RebelLibrarian’s Neighborhood

Canal Street and St. Charles Avenue, looking lakebound, early 1880s. The church spire in the background on the right is Christ Church Episcopal, at Canal and Dauphine (the current location of the Maison Blanche Building-Ritz Carlton Hotel). The photographer is standing on the northern side of the big monument to Henry Clay in the middle of the intersection.

In the middle of the photo you can see three Stephenson single-ended "bobtail" streetcars. These cars were mule-powered (horses can't work for extended periods in the New Orleans summer). When they reached St. Charles Ave., the operators would turn them around on the turntable visible in the foreground. The man in shirtsleeves is most likely a street railway. working out of the little kisos to the left, behind the street vendor. That kiosk is a "starter house," where the employee working there would assist the operator in getting the mule and streetcar turned around for the outbound leg of the trip.

Four-track operations had already begun on Canal by this time.  The two outside tracks were used by the streetcar lines coming to Canal Street from the Central Business District and Uptown (left side) and the French Quarter/Faubourg Marigny (right side). ; The center tracks were used by the Canal and West End lines.

Since the mule-powered streetcars are in the photo, and Christ Church is still located on Canal, this dates this photo to somewhere between 1880-1883.

I met Dedra Johnson at a book signing just before Christmas. Earl Higgins, Dedra, and I were signing our books at the Loyola University's bookstore. I'd been hearing about Sandrine's Letter to Tomorrow from friends, bloggers, and others for a coiuple of months. It's not the type of novel I usually read, but Dedra's a local author writing about New Orleans, good enough for me.

Sandrine may not be the type of character I usually get into, but I got into the novel nonetheless. It is a well-written story with lots of local color and a cast of characters who are very easy to love and/or hate, just like family members.

Sandrine Miller is a light-skinned black girl growing up in New Orleans' 7th Ward in the 1970s. Her parents never married. Her father is a physician who moved to Mississippi, and her mother lives next door to Sandrine's grandmother. Sandrine attends a Catholic elementary school near N. Broad St., and spends summers with her father and her paternal grandmother in Mississippi. The book tells the tale of Sandrine's life as she develops from a pre-teen to a young teenager, addressing the issues of not merely a black girl growing up, but a light-skinned girl who is ostracized by friends and family because she "looks white."

Sandrine's life is not an easy one. Her mother isn't much of a mother to her, since she sees too much of Sandrine's father in her. When Sandrine's father's-wife's-daughter (you'll see how this connects in the book), a girl several years younger than her, comes to live with Sandrine and her mother, she feels even further mistreated by her mother, because the darker-skinned girl receives better treatment. Dedra mixes teen anger with racial and sexual injustices in just the right amount to keep the pages turning, wanting to see what happens next and how Sandrine will deal with it.

Some say that Sandrine doesn't cover any new ground, that other authors have addressed these themes, but the local flavor of reading about New Orleans in the 1970s was enough to rope me in where authors like Maya Angelou didn't call to me half as much. Arkansas isn't New Orleans; I was just a few years older than Sandrine, and rode the bus through her neighborhood. Sandrine is Catholic and taught by nuns, and that experience triggers an almost Junigan-collective-unconscious thing when you see it on the written page. If you like New Orleans and you like coming-of-age stories, this one is a winner.

There were a few things that really struck me about Sandrine, the amount of sexual abuse in the novel, and the extent to which Sandrine and I saw the same neighborhood so differently.

My mother was an elemetary school principal. I'd been hearing stories from her about how difficult it was to work with the very young mothers she was seeing more and more of once the feds ordered busing in Jefferson Parish schools. Women as young as twenty were bringing six-year olds to register them for first grade, and the schools had all sorts of problems dealing with these families. In some cases, like Sandrine's, there was a grandmother around (Sandrine's "Mother Dear,") who provided a bit more stability, which explains how Sandrine ended up in parochial rather than public school. The problem with having a mother barely out of adolesence herself is the amount of sexual activity around the children. That the young girls get caught in that web is not all that shocking. The grandmother wouldn't mind seeing her 20-something daughter marry a man who will provide better for her, so she isn't going to discourage the men coming and going from next door. What I found most disturbing is the attitude of the men, that girls as young as 9 or 10 weren't off limits for oral sex, and it wasn't much longer after that before the gilrls were fully sexually active. The other issue I found disturbing was the attitude of the older black women on this, that the little girls were leading the men on, therefore there was no outrage at a man who was trying to force a 10-year old girl to have oral sex with him. In many ways, Sandrine's mother viewed her as competition. Because of this, the men could rape these young girls with impunity. The only man who actually suffers consequences for abusing a young girl is stepdad of a white girl.

Which brings me to the second issue that moved me while reading the novel, White Privilege. Sandrine's story showed me a side of a neighborhood I thought I knew fairly well that I'd never really seen. I rode the Broad bus many an afternoon, from Elysian Fields and Gentilly to Broad and Canal, where I'd transfer to the Canal line to go back to the white-bread suburbs. Some days, I'd switch things around a bit, getting off at Esplanade and taking that line down to the cemeteries. We'd stop at the K&B that Sandrine writes about, or the Tastee Donuts occasionally. To me, this was the neighborhood of Ruth's Steak and Lobster House, Crescent City Steak House (a place I went on one of my first "big dates."), Seafood City (very pretty!), and many other places along the way. It wasn't any more or less dangerous to me than many other parts of town, since we were always there in the afternoon to early evening. Being white and a male meant I didn't have black men following me down the street, trying to get me in the car with them for sex. The roundabout ways Sandrine walked home sometimes were not part of my thinking when I was in that neighborhood.

I've never been fully able to appreciate the concept of "passing," and the emotions that come with it. I went to school with a guy whose older brother went to Jesuit, and developed a reputation for being one of the "radical black" kids. Not wanting to follow in those footsteps, this guy went to Brother Martin. While black guys were always a small minority at BMHS, they were a diverse group in themselves, including athletes, scholars, debate team kids, drama club guys, you name it. Some were light-skinned, but didn't try to "pass." I guess there were so few black guys in the first place that the light-skinned ones didn't get ostracized like Sandrine did. Maybe it was different at an all-black school like St. Aug.

I still don't get it, but Sandrine's got me thinking about it all. It's interesting to listen to my son's attitudes on race. Of course, that can get me angry, though, because so many of the black families what would be sending their kids to Brother Martin are no longer living in New Orleans, thanks to the Federal Flood. He doesn't take the Broad bus home, either--the service is too irregular because post-storm bus operations are nowhere at the levels they used to be.

I definitely will get him to read Dedra's novel, though.
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Audio: It's 70's music Wednesday.

Wow, coincidence? Today, and this week, this is obviously my favorite:

Today I had a sad wake-up call.

My daughter is 6. Six. A year older than 5. She's in the first grade, but where we live they conduct their elementary classes in a "pod" system, where 4 classes are sort of interconnected and multi-aged, so there are Kindergarteners through Second graders in her pod, one of whom is her 8 year-old brother.

They've been in the same 'pod' for 2 years now, since we moved here. She started Kindergarten with one teacher, but went to another for math. He started with one teacher but went to another for reading. This year, they are in the same classroom. I was apprehensive, they have enough sibling rivalry as-is without adding competition in school to the list. However, I was willing to give it a try. They've actually both handled it well. They each have their own friends, some of whom overlap, and they are each in their own sections and levels for grade-appropriate classwork. But - she is one of only 2 first graders in that classroom. So what, you say? What difference does one grade make? Well, you'd be surprised.

This is a little girl who would be content to sit at a desk and color and draw - all day long. She makes everything she plays with a baby, and loves to dress them up and carry them around. She still gets cranky if she doesn't get enough sleep (okay, so do I...). In short, she is a very age-appropriate six-year-old. This makes me happy and warms my heart. The problem is, she's a lone member of that age-appropriate island she's living on.

The rest of her friends compete for who has the most Bratz dolls (dolls she's been given, but never plays with...). They talk about who's 'hot'. O_o They say who they 'love' on tv. Some, even have their own cell phones not to mention miniature dirt bikes and motorized scooters. Granted, it is par for the course in the area we live in to an extent. We are in a very 'you are as good as how big/expensive/gorgeous your home/car/diamond ring is community.' That's our fault I guess, but we definitely do not fall into that category of people, so we try to impart lessons of acceptance and diversity and not being judged by your possessions when ever we can. I've tried, when things come up to explain things in detail that she may just be trying to emulate without understanding them. For example, I asked if she knew what 'hot' even meant - she didn't. When they see even bigger houses than ours and say, "I wish we lived THERE!" I ask, why? I like our house just fine, it's perfect for us, maybe even a little too big! Discussion is the only way their thoughts and ideas can be challenged or articulated, so we do a lot of that.

Lately though, I've noticed something about when she gets ready for school. She'll talk about a skirt being too short, or want to wear leggings under all her dresses. I just figured she was following the first/second grade fashion trends and was grateful she wasn't thinking her skirts were too LONG. But today, I figured out why. She put on a dress - a long one - which happened to be one her grandmother bought her, with a matching button down shirt for her brother. So they were the epitome of 'aww, how cute'-ness in their matching outfits.

When she got the dress on, she sort of balked at wanting to wear leggings with it. I told her she totally didn't need leggings (the dress went down to her mid-calf) and she didn't have any that went with the dress anyway. She was fine and got distracted by the rest of the morning rituals of teeth brushing and binder-signing and getting shoes on.

Then, as if on cue from some evil anti-parenting director off-stage, she exclaimed as we were walking out the door,
"I don't want to wear this dress!! The hair on my legs will show and I look horrible in this dress!!"
Now my reaction might've been different if it wasn't Time To GO and we weren't already in the garage with the dog trying to escape to the freedom of the front yard and a thousand dogs' invisible calling cards wafting to his nose. So I said,
"Everyone has hair on their legs, and you look adorable, let's go!"
My succinct wisdom fell on deaf ears. The tantrum had begun. I told her again to grab her backpack and let's go, so she reluctantly did, amid tears and protestations. When I could get a word in edgewise, I tried to find out how on earth she could think she looked horrible. Of course I knew I wouldn't get an answer. If there's one thing she is, it's single-minded, so when she starts crying over a particular opinion or stance, well, she isn't going to listen to reason about it no matter what you say until time and space give her the gift or reason once more.

I was just sort of shocked that she was THAT upset over something so...trivial to a 6 year-old. But she was. I got her to calm down and though she didn't want to get out of the car at the school, she did, angrily slamming the door as she got out. So that left me with a horrible sense of guilt and "I've failed as a mother" feelings. You don't want the last image of your youngest child to be angry tears as you leave them for six hours. She does bounce back though, so I know she'll be fine when I pick them up. I've held on to guilt and worry like that all day, only to have her have NO clue what I'm talking about when I ask if she's still upset or sad.

Now you might think, "Jeez, she's just a spoiled child manipulating her mother!" But you'd be wrong. I know manipulation, and yes, both my kids are masters at it. Manipulation comes when they want an extra dessert, or a shiny new toy when they have a room full of suitable ones, or when they want to eat pizza instead of stir-fried chicken and vegetables. That is manipulation, and when we give into it, yes, we are spoiling them. This was not manipulation.

This, was a six year-old child already fully initiated into the cult of self-hatred and worry of not being pretty/popular enough and therefore, worthless. Welcome to womanhood. I never thought I'd see it in a girl this young. I realized what was going on in the car, and said, "You don't look horrible, but even if you did, it wouldn't matter because you are a nice person and that's all that counts. You could wear a trash bag to school and still be beautiful." Of course when you get into the mindset that what others think and say about you matters more than what's in your own heart and the hearts of those that love you unconditionally, little will sway your thoughts.

On the way home, I thought of my own words, and how they affect how she thinks. I remembered all those times I uttered. "Ugh, this looks awful" or "Ugh, I look gross!" And just has my kids now associate me with my iced coffee addiction because they witness it on a daily basis, they, especially my daughter, look to how I perceive myself and my self-confidence with how they should feel about themselves. It's not news to me. I've read the articles, I've seen the books on the topic. I just never thought about how I was responsible for it until now.

I do think that a lot of it is school-related too, and that saddens me. A six year-old is really, really different in mind-set than an 8 year old. I know I was, and 27 years later, I know it's even more pronounced now, with technology, tv and the media, and materialism on constant overload. She's trying to keep up, trying to make sure she doesn't make one misstep and put herself at the wrong lunch table, something I didn't think about until maybe 5th grade. I didn't consciously think about the hair on my legs until 6th. Again, it's sad, but it's also true. No matter how hard we try to teach our daughters and sons not to judge, to accept everyone and to be friends to all, there are just as many parents projecting mistreatment, judgment and oneupmanship that we have no control over.

So what is the answer? I'll stop now. Stop voicing my own self-doubts, my own worries about appearance. Yeah, I have some weight to lose, there are some body parts that I wished were a little more...lifted, but I'm healthy, and overall happy with how I look. And even if I weren't happy with how I look, the lesson I'd want my children to see is that the only person that mattered to was me. If I wanted to change it, I could, if I didn't, it doesn't make me less of a person or not as important as someone younger, fitter, or 'prettier' than I.

Making a conscious choice to change the way I think and speak will undoubtedly improve my own self-esteem too. And in addition to discussing this issue with her, not just once, but continually, I will show her by example how confidence comes from within, not without.

Whenever my husband or mother or I would say to her, "You're so beautiful" she'd giggle, "I know." and flit off to whatever she was doing at the time. I don't want her to ever utter a different answer. It's time to make sure she remembers that, every day.

Who is your favorite Muppet? Why?

My favorite Muppet was always...you know, I've had this window open all day waiting for me to come to some sort of conclusion about my FAVORITE Muppet. I've finally decided I don't have one. I loved ALL the Muppets. I lived for Sunday nights when that show would come on. I wanted to BE in the audience of the Muppet theatre watching the show take place. Little did I know you had to be small and furry and have a hand up your neck to sit in that audience...It's where I fell in love with John Denver and Crystal Gale and Kenny Rogers (for a while anyway...).

I loved Kermit's constant out-of-control control of the show, Gonzo's craziness, Rolf's great friendship...I always wanted Fozzy to get some respect and have Waldorf and Statler laugh just *once*. I wanted poor Beeker to escape unharmed from Dr. Bunsen Honeydew's latest experiment...and I never wanted the show to end...

I guess this doesn't answer the question, but it'll have to do. I loved them all. (Except for the guy juggling the fish I never liked him) ;)

As usual, it's more than one pic. I can never decide!

Santini says..."I'm always watching in the shadows..."

Santini, mid-yawn...

Ants invading your home are bad enough, but worse still are evil, stealthy, ninja CARPET ANTS! They are invisible because they hide in the carpet fibers and then sneak attack and bite your feet while you're trying to judisciously add audio info to your fabulous vox account!

GAR!

In other news, I'm off to spend the day in the Magic Kingdom...any photo requests that I can upload when I get back?? We won't be there too long and probably won't be going in ALL the rides (luxury of having annual passes, you don't HAVE to do anything!) but I'll try my best if anyone has any ideas!

Have a good Friday!

Damn you ninja ants!!

What are your three favorite album covers of all-time? Any honorable mentions?

Question submitted by Tamara.

I guess I sort of cheated because I picked a couple that affected me more than I liked the look of...but this is a pretty accurate list. And, I actually have the REM and Bowie ones ON album. :P

Honerable Mention would have to be...

Ok, so I've decided I like Vox. It's cool, it's interactive, it's fun. However, there are some things I am confused about. Seeing as how several random people have added me out of the blue, I figure why not write my issues here and see if anyone can help me, right?

1. Ok, so when someone comments on a picture of mine, can I comment BACK to them? I did that yesterday, but I think it just went to me, it's not like that person gets an email telling them I commented back. Me no likey that. That's one of the things I hate about myspace, that people comment in your 'comments' section, but you have to reply in THEIR comments section, and no one else knows what's going on. Which is fine I guess, but why not have it all in one place so it's easier to follow? *shrug*
   
2. Next, Neighbors vs. Friends. I get the family thing, so far none of my family is on here, but I've been adding everyone that adds me, as a friend, even if I don't know them. Maybe that's just silly on my part. I dunno. But what's the real difference between a Neighbor and a Friend setting-wise? Anything? I figure if people want to get to know me and they seem interesting, I want to get to know them too, but maybe I should keep people I don't know in the Neighbors category. I dunno!

That is actually something I like about Vox, which I anticipate not lasting long as it gets bigger and bigger, and that is that you see a random person and say, hey, they sound cool, and add them. As more and more people join, I'm sure it'll become like livejournal and you start getting into little cliques and communities where you might add people from there, but not just randomly because you see a comment or 'recent picture' they posted or something. Maybe I'm wrong.

I think that's it for now, I'm sure I'll remember more stuff I'm confused about, or get more confused about more stuff later! :P

Oh, and I also added some new pics of Santini, I thought I'd do a Picture of the Day for him because he's so damn cute! He was enjoying the morning sun today: 

EDIT: apparently you cannot link to pics hosted by Vox in entries. So I have to still upload the pics to my server. That's kind of lame.

Edit Edit: Nevermind, I figured out the insert photos thing. I stand corrected, that's pretty cool!

I added two new Santini photos today. He's so freaking cute! :D Maybe eventually I'll write some real content here. But for now? Not so much. :P