How to Win RAGBRAI

I'm pretty sure I won RAGBRAI this year...or the RAGBRAI had its way with me...one or the other. In all honesty, it was both. I rode RAGBRAI for the first time this year with Team Silverstreak. This was one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life (those of you who know me know that I have a propensity for exaggerated statements...this is NOT one of them). I had so much fun in this one week and met so many amazing people...there is nothing like it. Frequently during the ride, we would all joke that we were "winning" RAGBRAI or that we were third or fifth place. My friend and teammate, Chris, an experienced RAGBRAI-er, joked that we should all write a tongue in cheek book entitled How to Win RAGBRAI...filled with advice and hilarity. He kindly let me use his title for my blog (I truly hope he writes the book). So during my week of riding and drinking and camping and dancing, I picked up a few things that I think can help anyone "win" RAGBRAI.

1) Sometimes you eat the pork

I'm a vegetarian slowly exploring a reintroduction to the meat world. Prior to RAGBRAI, I had added fish and bison into my diet. I was adamant that pork would likely be a meat I would never eat again (what? never say never?). Fast forward to the first day of RAGBRAI...starting in Sioux City, we biked a whole six miles to Leeds where we spent an extremely inordinate amount of time at the bar for riding only six miles (why not?). Heading out of Leeds, looming ahead is (unbeknownst to us) the bike tire killing fields. I ride over the ridiculous set of train tracks and get a flat tire (yes, six miles into RAGBRAI). I am soon joined by at least five other riders with flats (not an exaggeration!). My teammate, Jeff, and I stop to fix the flat (with the help of a little Ten High whiskey) and that is how the day started. So, by the time we got to Quimby, we had ridden a lot, drank a lot and eaten little. Enter the pork sandwich. Jeff, an experienced RAGBRAI-er, had wisely decided we needed to eat to make it to our overnight stop in Storm Lake so he bought both of us pork sandwiches and Cheetohs. I hesitated (for more than a little while) and reluctantly ate the pork sandwich because I knew I needed to eat. Lo and behold, it was good! Not only that, I know I wouldn't have had the energy to make it to Storm Lake without it. Aaaaaaand...when someone does a kindness for you, I've learned that accepting the kindness is gracious and a gift to both parties. So, even though pork is still not going to appear on my list of meats I go in search of, sometimes you eat the pork...for multiple reasons.

2) And sometimes you stick to the courage of your convictions

Our team, like several other teams, has a rule that we always stop for free beer. On a particularly long stretch between towns one day, we saw a sign for free beer. What clinched it for me was the mechanical bull I saw set up next to the cornfields. We dismounted from our bikes and checked the scene out. It turned out that a political group was taking names and addresses in support of corn ethanol production in Iowa in return for a free beer ticket. This was something I just could not bring myself to do (this is not the blog to discuss the ins and outs of my corn ethanol beliefs...suffice it to say, no way was I signing my name in support)...so I went in without a free beer ticket and made a beeline for the shiny object that caught my eye...the mechanical bull. I have been obsessed with riding mechanical bulls since my college days and I was so excited to revisit my awesome bull riding abilities from years past (this recollection was in no way clouded by alcohol previously consumed that day). As luck would have it, even without signing away my beliefs, I ended up with a free beer and a bull ride (nailed it).

3) Take the alternate route

The second day of RAGBRAI, I was informed that four well known RAGBRAI teams were having their anniversary party together and the party was "off route". This meant that to get to it, we had to bike off of the official RAGBRAI route...so there wouldn't be police officers or sag wagons and we wouldn't be riding every official RAGBRAI mile. The extremist in me balked at this...wasn't this why I was here? To ride EVERY mile of the official RAGBRAI route? Luckily, my better half won out and I was off biking to the alternative route party. Let me tell you...it was amazingly fun. Whenever someone asks me to name my most fun RAGBRAI memory, this is inevitably one that comes up. The teams had sponsored a party in Twin Lakes, IA, at a country club. There was an awesome DJ and grassy dance floor, where my friend Todd and I proceeded to dance our asses off, an adult slip and slide (not gonna lie...it has been a lifelong goal of mine to participate in an adult slip and slide), beer pong and so many fun people.

4) You don't have to ride every "official" RAGBRAI mile

It was so much fun at the alternate route party that we ended up staying a little late and drinking a little (lot) too much so I ended up on the DLO team bus heading to Fort Dodge. These were the only miles I didn't ride in the six days I did RAGBRAI. Todd and I were a little disappointed in ourselves for not riding all of the miles but the more I've thought about it, the more I've realized that is what RAGBRAI is...it's the experience, whatever that looks like that year, and it's not about literally riding every single "official" mile. The next night we went off route and went to a beer garden in a little town called Osawa...the sign advertising a beer garden that was open all night was like a siren's song. We biked the 1.5 miles off route and found an awesome beer garden where the DJ played whatever song we wanted. My friend Jeff finagled a shower with a garden hose at a house across the street from the beer garden (complete with Ajax dish soap and towels) since we knew we'd be getting back too late for the camp showers and then we proceeded to dance and request songs into dusk. This is where I got the opportunity to brush up on my jitterbug and request as much 80s music as I possibly could. We biked back at dusk...and the night ride was utterly gorgeous. The air was fresh, the sunset was amazing and the day was so much fun...well worth forgoing a legit shower.

5) You might get burned all to hell but it's worth it (and you'll know better next time)

So I forgot my sunscreen and my lip shit in my bag that I put on the truck every morning...the one that wasn't with me during the day when the sun was beating down on me...for three days in a row. By the time I noticed that my skin was frying and remembered to put my sunscreen and lip shit in my bike bag, it was too little, too late. By the end of the week, my lips were blistered (when I returned last Saturday, my lips resembled a character in The Nightmare Before Christmas) and the skin on my back looked like I was molting. Actually, by the end of the week, I think I was molting, burnt, inadequately nourished, dehydrated and exhausted. RAGBRAI was literally one of the most fun weeks of my life...and though I got burnt and fleetingly disfigured, it was so worth it. Next time, of course, I will hopefully (sometimes I don't learn the lesson after just one time...) prevent the severe burns. Either way, the ride was worth getting burnt and I'll know better next year.

6) Costumes make everything more fun

Next year, I will have more "fun" biking outfits and costumes. If there is fun to be had, a costume enhances that fun exponentially. I used to wear costumes and outfits and wigs all of the time...every event had a theme and I was dressing up for it. I quit doing that sometime in the last five years and RAGBRAI made me aware of the travesty that loss has been in my life. So I vow, not just for RAGBRAI but for all fun life events, costumes will once again be a part of my dress code. Thank you for the reminder, RAGBRAI! Oh, and for future reference, you can buy or trade for almost any costume component you may find you're in need of from random bar patrons and cyclists on the ride...

7) Setting up your tent is much easier when it's light and you're sober

It was the fifth night before I experienced this strange phenomenon. We got into Cedar Falls before dark and hadn't had too much to drink on the way in. Some people on my team, myself included, graduated from UNI and we were all looking forward to our opportunity to shower in a house in a real shower and go out on the hill (Suds!!!). I literally exclaimed out loud that setting up my tent was so much easer in daylight without being drunk (news to me!), which got a few chuckles. It was nice to have the comparison of those two different tent raising states for the sake of experience and RAGBRAI taught me that I can do both...

8) You can do more than you think you can

I wondered, even well into the third day, how I was going to ride all of those miles and still have ridiculous fun, stay up chatting in the circle of secrets at night and get up and pack up at 6:00/6:30 every morning. Actually, I'm still kind of wondering how I did that because it's a feat that I don't seem to be capable of in my real life. But I did and I was never too tired to ride, it was never not fun, even when it was raining or windy or hilly, and I even managed to stay up later each night as the week went on. Don't get me wrong...when we finished on Friday night, I was shot and a shell of my former physical self (please reference the aforementioned molting...also, my hands started to become more like clubs instead of adroitly functioning appendages for fine motor skills-casualties of gripping my handlebars). But I rode every day, every mile (except the aforementioned alternate route party day) and it was a blast. The adrenalin, the fun, the people, the life...it wasn't hard to love every minute of it and perform to the best of my riding and partying abilities.

9) Bring a journal to remember your RAGBRAI memories

I brought a journal with me, in which I idealistically thought I would document my RAGBRAI experiences and observations. What actually ended up happening was that my notebook was hijacked by my team and "entries" were made under my RAGBRAI name, Ami, by various members of our team. The journal was a source of many belly laughs and laughing until we were crying in bars...and it's even more hilarious because in each entry, no matter how ludicrous, there is actually a nugget (sometimes just a fleck) of truth. So I did end up with an excellent source of RAGBRAI memories and we ended up with a lot of laughs and ridiculousness. Well worth it.

These are only a few of the things that made RAGBRAI amazing. Of course, it was mostly the people...on my team, in the towns, on other teams...it was a week filled with joy and happiness and ridiculousness...what every adult needs more of in their life. And you know me...for all of the fun, there is always a philosophical connection. The things I experienced during RAGBRAI, I think, are generally good guides for life in general.

Take the alternate route...it might not be what you planned or what you thought would happen in your life, but guess what...it might be the most fun you've ever had and you don't know who you will meet or what you will learn on the ride. You don't have to ride every mile the way you're "supposed to". Life is about the experience and sometimes that is riding on the bike and sometimes it's taking the bus...the point is to experience it and live it and love it...every moment.

We have to know when to 'eat the pork'-when we need to be flexible in our lives-and when we need to stand by the courage of our convictions. Both have a time and a place and it is part of wisdom to know the difference. 

We can learn from the experiences in our lives that "burn" us...AND that doesn't mean they weren't worth it or something we needed to go through to get to a different, more wisdom filled spot. 

We are stronger than we think and can do more than we give ourselves credit for. Documenting our experiences, through writing or pictures or friends or story telling, is a very valuable practice and preserves our beautiful memories and happiness-es. And the costume thing...well, that just speaks for itself.

Memphis and the South: Things I've Learned/ Noted

Hey ya’ll! So it’s going to be a short, simple blog post this week because I am absolutely exhausted from professional development with my school. School starts August 10 in Memphis and I will be teaching Spanish II and Spanish III at Fairley High School. In-service for Fairley teachers began last Thursday (7-23-2015) and runs up until the Friday before school starts (8-7-2015). I have a lot yet to learn as a first year teacher though, so I am grateful for the extensive training I am getting J. I also have drill this upcoming weekend with my new National Guard unit in Brownsville, TN (50 miles away from Memphis), so my weekend is pretty much shot as well. You know what they say, “no rest for the wicked.”

Anyway, I have been living in Memphis for about 2 months now and it really is a unique, peculiar place. I really enjoy the culture, attitude and overall vibe the city gives off so far. It is such a big little city in the sense that a lot of people know each other in one way or another and that is reinforced with its strong community connection and involvement. Since I have been living here for a hot minute (common phrase used in the south that means "a little while"), I thought I would briefly blog about some of the things that I have picked up on and/or noticed so far.

1)      Similarly to the Midwest, one does not enter a room without saying “good morning”………To everyone.

2)      The south is also similar to the Midwest (maybe Memphis in particular) in the sense that it is really inexpensive to comfortably live.

3)    Not everyone from the state of Mississippi talks with a Southern accent. Now if you ask me how, I could not tell you why.

4)      “Junt” is equivalent to a noun. It can be used as a person place or a thing. “That’s a junt” or “He a junt.”

5)      If you don’t know the song “Watch me (Whip/Nae Nae),” you better YouTube it or take your ass back north.

6)      People not originally from the south always joke about using the term “ya’ll,” but it really is a contagious word and a part of southern culture. Live it, breathe it, be it.

7)      There is no Pancheros down here and a minimal amount of even Chipotles. There is however, a raunchy burrito place called Moes, which I have yet to try. If it's raunchy and burrito-y I'm sure I'll enjoy it.

8)      It’s common to be called terms of endearment by people you have never met before or will never see again (baby, honey, dear, darling, and sweetheart).

9)      Waffle House is not the epitome of the south. It’s actually just a really great, greasy place to eat when you’re hung-over.

10)   When someone says “Bless your heart,” they’re not being kind.

11)   When someone says that they’re someone’s cousin, they’re probably just really a close friend of theirs.

12)   #gritandgrind began as a team logo for the Memphis Grizzlies and is now a lifestyle and work ethic of Memphians.

13)   Just because two states are in the south does not mean that they are in reasonable driving distance of each other. It takes longer to get from Florida to Tennessee than it does from Iowa to Tennessee.

14)   Telling people you’re from Iowa is like telling people you’re from Antartica. “Iowa? Is that the potato state?”

15)   Although many people from the south are very prideful of southern history, most people are not, however, carrying around Confederate flags in their back pockets.

There you have it. Since moving to Memphis, those are just a few of the things that I have learned about the city and the south in general. I am sure this list will continue to grow as I become more accustomed to my new home and create an ambitious life down here J. YA'LL have a great day!

Who Are You?

Okay, readers. I am going to attempt to collect my meandering thoughts into a coherent blog post.

I’ve been reflecting quite a bit on identity lately. I'm particularly fascinated by the designations that people choose to self-identify with to label themeslves. For example, some people find it very important to claim their political party (such as Democrat or Republican) as an aspect of their identity: “My name is Joe Smith, and I am a Republican.” Others think it is vital to have their religious affiliation (like Christian or atheist) to assist with defining who they are: “My name is Jane Smith, and I am a Christian.” The possibilities for self-identity labels are endless: gender, sexuality, race, geography, hobbies, age, career, etc. etc. etc.

One of the primary reasons I’ve been reflecting on this phenomenon is because I’ve recently realized that I have a very difficult time claiming very many labels as a part of my identity. For example, I don’t really want to claim a political affiliation as an aspect of my identity. Additionally, even though I’ve played sports all my life, I don’t even really claim “athlete” as a label for who I am. It just sounds funny to me to own the statement, "I am an athlete." I have a really, really strong resistance to claim almost any label as a part of me.

I totally understand that for some people, choosing their own labels as self-identifiers is a form of empowerment. Additionally, it’s also a means of naming the shared experience that they have with the other people that also claim that label for themselves. I definitely understand why other people choose to use labels as a means of reflecting who they are.

And so now…because I’m contemplative…I’m wondering about the degree to which my resistance to personal labels is positive, and the degree to which it’s inhibiting.

On the one hand, I think that one of the reasons that I hesitate to use many labels for myself is because I am very aware of my own complexities and paradoxes. Let me give you a slightly facetious/humorous example.  Some of my coworkers have recently been teasing me about being a Disney princess. And I’m amused by it because on the one hand, that label does fit. I mean, I wear a lot of skirts/dresses…I have long hair…and I really like mythical creatures. Very princess-y, right?!?! But on the other hand…I’m not very princess-y. When I’m not at work, I’m usually in gym clothes (some of which I still have from high school, and some of which have paint splatters everywhere). And I don’t just wear these in the sanctity of my apartment. Nope- I run errands all over Des Moines without thinking twice. Not very high maintenance or princess-y, right? The point I’m trying to make is that I often hesitate to claim labels for myself because I’m aware of the ways that it does not fit or feel right to me.

Yup. A chaplain with sparkles. #winning

I also hesitate to use many labels because I do not want the label to define the totality of who I am. For example, much of my education process was spent talking about pastoral identity. And I always struggled with these discussions because I did not understand what was supposed to be different about my pastoral identity. For me, being engaged in ministry does not mean that I take on a different persona. “Anne the Chaplain” is really pretty similar to “Anne.” I may be more intentional in how I express certain attributes, and someone may perceive me as a representation of the divine, but in all of that, I’m still very much….Anne. To be Anne is to be a chaplain and vice versa. I don’t know how to separate the two, or if that’s even really what it means to have a pastoral identity. I know I need to continue to wrestle with this one in particular (since, ya know, it’s like my career).

However, I do want to challenge my peculiar resistance to claiming labels for myself. I mean, I could just reclaim labels for myself. To go back to my earlier example- who’s to say that being princess-y doesn’t include wearing gym clothes? Maybe being a princess includes dresses and paint splattered, high school T-shirts. Maybe that’s what princess means to me, and that’s enough.

Eh…I still struggle with that point, however. It’s the great philosophical question: who decides? Who decides what the litmus test is for belonging to any sort of group and being able to claim membership? I mean, on the one hand, you aren’t going to find an individual that meets all the criteria for any sort of group. But on the other hand, I don’t know if it’s entirely fair that someone can just take any label and claim they are a part of that group. For example, if I take one biology course in college, is it really fair that I start calling myself ‘doctor’ as a part of my identity?

So…I don’t know. When can and should we reclaim and re-appropriate labels?

I also want to remind myself that there is diversity within communities. And just because I use a label for myself, that does not mean that I necessarily agree or connect with all aspects of the community. What’s important is that I connect and commit to the overall trajectory and mission of the community. I’ve really tried to grow into this one by trying to claim “Christian” as a part of my identity again. I used to be fearful of claiming that word as a part of my identity because I didn’t want to be associated with “one of those types of Christians.” But…here’s the thing. There is so much diversity within Christianity, and that is a good thing. Even if there are particular individuals, beliefs, or histories that I disagree with, that does not mean that I should completely reject it. There is significant variety and diversity with all the labels we choose to claim as a part of ourselves.

So…in conclusion…I’m not really sure where I stand or where I’ll end up going with this. It’s just a phenomenon that I noticed about myself- my resistance to claiming labels for myself when others seem to do so readily.

What labels do you choose to claim for yourself? Why? Why not?

Three Pack

Hello! Molly here. I haven’t posted since May - right after Memorial Day. I promised a follow-up post to comment on our Memorial Day celebrations but never got around to it. Honestly, I didn’t feel like anybody (except my husband who asked me when he could read the follow-up post) actually wanted to read the second part. And truth be told, nobody else inquired about it so it remains an untold story. Anyhow, the aforementioned (feeling like nobody reads my posts) coupled with the fact that we Dissident Daughters agreed to ensure we post regularly even if one has not much time nor energy, has inspired a rather short, simple post from yours truly. I don’t feel like philosophizing about one of the many issues for which I have passion and I don’t feel like discussing a hot topic in the news. So here goes…

The big, entertaining news in the middle child’s life is that our family grew from a two pack to a three pack this week! Larry and I adopted a 6 month old puppy from a place in Dedham, MA called Shultz’s Guest House. If you live in MA and are looking to adopt, definitely check out their website (www.sghrescue.org). Such an amazing organization! We adopted Daphne, who is supposedly a lab/beagle mix (thought I think she has some greyhound in her because fortunately for me, she loves to run!), last Tuesday and already I have learned and realized so much from my new experience in being a dog owner. Here are the top 3:

1.       Although I am not yet a parent (and by no means do I want to minimize/trivialize the parenting experience), being a puppy mama has some similarities to being a baby mama. The biggest one that comes to mind for me is that you can’t “hurry up” a puppy just like you can’t “hurry up” a child. Children and puppies simply want to enjoy life and have not lost the ability to stay in the moment. They aren’t rushing from activity to activity or place to place. They aren’t so distracted by modern technology and social media to literally stop and smell the roses. For further reading you should definitely check out this amazing blog post on “hurrying up” http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rachel-macy-stafford/the-day-i-stopped-saying-hurry-up_b_3624798.html.  Before being a puppy mama, I would go on walks with a mission. I’d want to get in a certain mileage or complete the walk within a certain time so that I could quickly move onto my next activity or obligation. Walking with Daphne has slowed me down immensely. She wants to stop and smell EVERYTHING and it’s been good for me. When she stops to smell the flowers, I actually notice what kind are in the neighborhood now (we have tons of beautiful hydrangeas right now!). When she stops still to try and listen to chase a bird or a bunny, I actually notice the sounds around me. I’m in the moment more and it’s nice.

 

2.       Being a dog owner automatically forces you to become more social. Before Daphne, Larry and I knew probably 3 families in our neighborhood. In only 6 days, we have met at least 8 additional families AND their dogs. On Friday night, many people in the neighborhood were walking their dogs. At one point, we had all stopped to talk and let the dogs play and there were 6 dogs and 9 humans standing in the middle of the street. I have never felt so “neighborhoody” since moving into the house in January 2014. Here it was, 7pm on a Friday night and we were all gabbing in the middle of the street. On one of the other days while walking Daphne, one of our neighbors asked if they were going to see us more now that we had Daphne because “no offense, but you guys were kind of hermits.” Haha!! I will admit that Larry and I are both kind of introverted people, but I wouldn’t have thought people would say we were hermits! Yay for Daphne bringing us out of our shells!

 

3.       People really can and do love dogs…sometimes more than they love humans. It was the cutest thing on Friday night because one of the humans standing in the middle of the street was an adorable 6 year old girl, Ava, who wouldn’t leave Daphne alone. She kept kissing her, hugging her, and playing with her ears. I never had the experience of really loving an animal while I was growing up so to witness Ava loving on Daphne was quite moving. My best friend Naomi and I joke that when fellow dog owners and their dogs meet, the owners are more likely to remember the newly met dog’s name than the newly met owner’s. Personally, I can list off all the dogs’ names that we met Friday night (Max, Riley, Chunk, Stan, Milo, Daphne) and only about half of the owners…case in point. Tonight while walking Daphne, a man intentionally stopped mowing his lawn so that he could say hello, not to me but to Daphne. Even more interesting, he doesn’t even live in the neighborhood – he was just taking care of one of the lawns. Furthermore, he asked what Daphne’s name was but had no interest in saying hello to me or asking my name. By no means was I offended as I’m not one for small talk anyway, but I did find it intriguing. Most likely he loves dogs more than humans. J

 

 

 

 

In the Hole

"This guy's walking down a street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep, he can't get out. A doctor passes by, and the guy shouts up, "Hey, you, can you help me out?"

The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a priest comes along, and the guy shouts up, "Father, I'm down in this hole, can you help me out?" The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on.

Then a friend walks by. "Hey, Joe, it's me, can you help me out?" And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, "Are you stupid? Now we're both down here."

The friend says, "Yeah, but I've been down here before, and I know the way out."

This story is from a very powerful episode of "The West Wing" (click the following link to watch the excerpt reference) (Noel (2000). For me, it requires no more explanation other than to say I think this is what compassion and empathy look like, in parable form. It is easy to prescribe and judge from the top of the hole. It is easy to throw solutions down from on high and make decisions formed from a place of extremely limited understanding. 

Compassion and empathy come from knowing what it's like to be in the hole, being willing to stand with someone when they're in the hole and doing what is necessary to help the person out of the hole (and trust me...we all have our own holes, whether we choose to acknowledge them or not). It doesn't mean helping the person dig the hole deeper, but I do think compassion and empathy also include acknowledging when one hasn't been in that hole and reserving judgment or meting out punishment because there is a lack of understanding of what is needed or helpful in the situation.

I have never forgotten this episode since the first time I saw it. I hope it speaks to some of you the way it spoke to me. At the very least, I hope the image is strong enough to remind us to use our experiences "in the hole" to be there for others when we see them in the same hole...and maybe refrain from playing judge, jury and executioner when we haven't been.

Alive and Well He Is

Hey ya’ll. It seems like it has been a long time since I last wrote a post in the blog, but in actuality Jill and I only switched places because she wanted to rant about Josh Duggar (and rightly so). I’m gonna be completely honest here for a minute, sometimes writing my blog post for the week can be the most stressful thing about my week. Not because I don’t enjoy it, but simply because I either have too much or too little to write about. Because this blog is important to my sisters and me, I want to be sure that I am passionately and authentically writing. Anyway, that’s enough of my prolonged introduction in avoidance to me actually having to writeJ.

So, for those of you don’t know me or maybe those of you who don’t know me as well as some, within the last month I have embarked on a new adventure to Memphis, TN. That’s right, the keeper of Graceland, Beale Street, the award winning Memphis Zoo, and the unforgettable historic moment when Martin Luther King got shot at the Lorraine Motel are all components that make up this unique big little city. A city full of diversity, history and culture is what I will be calling home for at least the next couple years.

“Why Memphis?” You ask. Well, I am a 2015 Teach for America corps member and Memphis is where I got placed to teach. Teach for America is a nonprofit organization that advocates for educational equity for all children in the United States. Many of us are not aware of the conditions that many children in poverty face, that essentially dictate the way they are going to lead a majority of their lives.  Memphis in particular only holds a 4% high school graduate rate and only 26% of its residents hold a bachelor’s degree.

The fact of the matter is, is that in our country a quality education is a privilege and not a right. The fact of the matter is , is that money dictates whether or not you are able to send your children to a school with a variety of resources, including teachers, that will prepare them for college, verses you having to send your children to a school that barely has enough money to support children with special needs. And the awfully sad, harsh fact to face is that the distribution of wealth in our country is what continues to support what we thought ended, racial segregation.

The average household income for a white family is around $54,000/year, while the average household income for a black family is around $32,000/ year. The black poverty rate is no longer declining and has taken a gradual incline to 28% and there are a higher percentage of black children living in poverty (45%) in contrast to 12% that of white children (http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/wonkblog/wp/2013/08/28/these-seven-charts-show-the-black-white-economic-gap-hasnt-budged-in-50-years/).

But wait, I thought that racial segregation ended so many years ago after blacks received the right to vote and could attend the same schools as white children? The truth is, is that although our law and constitution state that all men are created equally; the distribution of wealth is prohibiting this from being. Because more black families live in poverty, their children have to attend the less resourceful schools, consisting of primarily African American children. Because it is more common for white families to live above the poverty line, their children attend the more resourceful schools, consisting of primarily white children. So when we say racial segregation ended with the death of Jim Crow, this is simply an illusion. Racial segregation started with Jim Crow and continues because of the way our system is designed for the privileged white male to succeed and anything but to be forced to self-destruct.

Now, I say self- destruct because our system makes it appear as if the individual is to blame. However, it’s a vicious cycle within our system because a person living in poverty is not going to have the resources to receive a decent education and a lot of times does not have the supervision to enforce the importance of education because they are too busy worrying about how to put their next meal on the table. Because of this, the individual may not graduate high school and most definitely will struggle going to college. How is she/he supposed to get a decent paying job to support him or herself without a high school diploma? He/she decides to partake in some illegal activity that will allow them to make more of an income than flipping burgers at McDonalds would.

Eventually, the system strikes again and puts that poor individual exactly where they are supposed to be, behind bars. Here, they are no longer a menace to society (excluding the fact that some people would complain about our tax dollars). Here, they no longer have to worry about how to put their next meal on the table because it will be provided for them. Here, it is one less “criminal” our privileged children have to worry about. Here, it is one less vote the government has to count because as a convicted felon one’s right to vote is taken away. And here, most importantly, their voice is silenced. Because they no longer have a right to vote, they no longer have the least bit of say in directing the control of the very system that fucked them in the first place. Not to mention, their slightest intent of creating a life after prison is road blocked as well because who in their right mind would ever hire a convicted felon? Therefore, many times even after getting out of prison, the individual ends right back in there because they cannot find work after the fact which forces them to partake in other risky, illegal shit.

The Jim Crow Laws can be defined as the practice or policy of segregating or discriminating against blacks, as in public places, public vehicles or employment. system. . When we analyze the system designed for the success of the white man and the demise of the black man, it seems as if Jim Crow never fled our country, he simply put on a mask to guise the evident discrimination that was occurring and replaced it with what we call the criminal justice system.

Five Kids and Counting

I admit at the outset of this blog that I am not a fan of “19 Kids and Counting.”  Even before the most recent scandal involving Josh Duggar, I silently implored the public would stop encouraging, promoting and condoning what I perceived to be a grotesque exploitation of the family for financial gain.  It is unfortunate it took a serious situation like Josh Duggar’s sexual exploitation of five children (four of whom were his sisters) to stop the show from being aired.  It is even more unimaginable to me that large factions of the public are defending someone who is an unequivocal sexual predator and that TLC has not yet canceled the show outright.  I understand, to some degree, the general resistance to labeling someone who does not openly engage in sexually deviant acts a predator.  However, the reality is that all predators understand the importance of camouflage and very few predators show us what lies beneath an often unthreatening exterior.

Sexual predators camouflage themselves amongst the general population by being likeable and clean cut.  They train themselves to say the right things.  They prey on victims who are young, crazy, insecure and not credible.  They find a way to minimize their conduct and convince others of the same.  As a society, we are somewhat complicit in the sense that most people do not want to accept there are sexual deviants walking among us.  It is much easier for the human psyche to believe a predator cannot hide in plain sight.  Predators who are caught are not the ones who should scare us.  Rather, we should be fearful of those predators who are never caught or if they are caught, their conduct is minimized to such an extent they are not labeled for what they really are, like Josh Duggar.  

Jim Bob Duggar engaged in text book minimization during his defense of his son to Fox News correspondent Megyn Kelly.  Jim Bob stated “Again this was not rape or anything like that, it was touching someone over the clothes.  There were a couple times he touched someone under the clothes, for a few seconds.  Each time he told us crying. It was the third time that we decided we needed help.”  These three sentences clearly and effectively serve to minimize the seriousness of Josh Duggar’s criminal conduct.  For example, Jim Bob first tells us that it was not rape.  Technically, this is accurate as the conduct is more properly characterized in legal parlance as abusive sexual contact or sexual assault.  However, the fact Josh did not commit a more serious crime does not somehow negate the fact that a different crime was committed.  It is a difference in degree only.  Outside the context of a sex crime, the illogical nature of this statement becomes apparent.  For example, if a victim was beaten severely, it would make little sense to defend the acts of the perpetrator on the grounds that at least it was not murder.    

Similarly, Jim Bob goes on to state the touching lasted for just a few seconds suggesting that a short crime is less serious than a longer one.  Again, applied outside the context of sex crimes, the logical fallacy of this statement is readily apparent.  For example, if a person committed armed robbery, it is not persuasive to argue that the robbery wasn’t as serious because it “only lasted a few seconds.”  The reality is that a robbery victim is harmed by the intrusion and invasion, regardless of the amount of time the robbery actually lasts.  No one can legitimately claim that a short robbery is somehow less serious than a long robbery.  

Next, Jim Bob appears to suggest that remorse begets reformation by indicating his son cried about his actions.  Once again, while this may be a nice sound bite, it is simply unsupported by the evidence.  In most sentencing hearings I have participated in, the defendant apologizes, laments, cries and begs for forgiveness.  However, once released from incarceration, many defendants go on to commit similar or worse crimes.  The recidivism rate is well-documented within the justice system.  Tears and apologies simply do not equate to reformation.  

Finally, Jim Bob goes on to state that it took three separate occasions for the Duggars to decide they needed help.  This is incredulous.  If a child reported a teacher touched him or her inappropriately, no one would argue that perhaps the family should wait to see if happens a second time, much less a third time.  If a child was punched by another student, the argument would not be made that action should not be taken until the child is hurt two more times.  

In the same interview, Michelle claimed the girls were victimized more by the media blitz than what happened 12 years ago.  She pointed out that the inappropriate touching occurred while the girls were asleep.  Michelle clearly doesn’t understand the ramifications of non-consensual sexual contact.  Having sex with someone who is incapable of providing consent does not mitigate against the seriousness of the conduct.  Rather, it is actually worse because the perpetrator intentionally, willfully and knowingly took advantage of the person’s incapacitated state.  Michelle clearly doesn’t understand that her and her husband’s failure to protect their children from harm is a much worse betrayal than a media story.  

The Duggars’ current strategy, most likely in the hopes of getting their cash cow back on TLC, is to blame the media for re-victimizing their daughters.  Twelve years ago, Michelle and Jim Bob chose to place their children in harm’s way by not accepting the seriousness of Josh’s criminal abuse of their daughters.  Michelle and Jim Bob continued to place their children in harm’s way by forcing their children to grow up in the public eye in exchange for financial gain.  Today, Michelle and Jim Bob continue to place their children in harm’s way by minimizing Josh’s conduct. The only people who have re-victimized their daughters are Jim Bob and Michelle.  Perhaps they are the real predators here.