Silent No More

I haven't posted my own thoughts on any of the officer-involved shootings of black men over the past few years. Mainly because I'm not sure that my posts on social media will really change things or change the people who are allegedly my friends. And, I have so much to say on these events that I'm not sure I'll keep anyone's attention past the third paragraph. Up until this point, I have been observing a lot of my friends' posts when it comes to these events. I see many of your posts. They are "interesting" (that's Minnesota nice for crazy, by the way). I don't always agree, but I move on. I recognize that you and I may have a different perspective on things -- politics, parenting, vaccines, diets, gay rights, abortion, name any issue really -- and that's OK! I value our differences.

I also see those who aren't posting anything today. You're living your lives completely, seemingly unaffected. Maybe you're scared of what others will think if you share your opinion. Maybe you don't know how you feel about the disturbing times we're living in. Maybe you don't know how to talk about "black" issues. Maybe you don't think there's a problem. So, let me share my perspective, because after reading posts that continue to blindly justify law enforcement actions without ever acknowledging a loss of life (emphasis on blindly), and that continue to say, in Mr. Castile's situation specifically, "He should've just followed the officer's commands!" (ridiculous, on many human and legal levels) and after seeing things like "all lives matter" (they do, of course, but you've completely missed the point if you keep saying that), maybe a fraction of my social media friends will wake up, and that will be enough for me.

More importantly, I cannot be silent any longer. I refuse to remain neutral on this issue. Neutrality on this issue IS actually taking a side and that is with oppression of people of color. (Note my new Facebook profile pic. Snazzy, huh?)

In case you haven't noticed, I am a white woman. Shocker, I know! But, I am more than this. I am a white woman who lives in a black family. You see my cover photo on Facebook? I have black sons and black daughters. Yeah, those are MY people. Those young black men have come out of my body, my womb. Do I need to be more explicit than that on where they came from? They are flesh of my flesh. Those beautiful young black queens you see me with all the time? Those are my amazing, WHIP-SMART daughters. So, I am not just a white woman.

Oh, but Becky. Your kids are mixed! They aren't "black-black." Yeah, I've heard this. Well, that may be. However, I can't tell you the number of times I've rolled up and people are SHOCKED that my children come with a white woman for a mother. So, to the world, on their very appearance and without any notion of their "mixed" heritage, my children will be considered "black."

Guess what? We celebrate that in my household! The other day, little Will and I were talking about the fact that he is brown and I am white. You know what he told me? "Gee Mom, I'm sorry you can't be brown like me. That's too bad." HE WAS BEING SERIOUS AND GENUINE. He actually felt bad for me that I couldn't be brown like him. I will never forget that moment. It's one of those memories my family will recount happily over and over.

However, I am a white woman when it comes to white privilege. I have so many stories of how my white privilege has gotten me out of sticky situations, with police no less, that I don't have enough time or room on this post to share all of them. As a citizen (not a lawyer) I have questioned police and even gotten pretty heated about situations and not a single thing happened to me. Just last week, I got out of a speeding ticket where I was 15 mph over the limit. Even the state trooper told me he almost never gives a warning for a violation that far over the limit. I have zero doubt I was given that mercy because I am white.

Worse, I have so many stories about how my husband and my teenage son have been profiled and discriminated against because they are black. I won't share those here, but if you don't believe me, message me. I'll share them with you.

Bottom line: It's no longer OK to stand on the sidelines and watch this madness. It's no longer OK to ignore what's happening. White friends, I'm talking to you. If you know me. If you call me friend in any capacity. If you have ever spoken to my husband or cheered for one of my children at their sporting events or if your kids have come to my kids' birthday parties, know that I see you. I'm watching how you react to all of this. There's no in between. You can't be cool with the Moores and then talk about how black lives matter is just ridiculous. We're not just the "cool" black people (something my husband has been told before in the Owatonna community - "Wow, you're a pretty cool black guy, Will. Not like the rest of them." Huh? Um, yes, he is just like the rest of them.)

In therapy, they do this novel thing, where the person who has been hurt tells you (or the other person) how they're feeling. Instead of the other person being able to say back how they feel or how the hurt person has hurt or wronged them, the other person has to acknowledge the hurt they have just heard and repeat it back in the hurt person's own words. You are literally saying, "I hear you. I may not know exactly what you've been through, but I acknowledge your pain." This is what starts the healing process.

Why aren't we as white people doing this for our black brothers and sisters? Why can't we just acknowledge the pain, the struggle?

In case you're wondering, I am not anti-cop. Goodness, I couldn't imagine going out every day and facing the things they face. I have so much respect for law enforcement who do their jobs right. Their jobs come with great power. In some instances, that power gets abused often with the un-vindicated sacrifice of black lives. I am pro-black. Oh yes, yes I am very pro-black. But that doesn't mean I'm anti-white. I come from a white family. Hello?! My point is the two are not mutually exclusive. I can be both.

You're still with me? Wow, good for you. You probably deserve a prize, but instead, I have some suggestions for you:

1. If you hate black people and are not open to reason or logic, you can probably delete me and go live under a rock, under the sea, where there's no oxygen. Kidding. (Kinda).

2. If you just aren't sure how you feel about all of this and you think all law enforcement should never be questioned and they can do no wrong ever, and what's up with all of these black people killing each other anyway? You should start listening. Start paying attention. Get out of your white comfort zone. Come hang out with the Moores! We are pretty cool people, even though we're 50 shades of brown and peach (sorry, no grey)! Seriously, start educating yourselves on things that may make you uncomfortable. I take that back. Start educating yourselves on things that WILL make you uncomfortable.

If nothing else, start asking questions about these officer-involved shootings: would this happen if it were a white person? White guys, if you've been in situations with police officers, did this happen to you? When you got a little testy with the cops, were you ever afraid for your life? Did you think, "Gosh, I should shut up or I might take a bullet?" No? Well, that's white privilege. Be thankful for it, but recognize it and use it to speak up for people who aren't as lucky because they were born with melanin that works better than yours.

3. If you are sick of seeing another black guy get killed every other day, take action. Call your legislators. Tell them you are done with this and you are demanding change. They make the laws after all. Ask them what legislation can be enacted to better train local law enforcement. Law enforcement should not be reacting with gunfire in every situation. It's not necessary. Why are local law enforcement handling traffic stops as war time situations? What can be done to better educate law enforcement, leaders in our communities on cultural differences?

4. You aren't very political and don't think your legislators will do anything? OK, get to know some black people. You have some neighbors or people in your church or school that are black? Go talk to them! Seriously. I am convinced that we're all just 5-year-olds on the inside and we've forgotten that. Invite them onto your committees. Compliment them on their new hair-do. God forbid, have your kids get to know their kids. Yes, there are differences between black people and white people. Duh! Instead of being scared of those differences, let's acknowledge them. This is not rocket science, people. It's called being decent humans and maybe getting out of our comfort zones and including others, who may (or get this, may NOT) be different from us. Didn't we all learn this in kindergarten??

OK, rant over. Maybe someone will be enlightened. Maybe you'll just hate me more. Either way, you know where Rebecca Moore stands. I hope you don't delete me if you disagree with me. Let's keep talking about this stuff! Seriously, if you disagree with me, message me. Let's get together and talk.

At the end of the day, where will you be on the day one of my black children needs you? Will you stand up with us and for us?

Groceries and Good Samaritans

I could see the man trying to balance a 24-pack of water bottles and I knew he was not going to make it.

As I came up behind the very unsteady, elderly man in the Hy-Vee parking lot, I asked him if I could help him.  I practically begged him to let me help.  As he responded with an emphatic "no" he went down on the concrete.  Hard.  His cane bounced off the ground and his bags spilled open.  I cringed at the sound, quickly handed our bags to Janessa and told her to be ready to help.  I rounded up a random passerby, Jadyn, and a high school Hy-Vee employee, who looked bewildered, and we helped the man to his feet.  It seemed like it took hours to get him to his feet.   The iron rod that took the place of his left leg was revealed under his sweatpants as we helped him up.  He needed more time.  Just to catch.  His breath. 

When we got him to his feet, I told him flat out that I was concerned for him and I wanted to get him more help.  Calling 911 was out of the question and he didn’t want his wife to know.  “She doesn’t need to know,” he reassured me.  He could barely get the words out.  She was in the store and would be out soon.  So I didn’t go find her.  After we collected his things and got him in his car, I wondered if he would even tell his wife that he fell in the parking lot.  Hard.  It didn’t really matter, I guess.  I knew I had walked out of Hy-Vee at the right time tonight, somehow forgetting the prescription that was on my list.

The passerby I rounded up as part of our motley crew of Good Samaritans followed Jadyn, Janessa and I to the car and asked me for money.   When I came up short, Jadyn pulled money out of his own wallet and handed it to the man, who then told us in broken English and with the biggest smile, “We family now.”  I smiled back and said, “Absolutely.”

Just last month, a man was stranded outside Hy-Vee, waiting with his walker as he literally cried to me and Janessa as we tried to enter the store.  He just needed to make a phone call to a taxi company, he said.  When I told him that I would be happy to oblige, he then asked me to make the phone call.  Janessa stood by and watched as her mother fumbled through Google to find the taxi number.   The cab company was very familiar with our stranded Hy-Vee comrade.  “Jerry” had already called, the lady told me very annoyed.  She couldn’t understand why he was calling again.   When I told her I was just calling to make sure someone was on the way, that didn’t seem to appease her.  Apparently, Jerry would be picked up when it worked for them.  He would just have to wait.  Jerry took the news in stride and said he would wait.  He was thrilled that he was able to get through.  On my phone.   Janessa and I walked into the store that snowy day hoping for Jerry that the cab would get there soon. 

I always find myself reflecting on these situations afterward, wondering if I did the right thing, and more importantly, wondering if I could have done more.  But I’m grateful my kids have been with me to see what it means to really help someone in need.   It wasn’t convenient tonight.  It was awkward.  It required getting up in someone’s space and letting them into mine.   It’s one thing to volunteer at a soup kitchen.  Or to give money to a distant child in Africa.  Or to do amazing things through church groups and non-profit organizations when you are prepared to do them (and those are all worthy, wonderful things).  But it is quite another thing to have a person in need come flying into your daily reality, your comfort zone, and literally stand in your path with a real, urgent need. 

Tonight, I’m grateful for parents who taught me that you help regardless of circumstances and regardless of the messiness of it all.  I’m grateful my kids have been at each of these bizarre situations at Hy-Vee and that they already seem to be getting this Good Samaritan thing.  

Grandma Dorothy: A Servant's Heart

Grandma Dorothy passed away this morning.  She wasn't my biological grandmother, but she was without a doubt a grandmother to me.  I have this great picture of Dorothy and me when I was a baby and we're sitting on my parents' old leather couch laughing together.  I always wondered what could have made a 6-month old and a 60-something laugh so hard together. 

Dorothy and I traveled together, did every holiday and birthday together, shared stories of life dreams and broken hopes and Dorothy always had the best cookies.  Oh, and her homemade ice cream was to die for.  I know Dorothy had dreams of her own as a young woman, but those were sidelined when she had the opportunity to care for a family, a family that I would become a part of years later.  Dorothy spoke German as a little girl, nurtured an amazing flower garden every spring and worked tirelessly for others.  I never heard her complain.  No what-ifs, could-have-beens or should-have-beens from her.  Ever. 

I lost both of my biological grandmothers (both amazing women with their own stories) before I became a teen and Grandma Dorothy stepped up and filled in.  When I lost my hope as a young woman, Dorothy had love to spare.  When I celebrated giant milestones, Dorothy delivered cards with glowing reviews of who I had become.  Thing is, I'm fairly certain Dorothy did this with many, many others.  But, Dorothy's love wasn't something to check off on a to-do list.  It was genuine and so understated that you didn't know the depth of it until it passed over you.

Today, in the midst of my grief, I'm letting that love pass over me one more time.

We were told at the hospice house that Dorothy had the record for number of visitors. The nurses there said they could see the impact this woman had made by the sheer volume of people who came to visit her one last time on earth.  They were sure she had to be a celebrity.  Funny, Dorothy lived a quiet, humble life but loved and gave everywhere she went. 

Grandma Dorothy never judged, and our family gave her plenty of reasons to.  She never even commented on any of the despair and bad decisions she witnessed over the years.  She loved and loved and loved.  And then loved some more.  Dorothy had a servant's heart.  She never sat back and wondered what she could do.  She was always serving others in the background.  Today, I know she is at peace and I can't help but believe a giant garden, full of heavenly gladioli, was waiting for her. 

My heart grieves for the loss of this woman today, mostly because I know there will never be another Grandma Dorothy for me.  Life is short.  It's time for me to start living a little more like Grandma Dorothy.

Alone on a Mommy Island

I've been feeling rather alone, lately, which is not what you'd expect since I live in a house with five other people, and since I sleep in a bed with two men named Will most nights (not as amazing as it sounds, friends, considering one is 2 and the other is 42).  Maybe this is a good time to clarify.  I feel alone in this parenting journey I'm on.  Most days, I feel like Will and I are on this island surrounded by children who happen to be in every, distinct childhood phase known to man.  We are dealing with a toddler, an 8-year old, a junior higher and a senior in high school.  Is there any age we're missing?  Don't answer that.  

A lot of days I feel like nobody else can relate to me in the joys and woes of my particular mommy-hood.  One minute I'm rejoicing over my two-year old pooping in the potty, the next minute, I'm making sure my 8-year-old has fed her bunny and done her homework, next I'm counseling my 13-year old on what it means to make "wise" decisions on the back of the bus and the second after that, I'm discussing colleges and serious relationship stuff with my 17-year old.  Hello?  Can anyone relate??

A lot of my friends are in that kindergarten/preschool stage, where they have kids six and under, which I am amazed by.  I have several friends who have three children under five or six and I am just blown away by these women.  I'm not sure I could do that.  I have other friends who are just starting their families with baby number one and then I have other dear friends who have already sent off most of their babies to colleges and careers.  I love this diversity.  But, talking to them about what my 13- and 17-year olds are facing is not the same as what their 3- and 5-year olds are dealing with  or what their 21- and 23-year olds are going through.  I don't know any other 32-year old women who are raising two teenagers and also raising a crazy man toddler and a second grader.  Some days this makes me feel sad and alone, on my island, since I don't have anyone who can relate to Pull-ups and tantrums one minute and algebra and hour-long discussions on making the right life-choices the next. 

Some of you may be asking, "Well, Becky, why don't you join one of those mom groups in your area?"  I'm glad you brought that up!  Not to bash MOPS or any other mom group in my community, but I honestly have come to resent those groups.  I'm not proud of that; I'm just admitting it.  These groups advertise that mothers can find encouragement and friendship with other mothers, yet they seem to be designed for women who don't work a 5-day-a-week, traditional career outside of the home. This really bothers me.  I don't like the stay-at-home mom vs. career mom war that silently breaks apart so many women, so I say all of this hoping to open some dialogue among the diversity of mothers I know, or at least to get them thinking.  As mothers, we could all benefit from each others' experiences, whether we work 60 hours a week in a factory or whether we stay at home and orchestrate the best play dates in our neighborhood.  We need to figure out a better way to broaden the mommy spectrum when it comes to "groups."  Okay, my rant is over.  Back to our regular broadcasting.

At this point in my journey, I take heart in the fact that I have many friends who are mothers, even if they're not sharing in my exact journey.  So, I should probably quit my whining and revel in the fact that I have lots of women that can provide wisdom and support along the way.  They may not be able to commiserate with the exact craziness of my household, but I'll take it.  And, at the end of the day, I'm not alone on an island.  I have what many women yearn for all their lives - a house brimming with children, their stories and their experiences and I get to be called their mom.  And, maybe one of these days I'll start that support group for working moms.  It will just have to come after we've pooped in the potty, after our homework is done, after we've gone to basketball practice and after we've discussed the daily saga that is high school.  I'll make it work.

Good-bye Summer

I love summer.  Well, really I love summer break.  I have to admit I get giddy when that last week of school arrives in early June for my kids.  No more crazy schedules (well, less hectic, not entirely lacking in crazy).  No more school lunches to worry about.  No more homework, projects and papers for me to sign.  It's just a respite from the regular and I love it. 

But on the eve of summer break ending, I am ready to say good-bye to this summer. It's bittersweet to me because I was so looking forward to this summer.  The summer of 2010 was especially great.  We didn't do amazing things, but it just seemed every day was filled with something fun.  I certainly thought the greatness of last summer would spill over into this summer, especially when we solidified our plans for Disney World, a trip I've been wanting to give my children for years.  I thought this summer would be amazing. 

And, there certainly were parts of it that were amazing.  But, much of it was overshadowed by some pretty dark days.  Even the much-anticipated Disney trip was overshadowed by Will's broken knee and the news of my skin cancer.  At that point, it seemed that this summer was doomed.  What I also learned is that it's incredibly difficult when one of the adults in a household is sick or struggling with health issues.  But two?  All I'm going to say is it takes its toll - on everything and everyone. 

So, as my children prepare to go back to school, I am actually giddy tonight.  Really, I'm hopeful.  Jasmine starts her senior year of high school.  Jadyn starts junior high.  Janessa starts second grade.  There's a sense of clean renewal in my home.  I can feel the dark of this summer leaving our house, even as the craziness of the school year falls on us.  This summer was a surprisingly trying season in our lives.  I don't know why we experienced everything we did.  And I don't need to.  What I do know is that I need to savor every moment of life, whether it shows up as planned or not.  I also learned that there's more to me than I've been letting surface in recent years.  Funny how a brush with the C-word brings out parts of you that you had forgotten were there.  And, I know that struggles make life sweeter. 

With those lessons learned, I'm hopeful for what this new season of life will bring and I'm more than ready to say good-bye to summer 2011.

Finding Love When a Mole Goes Malignant

If you don't know by now, I write in order to process things.  That's what this particular blog is about: processing.  But, I'm at a stage with the material in this post where it's still new and fresh.  I'm not reminiscing on something from 20 years ago.  This is the here-and-now for me.  So, while I never want to restrict anyone's freedom to comment how they will, just know that I care very deeply about this post.

I was at the Peach Tree Mall in Columbus, Georgia when my doctor called and asked if I had a few minutes to talk.  I kid you not, my heart dropped into my stomach.  I knew this was not going to be good.  I've received a lot of bad news over the phone, but this?  I didn't know about this.  "Well, the pathologists looked at your mole and you do have malignant melanoma."  Her words came so fast that I barely had time to get over to a bench to sit down.  The tears started streaming down my face.  Instantly, I felt like my body was floating, like I was in a dream.  "Okay," I managed to stammer into the phone.  "What does this mean?"

She talked ever-so kindly about how they were going to be with me every step of the way and she talked about how there was a real chance that the cancer had spread based on the melanoma's depth into my skin.  But, there I was, in the Peach Tree mall, still floating.  I had to gain control.  Malignant?  Wait, I have cancer?  It was too much.  My doctor said she wanted to take the liberty of scheduling things over at Mayo Clinic in Rochester.  Whoa, now this is really serious, I thought.  I floated back to Will, who was with Jadyn and Janessa and Willie and I could barely utter the words.  I was so happy Jasmine had gone off to dinner.  There would have been no hiding it then.  All I could tell Will was that it's malignant.  I thought he was going to lose it right there in that store.  But he couldn't.  I couldn't.  We were in the Peach Tree mall, after all, on vacation. 

I rarely look at my skin.  Yes, yes, I look at my body when I shower and bathe, but really look at my skin?  Not so much.  But, this mole on my ankle was changing.  Significantly.  In fact, I love taking baths and it was during the few minutes of privacy I would get in the bath tub that I could actually inspect this mole.  At first it got bigger.  Okay, I could rationalize that.  Then the edges started to get wavy.  Hmmm, I'm just seeing things, aren't I?  Then, what seemed to be another mole, only black, started to protrude from my original mole.  I knew that couldn't be good. 

But, cancer?

It still seems so entirely unreal to say that word: cancer.  Actually, I haven't really said it.  Not about me anyway.  When the doctor told me that if this has spread, we would have to do chemo, all I could think about were my children and husband.  I cannot be sick.  I don't have time to be sick.  Who would take care of everyone who depends on me?  I was sick to my stomach for days.  But life went on.  After all, we were on vacation, right?  We conquered Disney World in three days.  Went to Cocoa Beach.  Visited Will's family.  Ate, shopped and made merry.  All the while, I still seemed to be floating in a dream.  But I had to go on.  Life doesn't wait and children certainly don't.

We didn't tell the children until after we arrived home.  I did not want to burden them with this news.  I have lived to make their lives as burden-free as possible.  But, I also believed it was their right to know.  Will told them.  Our living room has never been as silent.  I was instantly brought back to my dining room table when I was 11 and my dad was telling us that my mom had cancer.  I automatically remembered details about that day and prayed to God this wasn't scarring my children.  I know they are strong.  That's how I'm raising them to be, right?

I don't blog often of my faith specifically, but here's what I absolutely know to be fact:  God Almighty moves through the power of prayer.  When people go before his throne and petition Him, He listens.  And when you know Him personally, He provides hope that is not of this world.  For this, I am thankful.

The cancer has been cut out of my ankle.  Instead of a changing, ugly mole, I'll have a 6-inch scar that declares I'm a survivor.  I'm still waiting to hear if it has spread.  I have an uncanny peace that it hasn't.  What I'm amazed by, truly amazed by, is how many incredible people have stepped forward and provided help and love and support.  I'm the worst ever at asking for help, but people have stepped up in droves saying they are with me and they've showed it.  I have texts, e-mails, cards and flowers proving how amazing all of my friends are.  One of my best friends came over yesterday and said she was talking to someone about me and she told that person, "If you don't just go over and do it, Becky will never ask for help."  I laughed because she knows me so well, but I was truly happy because so many people have done just that:  helped me in my time of need.

I'm always trying to become a better woman no matter what curve balls life throws me, but what I've realized through this is that I have become a better woman because of the people around me.  I am beyond blessed to have a whole network of people, family and friends, who genuinely care for me.  Now that is something cancer can never take from me.  Melanoma did not know that I have an army of people backing me.  I like to believe it will step down and take notice because of all the love.

Phone privacy at work ... who needs it with kids like mine?

These are the types of phone calls I get at work and why my co-workers, past and present, think my family is so entertaining.

Phone Rings...

Me:  Law Offices of JD Haas, this is Rebecca.

Jadyn:  Mom, do boys & girls both have bladders? (Note:  No hello or pleasantries of any sort.)

Me:  Um, yes.  Why did you call me at work to ask this?

Janessa yelling in the background at the same time: Let me talk to mommy!!

Jadyn:  Lots of evil-older-brother laughter as he hands her the phone.

Janessa:  Mommy, do boys & girls both have bladders?!?!  Because Jadyn says they do, but I don't think so!

Me:  Oh, Janessa.  I wish I could give this one to you, but Jadyn is right.  Boys and girls do both have bladders.

Jadyn:  More hysterical laughter & shouting from the background:  See, I told you so!

Janessa:  Loud harrumphing about being wrong.

Me:  Anything else about bladders that I can help you two with or can I go back to work now?

My coworkers:  Raucous laughter.

Situations like this are actually why I love being a working mother.  Nobody else in my workplace can boast of phone calls such as these.  I mean, who else gets to referee such battles about which genders have bladders?  And, I'd like to point out, this is actually good for my lawyering skills.  But, it's also why I'm really grateful for bosses who don't care if I get phone calls like that, and it's why I'm really grateful for telecommuting -- so most of these conversations (which happen on a daily basis) can stay in the confines of my home office.

I also appreciate my parents perspective more now, too.  I used to do the same thing being that I stayed home alone during summers.  Quite often, I would call them - at work - just to check in and make sure everyone was still where they were supposed to be.  This, of course, was before cell phones and the Internet.  To be perfectly honest, though, I still check in with my parents on a daily basis when we're both at work, but e-mail has made my daily communications much more surreptitious.  

One last phone call memory that my former OPP co-workers might cherish.  When I was working at the newspaper, there was even less phone privacy than my current office provides.  Granted, cubicles aren't bastions of privacy anyway.  But, one of the last summers I worked at the newspaper, I got a phone call that went something like this:

Phone rings...

Me:  Newsroom, this is Becky.

Jadyn:  Mom, I need to have a yard sale.  Please!

Me:  A yard sale?  Really, Jadyn? 

My coworkers:  Muffled chortling already.

Jadyn:  Yes!  I can get all my stuff ready to go, but I want to have a yard sale right now!

Me:  Absolutely not.  You cannot have a yard sale.  Nobody's even home!  I'm not there.  Dad's not there. 

Jadyn:  I could do it!

Me:  No, Jadyn.  No yard sales, at least not until I get home.

Jadyn:  Fine.

My coworkers:  Boisterous laughter as I hang up.

This is a story that still comes up with my OPP friends and I love it.  Some days work can be fairly monotonous and other days it can be really intense.  No matter what, though, I know my kids will always pull through and provide some special phone entertainment to brighten everyone's day.