Whoa! I'm sorry.....I thought we were adults now.

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I felt as a child, I thought as a child: now that I am become a man, I have put away childish things. -I Corinthians 13:11


I remember, before going to college, hearing college students talk about "high school mess." At the time, I found it to be quite offensive. This whole notion that only high schoolers acted foolishly was quite evidently not true to me. But now that I've gone through four years of college, I see exactly what people mean!

For all of my peers who've been out of high school for a while, let me take you back. You remember people not liking you because their friend didn't like a friend of your friend's? High school. Remember people talking during class like they were having a phone conversation? High school. Remember name-calling? High school. Remember the blame game? High school. Actively trying to ruin someone else's reputation? High school. Talking behind people's backs? High school.

Now, I know some of you are saying, "Hold up! I've been through college and I can say, first hand, that all of those things are things that grown people do." And you'd be correct in that statement. I found that out my very first year of college. My point is that, in high school, these were things that were expected of you. You were young, immature, a know-it-all. People didn't expect for you to act like an adult because you weren't! While they did expect for you to exercise common sense, they didn't expect your common sense to be that of an adult's.

But now that you're an adult, you should "put away childish things."

1. Stop disliking people for no reason. "She think she cute," is not a reason to sneer at somebody everytime they walk past. "They've changed," is not a good reason either. Change is inevitable.

2. Be quiet during class! Maybe you're here for free, but everyone else is paying, and they're not paying to hear you whisper to your friend for an hour or two. If you don't have some sort of disorder, turn around, hush, and pay attention!

3. Calling people out of their given names should've stopped in third grade. Unless whatever you're calling them is meant as a compliment, go get their damn birth certificate, memorize the name on it, and call them that! Angry utterances are understandable, but constant name-calling? When I worked at the day care center, we used to have to advice the children against this sort of behavior. They were 3.

4. If you made the decision to do something that was not smart, and the consequences are negative, be an adult, step up, and take the blame. I know it's tough. Nobody likes to have their mistakes thrown in their face, but actually taking responsibility for your actions might just lessen their impact. Maybe people will understand if you're not pointing the finger at someone else. I went through this same sort of situation in my second year of college. I made a mistake that several other people participated in. In the end, I was the only one to step up and take the blame, and it severly impacted my life. But I have never looked back on that day in shame. I am proud that I stood up, took responsibility, apologized, and took my punishment like the grown woman that I am. And I didn't feel the need to tell everyone who the other involved parties were. They are responsible for them. I'm responsible for me.

5. If someone is a terrible person, soon enough, people will find out. If you find it necessary to publicly slander people and try to spread the news of their "evildoing" to others in a blatant attempt to spread scandal, they must not be that bad at all. There are, of course, exceptions to this rule.

6. If you have a legitimate (or what you perceive to be legitimate) problem with someone else, tell THEM. Unless they're doing something illegal and/or dangerous, telling other people about their faults will not solve or alter their perceived faults. Making negative comments about people while they are not present just makes you look immature. And if you have something to say about somebody that you can't say to their face, it also makes your comments sound unfounded. It sounds like you're too afraid that the truth will come out and you'll be put to shame. The only reason to say something "behind someone's back" is because they're not in the room for you to say it to their face.

I now see what my sister and her friends were referring to when they talked about "high school mess." They were talking about things that grown-ups shouldn't do, but do. They were talking about actions that were performed by people who expect the respect that grown-ups deserve but act like children who only deserve to be monitored. Now, I've been guilty of all 6 of these things WHILE in college, so I am not exempt from this. But I knew when I was doing it that it was childish and did not merit respect, and I tried hard to keep it from happening again.

So to all of my friends who are forced to deal with or are encountered by people who do "high school mess," much respect to you. Keep your adult head high and avoid the immaturity like the plague!

Peace & Progress!

OMSA Welcome Reception

Yesterday was the Office of Multicultural Student Affairs Annual Welcome Reception and it was a huge success!

According to the e-mail that Terri Jackson, the director of OMSA, sent out, the reception was, “an opportunity to meet new and returning students, as well as faculty, staff and administrators,” and “the goal of the reception is to introduce students to individuals within the campus and the larger Springfield community.”

And there was free food!! (What? I’m a poor college student! Don’t act like you don’t think the same things!)

The reception began at 4:30 with a social time. There were a lot of people there from the University (students, faculty, professors), the Sangamon Schools Credit Union, and the community. The students were quite the diverse mix. We had everybody from first year freshman to third year graduate students and everyone in between. Basically, the attendees were diverse in every sense of the word.

Which, of course, is OMSA’s goal. A diverse campus. Terri Jackson has done an EXCELLENT job of supporting all the minority and underrepresented groups on this campus. As a former employee of the OMSA and a member of SASSI (what QSA was before last year), I have personal experience with working with Ms. Jackson.

My first year here SASSI (Students Against Sexual Stereotypes and Inequality), put on its second annual Alternative Prom. The purpose of the Alternative Prom is to give people of all sexual orientations a safe space to enjoy themselves. With Terri’s help, it went off swimmingly as I know my friend Meeka Mason (the former president) can attest to.

She’s always available and she’s always ready to lend her support to whomever needs it. There are probably hundreds (if not thousands) of students, past and present, who have come to Ms. Jackson when they were in a bind and she found a way to bail them out. So big ups to Ms. Jackson and to her office! I want her to know that a lot of people truly appreciate all the things that she does and how willingly she supports the underrepresented communities on this campus. Unbeknownst to many, they wouldn’t be where they are if not for Ms. Jackson.

So, back to the event. I’m a foodie (as you can probably tell), so I like to describe menus. We had chicken wings (fried and buffalo), egg rolls, mozzarella sticks, little cakes, fruits, cheeses, and bacon-wrapped chestnuts. All provided by UIS’ Food Services!

There was a short program which included Ms. Jackson giving the welcome and Chancellor Ringeisen and Vice Chancellor For Student Affairs Miller giving hilarious (and short) speeches. And then more eating and socializing!

All in all, I can say that a great time was had by all attendees and I met a lot of new people and saw a lot of new faces! UIS is growing!

If you want more information on the Office of Multicultural Student Affairs, you can visit their office in CPV 161, or their website at:

http://www.uis.edu/multiculturalstudentaffairs/

Or e-mail Ms. Jackson at:

Tjack1@uis.edu

She’d be happy to hear from you!

Till next time!

Second Period: Beginning Guitar

My senior year in high school was filled with music classes. I only needed an art and English class to fulfill my graduation requirements, but all students were required to stay in the school for all eight periods. So, I filled my schedule with music classes. Beginning guitar, beginning orchestra, and beginning chorus were my three music classes of the day. Since I had been a musician in some capacity since the age of 7, and knew many of the music teachers because of my involvement in the school’s marching band, music classes seemed to be the most logical step.

My first period class was honors English on the second floor of the A building. As I walked down the stairs, I probably bumped into my friend Barbara and began talking to her about, well, probably nothing. I rushed to my locker to put away my English books. After second period guitar came division, and after division was my lunch period. Since we had open campus for juniors and seniors, I always met my friends at the front door and then rushed out so we could be first in line at whatever greasy spoon we chose for that day.

I passed Mr. Burgess office and gave him a quick hug as I did everyday.

“Staying out of trouble?”

“I’m trying Mr. Burgess, but you know these folks be gunnin for me!”

Same exchange everyday.

Someone stopped me in the hall to give me the latest gossip, which usually included a brief blurb about what fast-tailed freshman had most recently pushed up on my boyfriend. A quick shake of the head and roll of the eyes later, and I was back on my mission to the B Building orchestra room where beginning guitar was held.

Barely making it in the allotted 4 minutes, I’d sit in my seat on the front row, throw my purse down, and then head to the locker where my guitar was. Grabbed it, plopped back down on the seat, and on the purse that I always forgot was on the seat, unlatched the guitar and brought it out of the case.

And like clockwork, Janae, the class loudmouth, came into the class being, you guessed it, LOUD.

“Girl, somebody can’t fly a *expletive* plane. That’s a damn shame.”

I didn’t pay attention to her. I never did.

“Girl, what are you talking about, and why are you so loud doing it?” My guitar teacher, Mr. Henry, asked Janae.

“I’m talkin bout how a plane hit a building in New York City. That’s what the expletive I’m talkin bout.”
“Stop cussin.”

“Sorry.”

“I been trying to get a phone call into NYC all this morning,” Mr. Henry said. “That must be why I can’t get a call through.”

I turned around to my friend Monique who sat right behind me. She was picking at her long nails and wondering how badly she was going to get tongue lashed from Mr. Henry today. Both of us wore long acrylic, and heavily decorated, nails during high school, and as you can imagine, this didn’t make for the most efficient acoustic guitar playing. But we both felt like beauty was not to be sacrificed for 45 minutes a day, 5 days a week.

“You hear about that,” I asked.

“Girl, no. You KNOW she lyin,” Monique responded with a laugh. “She always comin up in here telling some crazy story bout what she done heard. Don’t forget she said she saw Tupac at the SuperMall yesterday!”

We both laughed.

Class began.

Five minutes into class, Ms. Myles, the orchestra teacher, came into the room and walked over to Mr. Henry. Ms. Myles, who wore a permanent smile, had a furrowed brow and worried look. I liked, no loved, Ms. Myles. After one of my school newspaper articles had thrown the school into a hot debate on whether or not Cleopatra was black, she had invited me to her home where her husband, and Egyptologist, explained the true lineage of the Queen. So, seeing her upset did not make me happy.

She whispered something in his ear. His brow became furrowed. He looked at her and asked her to repeat it. She whispered it again. He followed her into the band office without a single, “don’t get loud in here, and use this time to practice!”

Since I had been drum major the previous year, I was usually given free access to the band office which is where three of the music teachers had their offices. I sat my guitar in the case and followed Mr. Henry and Ms. Myles into the office. Mr. Hines, the third band teacher spotted me, and quickly said, “Go back to class.”

“But I just wanted to….,”

“Go back!”

Mr. Hines never yelled.

I walked back into the orchestra room with all eyes on me. For all intensive purposes, I had been the spy. I walked over to Janae and asked her to repeat what she had said earlier.

“Giiiiiirl, a plane hit one of those tall buildings in New York. Just went right into that *expletive.”

I sat back down. Mr. Henry came back into the room. He said nothing, but worry was written all over his face. By the time the 45 minute class period was over, most had forgotten Janae’s claim or Mr. Henry’s worried look. As soon as the bell sounded, everyone ran out of the room and made a quick dash for their division room. My division room just so happened to be the orchestra room, so I stayed seated.

As Mr. Henry was gathering his things, I asked him what was wrong.

“Go into the band office and look at the TV,” was his only reply.

I went into the band office and watched. At first, I couldn’t make out what I was watching. I looked at the bottom banner across the screen and read and re-read it.

“Two airplanes hit both towers of the World Trade Center.”

What?

Jerome, a boy who played trombone in the marching band was sitting down on the couch watching too.

“Dang, somebody can’t fly a plane worth a damn!”

“Fool,” Cassandra said. “Shut up! They did it on purpose, duh!”

It was the first time that thought had crossed my mind. I spun around in horror and faced her.

“Are you sure?”

“Shannon, what are the odds of two different planes hitting two different buildings on the same day?”

My heart dropped.

“Awwwww damn,” Jerome yelled looking at the television in horror.

I turned around to see the Pentagon with a huge hole in one side.

The band office erupted in, “I’m takin my black behind home,” and “We under straight up attack y’all,” “awww ish, they gon get us now!”

I ran to the phone and dialed my mother’s school.

“Proctor APC,” answered the clerk.

“Hi Daisy, this is Shannon, Ms. Carter’s daughter,” I said in the calmest tone that I could muster. “Can you get my mom?”

“Well, she’s in class right now sweetie.”

“I know, but I really need to talk to her.”

“Can I give her a message?”

“Can you tell her to pick me up today?”

“Is something wrong?”

“Have you been watching the news?”

“No, should I be?”

“We’re under attack.”

The rest of the day was a blur to me. The halls were all either unusually quiet or unusually loud. Many people who left for their lunch periods didn’t come back. Instead the boarded the Orange Line El and went home.

The students at Curie High School in Chicago had a real reason to be afraid. The next stop down from us on the Orange Line was Midway Airport.

I refused to board the El.

“Ain’t no damn way I’m getting on that El! Not today,” I told my friend Shannon (yeah, her name was Shannon too).

Mr. Hines walked into my Beginning Orchestra class and gave us one of his, "real talks."

"See, you can't go around treating people like trash forever. They're gonna come back on you one day. See, the U.S. government has been treating people like the dirt under their feet for years, and now it's coming back on all of us. We all gotta pay now for what they've done. Shoot, everyone in this class is Black or Mexican. You know we didn't do nothing to these folks! But all of us gotta pay now, just because we live here. Just because we're Americans too."

Samantha raised her hand.

"Why all of us?"

I don't remember his answer, but I know it couldn't have been sufficient because I'm still asking the same question.

My mother picked me up after school and explained to me all she knew. We went home and watched the news all evening and into the night. Again and again, I watched the planes hit the WTC. I watched the building crumble. I watched people jump out of windows. I watched horrified and dirt-blackened faces yell and scream. I saw a crashed plane laying in a field. I saw a smoldering Pentagon. When I finally could take no more, I crawled out of my mother’s bed and said good night.

She grabbed my arm and pulled me to her.

“I love you baby.”

“I love you too mommy.”

That was five years ago today.

A Weekend In the Windy City

One of the good things about living in Springfield is the fact that you're so close to Chicago. Since I'm from Chicago, that's one of the GREAT things about living in Springfield. Instead of the 6.5 hour ride from LaPlata, MO that I had to take while I was a student at Truman State University, I get to get on a seldom late 3.5 hour train heading straight to Chicago. (Not to mention the props in not having to travel a half hour out of the city you live in to a station in a town some people called Klansville!)

My whole purpose in going home for Labor Day was that my family was supposed to be throwing my cousin and I a graduation party. As soon as I walked in the door on Thursday, I found out that the party had been cancelled. Happy? Ummm, no. As a brand new graduate student, I can tell you that I have a load of things to do (readings, studyings, meetings, NAPS), so I was kinda irked that I came home for nothing.

On Friday, I was supposed go up to Chicago's Northside, and spend the night at my sister's brand new apartment (she is getting her Ph.D in Sociology at UIC), but that fell through after she woke up with a sore throat and was afraid that I'd catch it.

Sidenote: I constantly get the cold or the flu. And the shots don't help me. For all you people who are just entering college or thinking about going, know this, like love, college is a battlefield! Spaces as cramped as dorm halls and campus housing, with that many people crammed into them, are usually known as PROJECTS! So you WILL get sick my deary. Just remember to wash your hands, don't put her hands in your face, and when you see someone cough, RUN the other way screaming bloody murder! Sidenote over.

So, around this time, I was really feeling as if I had just wasted a whole weekend. But thankfully, Saturday came and saved the day!

After a much needed trip to my doctor (don't worry about your girl, I'm fine), I was able to go to the Mexican Fine Arts Center on Chicago's Southwest side to see an exhibit called The African Presence in Mexico: From Yanga To the Present.

I had been wanting to see this exhibit alllllll summer, but never got around to it. I ended up going on September 2, the day before it closed! Yay! The exhibit was incredible. I learned so much about Africans in Mexico, or Afro-Mexicans, the role in Mexican history, their past as a minority, and their current position in Mexico. Yanga was an escaped enslaved African (I don't use the term "slave;" it strips away the identity of the person you're referring to) who fought the Spaniards so well that they eventually caved into him and gave him his own land. Can you believe that? A whole country giving into a person with almost NO power?

They also talked about the stereotypes that Afro-Mexicans (a term that was created in the 1970s) have endured through the years. Looking at some of the pictures of the caricatures, I thought I was looking at pictures of American history. Afro-Mexicans were portrayed in the same primate-like way that African-Americans were. And they, also like African-Americans, have suffered from having many parts of their history systemically erased or looked over in an effort to belittle their contributions to their country.

I don't know if I'll ever have the chance to see another exhibit like that in my life, so I was so glad that I got to see it this weekend.

My little excursion ended on Sunday morning when I took the train back to Springfield. Strangely enough, I was kinda glad to see the Land of Lincoln again. I guess it's grown on me. But nothing, no nothing, will ever replace the Windy City in my heart!

Here's a slideshow for your viewing pleasure.