They say things that make us angry can serve as a catalyst for change. Last week, one of Dallas’ gems inspired me to kick this blog back into gear**.  I got very angry at the 2:35 mark of this video (watch from the beginning because the first two minutes or so are absolutely beautiful).

 

 

It’s been a minute since I’ve been pissed. I don’t hate police. My mother has worked for the Sheriff’s department for 26 years. Some of the greatest people I know are cops (ugh, sorry, this sounds awfully like “some of my best friends are black”), but the mere presence of the police around those kids had me channeling O’Shea Jackson.

 

What’s sad is that the briefest shitty encounter with law enforcement can lead to a lifetime of fear and hate. How hard would it have been for those officers to let those kids enjoy the snow, enjoy being happy, in Brooklyn, uninterrupted?

 

My work with kids has allowed me to see how valuable moments of escape can help children. Even when they’re in neighborhoods that are hard to escape, encounters with people who have managed to get out, and come back, can be life changing, and save lives.

 

We happen to use books at my job to help kids recognize a world beyond South Central. Brian is using snowboards. Hoods to Woods is a fabulous idea I wish I could contribute dollars too, and time, if I had leftovers of both.

 

Us Southern California folk barely get rain nowadays. Global warming has damn near snatched our winter. I saw snow fall for the first time when I was 22 while visiting Angela in New York. I can just imagine how awed some of my kids would be if they could be a part of a program like Hoods to Woods. Snowboarding is so similar to the skateboarding culture that has invaded the hood; I know kids who would eat this up if they had the opportunity.

 

But opportunity is so damn hard to obtain.

 

I’m thankful to my parents for showing my brother and I the world outside of Long Beach. I know a part of the reason we took so many family vacations when I was younger is because my mom and dad worked hard to earn enough money to see more than Compton, and Nickerson Gardens, where they were raised. I’m glad they took us along for the ride. Literally.

 

When the money was right, they would rent a RV and we’d drive cross state. When the money was funny we’d drive to Beverly Hills and point out cars and houses we wish we had. When they were broke we’d drive down Pine Avenue in downtown Long Beach and people watch. I still love driving down Pine to this day, even though half the shops are closed and have been replaced with a Walmart, tacky clothing stores, and tourists.  

 

We made it to Oklahoma in a RV once. We were supposed to go to New Orleans but my daddy got tired of driving so we headed back to Cali. It was around the time of the Oklahoma City bombing. I will never forget that site and how quiet my family got when we saw what was left of the building.

 

In Arizona and New Mexico we’d stop at camp grounds and fish or horseback ride. I still can see my dad’s face the time my mom accidently let a line of fish, our dinner, swim away. Me and my brother would always make friends with random white kids who seemed like our best friends at the time, but we would never keep in touch or see them again. When we visited the Grand Canyon, I was terrified. I thought I was going to fall into that massive hole, and die, but now I wish I had of paid more attention to God’s fine art.

 

The farthest they could afford for us to go was Ensenada when I was in middle school. They got a deal for a cheap cruise with stops there, San Diego and Catalina Island. Even though I can’t speak the language (and oh have I tried!), I know that trip sparked my love for the country of Mexico and its people. My mama still got a big ass bottle of Vanilla extract she smuggled back over the border. I’ve been fortunate enough to go back to Mexico three more times since that cruise (the last time I went, I was packed in a pinto with five Mexicans, but that’s another post). It was the first time though that taught me we all have more in common than we like to acknowledge.

 

That common thread with the rest of the people on this planet that don’t look like us, or talk like us, or think like us is the type of experience people from poor, segregated neighborhoods often miss out on. They’re so busy trying to survive it’s easy to understand why the preservation of self is the top priority, but the world is so much greater than individuals. Everyone should be able to see that. I believe it’s the only way to improve our quality of life – exposure.

 

 

I think the universe was talking to me last week because the day after I read Dallas’ drop I finally caught ”A Bronx Dream” on Showtime. The documentary shares a theme similar to Hoods to Woods.

 

Caroline Duggan is from Dublin and teaches music at Public School 59 in the Bronx. She started an Irish Dancing after school program after her students wanted to know why she sounded funny and became fascinated by a video of Irish dancers she showed them. In 2007  Duggan’s students got the chance to travel to Ireland. They stayed in a fancy hotel, searched for Leprechauns, met the president, and performed on the Late Late Show. The Keltic Dreams infuse Latin Dance, hip-hop, and the many cultures of New York with a dance that originated in a country a long way from America.

 

By far my favorite moment of the documentary was when the kids had to get on a bus and leave their families so they could catch their flight to Ireland. Just about all of the children were crying. For most of them, it was the first time they were leaving the Bronx, New York, and their parents. The beauty of the moment was watching the parents ignore the tears, hug their kids and let them go. Their kids self-esteem and grades skyrocketed all because of Irish dancing. They want more now.  

 

What the cops in that park in Brooklyn didn’t realize, (or maybe they do?) was that they were interrupting those kids chance to gain more, to want more. 

 

Showtime is re-airing A Bronx Dream this week. Here are the hours. Find it. Watch it.

 

 

*This crappy headline will make sense later. I’m working on a post about the worse idea I’ve caught wind of in a long time. Here’s a hint: LA, my love, is fucked. Florencia 13 and Rick James are involved.

 

**Right about here is where I would normally apologize for not posting in damn near a month, but I can’t lie - I needed a break from the Internets, and I enjoyed it ;-p. If you’re reading this, thanks for still messing with us.

Tags: A Bronx Dream, After School Programs, Hoods to Woods, Police