and a right to use it, and cannot be silenced easily. A nation needs a conscience and that is the right to protest injustice guaranteed by the Constitution of the United States. There are many brave voices raised in protest, past and present—Colin Kaepernick is not the first to take a hard core stance, and hopefully, he will not be the last.

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A Penny in Time Chapter 6: R-E-S-P-E-C-T (part 2)

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“Well,” he sighed, “perhaps we may have to come to a compromise. Let me propose this: I shall call you Dusty, and you may call me,” he paused and squinted, but I think beneath the pained expression might have been a glint of humor, “Mr. D only,” and he emphasized it again, “only when we are by ourselves. It is especially important for you to remember this when we come before the Perfect Council. Do we have an agreement?”

“Sure,” I stuck my hand out and we shook on it. “Now, we’d better get some food for Yugo. He’s awfully hungry.”

Mr. D bristled. “I cannot. We must wait for the Perfect Decision.”

“Mr. D,” I felt an upsurge of anger that swept away all the cobwebs from my head, “Yugo’s fate will be decided whether or not he has a full stomach. I wouldn’t let you go hungry. You talk about ‘the way things are, the way things must be’, but have you no sense of what is right or wrong?”

Yugo really perked up while I made my speech and punctuated my sentences with sharp squeals. Mr. D appeared rather stunned, like he had been frozen for a couple of centuries in the same spot. He must have considered what I said, because his face thawed into a smile.

“I believe there might be something that the misbegotten could ingest. Come with me to my house.”
I didn’t see that we had much choice, whether or not to go to Mr. D’s house or back to the desert. This is the sort of situation you never want to try to explain to your parents, how sometimes you know you’re not supposed to do something, but you don’t have much of a choice, or if you have, you don’t know it.

I think Yugo must have been telling me that it was all right, because I got a sense of being in the right place at the right time. Although I thought it pretty strange that I was here, thinking about right time and place. Some of our immediate problems were taken care of, like we were inside the city, not out, so we were some place, not lost, and we at least had the promise of being fed and sheltered. I would really rather be at home, where I know it would be no problem taking care of Yugo or myself, for that matter. If I want unreasonable, I have my Dad.

We were the only ones walking along the quiet, empty streets. Rows of houses bordered the sidewalks, spaced like a perfectly planted garden of lettuce heads all in a row. “Where are all the others, Mr. D?”

“Oh, childling,” he chuckled, “everyone has a place to be and is there. There is no reason for anyone to be about at this time.”

“Is it day or night, Mr. D?” Yugo was asleep again and I could swear he had grown in just the short time we had been here.

“It is,” he answered, then added, probably because I looked like I felt, annoyed, “one and the same, here. There is no change of season, either.”

“I see.” Inside, I recoiled at the thought of sameness, the color of gray. Yugo stirred but did not awaken.

We walked on, up one, then down another sidewalk, like we were in a brightly lit maze winding through the city, until we stopped in front of one drab, medium-sized house that looked exactly like the other beside it, with one tree per patch of brownish front lawn.

“How do you know which house is yours, Mr. D?” I asked, not even trying to disguise my disgust.
“Why, I’ve always lived here! Third house from the last, the right side of the street. Simple.” He motioned me to enter, and before the door shut behind us, I got a quick look at the etched nameplate on the door, “Mr. dIAmand” in small, block letters.

“Oh, boy,” I looked around, not the least surprised that the living room had an easy chair, one couch, a coffee table, with no magazines or clutter anywhere, and each visible room had the same off-white walls with light green fabric curtains pulled neatly in two halves from the windows. “Nice place you’ve got here, Mr. D.” I plopped down on the couch and let Yugo burrow beside me.

“Yes, well, thank you. I shall be back momentarily with food for Yugo. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Sure, and thanks!” I called after him as he hurried to the kitchen. Mr. D didn’t seem all that stuffy now that we were here at his house, almost like he was happy to have us staying with him. Maybe he had really wanted to do the right thing and take care of Yugo, but didn’t want, or couldn’t, put himself in the position to be responsible for that kind of decision. I had no idea what it was going to be like before the Perfect Council, but I made up my mind I wasn’t going to let it scare me, or make me do what I knew wasn’t right. Of course, I didn’t like to think too much about what ‘they’ could make me do; I had some ugly images of blood, gore and torture. But surely, this space and place was civilized, or so I hoped. Then I looked down at Yugo, softly sleeping against my leg, and questioned how these beings could throw away their own babies and not care for them. Maybe ‘they’ wouldn’t care if I was a kid or not, no rules need apply here about what’s fair or decent or right. I only prayed that I knew what I was doing when it came time to stand up and face the Perfect Council. I was sure that Mr. D wouldn’t or couldn’t offer much more assistance, and since Yugo was the problem, he sure couldn’t do much in the way of helping.

Mr. D came back into the living room with a huge glass of thick, chalky stuff that smelled a lot like my old tennis shoes. “I’m sorry to say that’s all I have for him.”

Maybe to change the subject quickly, he blurted, “I have been informed that soon we will go before the Perfect Council, Eliz…Dusty.” He sat down in the easy chair, clasping his hands together and shaking his fur to lay smooth. “They have agreed to meet in six hours.”

“Why so long, why can’t we get it over with sooner?” I had difficulty getting the milkshake fast enough into Yugo’s demanding mouth. He slurped and gurgled while I tried not to slop any of it onto the couch, let alone worry about what was getting on me. I was going to look real nice after this feeding, just perfect enough to go before the Council.

“Oh, no sooner! Everyone will want to attend and hear the outcome. It has become a major issue, and we will be very anxious to know the decision concerning the misbegottens. It will affect us all, one way or the other.” For a moment, Mr. D lost his smile and I had a flash of misgiving. “This has created a great deal of talk amongst us, you bringing the misbe…Yugo, here inside the city. I don’t think it will be an easy decision for the Council. No,” he stood and paced between the dining room and living room, “I don’t think this is going to be easy for any of us. Your being here has disrupted us already; we cannot be the same as we were before you came. But I don’t know,” he stopped in front of me, clearly distressed, “if this is for the better or not!”

“Changes are always hard, even if they’re good for you,” I replied, wiping the last glob of liquid from Yugo’s chin. “But isn’t that life? Don’t we grow and change all the time?” I peered up at Mr. D. “Or do you like living the life of a robot?”

“Oh, childling,” he huffed, straightening to his full impressive height, “there’s nothing wrong with life being predictable.”

I looked pointedly from Yugo to Mr. D. “Something’s wrong with this society, something’s really wrong. And I bet there are some of you that aren’t real happy with the way things are.”

“Well,” he stammered, “I suppose you always have malcontents, in any society. But not enough to influence the whole network.”

“If you’re so happy with the way things are, then why did you take us in?” I felt I was ice skating across the Atlantic, but if I couldn’t make Mr. D see my point of view, I knew I was in for some real trouble up ahead.

He drummed his fingers on the fireplace mantel, answering in a low voice, “Because, Dusty, you’re right. Something is wrong, terribly wrong with our society. And I hope,” his head turned ever so slowly, his eyes seeking mine in a hard stare, “you can effect changes. You’re the only one that can.”
There seemed nothing more to say and Mr. D sat down again. I wondered just how I was going to convince ‘them’. I held onto the thin thread of hope that if I could change Mr. D’s mind, I could change the Perfect Council. I had to: it was so obviously the right thing to do that I knew I had no choice. I hoped that if I never got back home, my Mom would somehow know what I had done and be proud of me.

Yugo stretched and purred, flopping into my hands like a cat does, totally relaxed and contented. Without a worry. Mr. D reclined in his chair, with his head thrown back and eyes shut, probably asleep, too. I was wide awake, along with all my concerns. I felt like we had used up some brownie points, and I sure hoped we hadn’t emptied the cookie jar just yet. Because, I thought as I tucked Yugo close against my leg while he slept easy, what we needed was another minor miracle.

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Share Why You Write on The National Day on Writing

“We all have our own reasons for why we write, and many are essential to accomplishing our daily plans, not to mention achieving our dreams.” – NCTE Why I Write

Join me and thousands of Americans as we celebrate The National Day on Writing on Thursday, October 20th. Founded by the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE), the day draws attention to the importance of writing in all of our lives.

From text messages and social media posts to journals and novels, all of us write something every day. And, helping the younger generations understand how crucial writing is to communicating their thoughts is what English teachers around the country work tirelessly to do.

Join the celebration!

Ready for a writing challenge?
Participate in the National Novel Writing Month next month! Sign up on the website to connect with fellow writers to get the support you need to finish before the end of November. Do you think the world is ready to hear what YOU have to day?

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Peer Mediation Can Help

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“If you can avoid the physical violence and bring people together, you have accomplished what, from the beginning of time, mankind has considered a noble end.” – Richard Blumenthal

“Right in front of my eyes, those 20 students transformed into leaders and into activists.”
by Danielle Ross, MyCorneroftheWorld

“I’ll never forget that Thursday morning last year when my students and I sat together in class and cried.

What could possibly bring a class full of high school students and their teacher to tears? Bullying. We were sharing our personal experiences of being bullied and reliving those feelings that we push down but that don’t ever really go away. It had been 25 years since my “friends” had called me asking about homework and giggling in the background from a party I wasn’t invited to. Twenty-five years later and the pain came rushing back when I shared the experience with my peer counseling students. And I wasn’t the only one; student after student shared similar experiences that happened to them, mostly during elementary school.”

Read the entire article>>

Making Peer Mediation a Part of Campus Life
EducationWorld.com

“Teen skirmishes over rumors, perceived put-downs, and he-said-she-said arguments might seem inconsequential to adults, but to kids they can be major distractions. Mediation by peers can clear up misunderstandings quickly and improve school climate. Included: Ed World visits a peer mediation conference.

In schools, student conflicts can simmer for days. Starting with a glance, a whisper, or an innuendo, and seasoned with rumors, such conflicts can boil over into clique showdowns, shouting matches, threats, or worse.”

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“Leave me alone.”

We have no privacy. Our smart phones, computers and devices leave a cyber trail that makes it possible for companies to target ads tailored just for us; grocery stores send coupons to me based on my recent spending habits; my favorite game site and Facebook have ad banners showcasing similar items I have recently purchased. If I Google my name, I can find out more about myself than I wish to know. Which means, anyone can know what I am spending time and money and interest, where and what, in almost every facet of my life, except (maybe?) my inner life. Although, perhaps by examining my reading list one could find some misleading clues; but what you cannot know is how many of those books I have actually completely read and appreciated, unless I post a review. My point, I emphasize, is unless I let you know.

Here we all are in Candyland, the place of easily and readily accessible knowledge and merchandise, available with a thought and a click. It is interesting that the trail while browsing the internet is referred to as leaving ‘cookies’—such an innocuous term, but like the fairy tale reference to Hans and Gretel, if you examine the premise, it is pretty scary; being preyed upon and exposed to malevolent, unseen forces is not something most would willingly choose to do. These unseen forces are bullies. As I have pointed out before, cyberbullying is the worst form of harassment, as there is no safe haven, no place that you cannot be found as you have left evidence of your whereabouts on every device you use.

What am I leading up to and what is my bully issue now? It is a personal matter that I have concerning rights to privacy. I received notification of impending vote from the condo association in Honolulu that owners are to decide on three subjects: one of which is to have our entire buildings and premises, including inside the apartment, smoke free. There are two buildings, a common area on the fourth floor, and 938 units. This is a lot of space and a lot of people, but not all are owners of the units they reside in and not everyone will get a vote on this proposal. I understand that there are people with medical and personal objections to smoking, that it is a matter of maintaining the grounds and secondhand smoke; but I do not understand the rationale of dictating what goes on inside my condo unit. And unfortunately, precedent has been set where a condo association in Colorado won the case to have a smoke free property outside and inside a newly built complex.

How will anyone know what I am doing inside my unit? Will there be a camcorder set up to monitor my actions, or a drone? Will I be sanctioned with a written warning, verbal abuse, or eviction from my property if I light up? Will I have to sign a pledge that I will abide by this rule and turn in my neighbors if I know someone has broken the covenant?

What happens down the road if/when someone decides that alcohol is unhealthy for everyone and no one should be allowed to drink beer, wine, or spirits? Or wearing green shirts is inflammatory and prejudicial to chameleons? Flip-flops are really not very healthy for the feet—perhaps no one should wear flip-flops in the interest of insurance coverage.

I am not trivializing this, but trying to make a point that there has to be a boundary between the outside and inside of our lives that cannot be legislated; what is happening is an over legislating and intrusion upon fundamental rights by a majority, but a majority that is not totally representative of the whole. Frankly, I am scared that we are one step away from being institutionalized, with no basic individual rights upheld against a bureaucratic process. (Madness?) As I have stated in another context, once you have abnegated your rights, it is hard to win them back.

We need to be very careful about giving away our right to privacy, either knowingly or unknowingly. This has been my wake up call to pay attention to the erosion of my fundamental right to be left alone in my own house, my private space. I will be paying closer attention to how much of my life, my activities, gets monitored and marketed back to me, deleting trails where and when I can, as well as protesting any which way I can. Stay out of my bedroom, my closet, my living room. I may be a small voice, like a clownfish in a sea of whales, but I will heard. You can count on it.

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A Penny in Time Chapter 6: R-E-S-P-E-C-T (Part 1)

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“Childling, what are you doing here?”

Well, wasn’t that the question of the year! Before I could answer, the creature, I’d guess at least eight feet tall, shook his pearly mane and scolded, “It’s much too late for you to be out.”

He seemed to know me and I had a feeling I knew this shaggy, but well-groomed creature that towered over me, extending a paw-like hand towards me. His fur was satiny-white and he had liquid brown eyes beneath puckered eyebrows in a rather stern, human-like face. It was not an unkind face, just not too friendly. Yugo, snuggled in my arms, wasn’t the least bit afraid of him, either, not that I could sense. But Yugo also didn’t give out any information on this guy, which left me wondering if I should shake his hand or what.

I’d trust my instincts. I clasped his hand and replied, “Please call me Dusty.”

“Humph,” he squeezed my hand and let go, “‘Dusty’ is not a proper name, Elizabeth Conner.”

Now I knew why he felt so familiar, he reminded me of my Dad.

“Come along,” he took a key from a big ring and unlocked the gate, a soft clicking echoing throughout the deserted streets. “You may call me Mr. dIAmand.” He swung the gate open and as I took a step, he stopped me with an upraised hand. “You must,” he pointed to Yugo, “leave the misbegotten outside the city walls. It must return to the desert.”

“No!” I shot back, without a moment’s hesitation, heartened by my voice ringing in the still night air. “Yugo and I stay together. I must get some food for him. He’s starving.” I stroked Yugo and he purred. “Maybe you can help find his parents.” I smiled at the man-thing, seeing a resemblance between him and Yugo. Yugo would probably grow up to look a lot like Mr. dIAmand.

“It is not possible,” he rejoined, stepping over the threshold into the city. “Misbegottens are not allowed here in the Perpetual City.”

“But he’s one of your kind!” I shrieked. “You can’t leave Yugo to die out in the desert! You can’t!” No one could be that cruel.

Yugo burrowed deeper into my arms. We both felt terrified that we’d be left outside to die.
The keys jingled and I realized Mr. dIAmand’s hand trembled as he spoke. “It isn’t done. The misbegottens do not come back. You must understand, there is no place for them.” He met my eyes, and I thought I saw sadness in them. “You mustn’t interfere with the way things are here, Elizabeth Conner.”

I took three steps over to him, facing him so that he could not avoid looking me in the eyes while I spoke. “Is that the way things are done here? Murder of the innocents?”

“No!” he boomed. “These misbegottens are not innocent! They accept that they must not be.” Then with a careful gesture, he touched my shoulder with his shaggy hand. “Do not take it upon yourself to change things. You cannot make what is acceptable seem wrong. This cannot be tolerated!”

I sounded a lot braver than I felt, but I had too much to lose to give in to him, even if my own life depended on his help. “It’s murder, Mr. dIAmand, and you’ll be a murderer.”

“I am only responsible for you!” He thundered, cutting great arcs with his hand-paw. “I can do nothing for the misbegotten. Now come along!”

“Who says?” I challenged.

“Who says?” hooted Mr. dIAmand, clearly puzzled.

“Who makes all these rules and says you’re only responsible for me and not for Yugo?”

I had obviously asked the right question by the smug look on Mr. D’s face and the sound of his voice. “Why, the Perfect Council decided these matters long before you or I were born, Elizabeth Conner.”
“Well then, Mr. D, we’ll challenge the Perfect Council. You’ll be only responsible for me, as I assume full responsibility for Yugo.” I had a vague notion that Mr. D was in a bind; he must have been assigned to take care of me and I meant to use that to my advantage. “I won’t go with you if you won’t ask the Perfect Council to consider my case for Yugo.”

All the while Yugo mewed I stroked him, offering him all the comfort I could muster. I banked on Mr. D’s sense of ‘responsibility’ as being about as rigid as he was.

“Excellent idea Elizabeth Conner! We shall do that. Now, please come along.” He stood aside for me to walk by and I kept Yugo tucked out of reach, for I wasn’t real sure Mr. D wouldn’t snatch Yugo and throw him away.

“Elizabeth Conner,” Mr. dIAmand brought his hand gently upon my shoulder, “you mustn’t call me any name other than my rightful one. It isn’t proper.”

Yugo still needed food and I had pushed Mr. D about as far as I thought I could, but I was stuck on a principle. “In a way, I understand that. You call me Dusty and I’ll call you Mr. dIAmand.” I stretched as tall as I could make myself and looked Mr. D in the eye.

“But, childling, I must call you by your rightful name. Surely, you can understand that?” He asked so sincerely, so clearly baffled, that I had to reply with the very truth of the matter.

“It offends me.” I didn’t want to go into all the whys and wherefores, so I added, “For reasons of my own.”

He studied me, which gave me a chance to look him over, too. He really was quite beautiful, with long, shiny hair that begged to be brushed and stroked. He had a nice face, but one that I doubt I could remember or describe, other than it was nice. I guess that’s why he reminded me of my Dad, only Mr. D had a lot more hair.

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