Dressing Up for Church

Every Easter at church I see small girls dressed in brightly colored dresses with matching Easter bonnets. Sometimes, their moms also have on an equally colorful dress and hat. Not as much as in the past though. Few of us 'dress up' to go to church anymore, unless we are attending a wedding or a funeral.

In the past, dressing up for church wasn't just a way of showing off fashions (although for some it was), it was a way to recognize the 'specialness' of the occasion.

Theologians would tell us God is much more interested in our souls than our dress. In fact, many churches insist on casual dress so worshipers won't feel intimidated by the fancy clothes of others and stay home.

Years ago, in communities where everyone was struggling economically (are we back to that yet?) I suppose this wasn't as big a deal. Men and boys had the one good suit... and women had a few good dresses (sometimes homemade).

For African Americans, Sunday service was a chance to throw off the economic shackles of the workweek. Parishioners, who daily languished in uniforms, or as maids and janitors, were glad to have the opportunity to 'dress up.'

One of my early hats. Circa 1960.

For Black women, at Bethel A.M.E. ,the South Los Angeles church I attended for years, hats were the norm at Sunday services. Everyone could wear a hat, but not every woman could 'don' a hat (takes attitude). I can don a hat, and I miss it... even though it has absolutely nothing to do with serving the Lord. I seldom see hats now at my suburban church.

Still, I have a closet full of church hats. I even named some of them -- there's the 'Queen Latifah'... the 'Pixie'... and the black-straw, wide-brimmed, 'Drop Dead!' I wrapped and stored them carefully, hoping that someday here in America we will be like the Ladies of London who wear hats regularly. (Can't wait to see the hats at the Royal wedding!)

I remember a Sunday morning in Jamaica years ago. In the twenty mile ride from the resort to the airport, I witnessed Jamaicans walking to church. The men had on well-worn suits, the young boys had on white shirts and slacks, the girls had on white blouses with skirts, and most of the women wore white dresses and hats. Along the coastal route, I also saw a mass baptism taking place in the sea. People were lined up on shore awaiting their turn. They were clothed in white sheets. It all seemed very holy and pure.

Dressing up for church seems to have gone the way of family gatherings on Sundays. I admit, many times I wear jeans to church... however, one day I'm going to unpack one of my church hats and don it.

(first appeared in Huffington Post 4/25/11)

Losing Siblings

"I'm the only one left. They're all gone."
 An elderly relative is telling me of the recent death of her 91-year-old sister. I listen as she fondly describes growing up with four siblings and the emptiness she feels now that they aren't around anymore.

I am confused because I only knew her to have three siblings. "Oh no," she says. "There were five of us -- I had a baby brother who died when he was a toddler." She tearfully recounted, "I remember playing with him and how devastated we were when he got sick and passed away." I can tell the hurt is still strong for her some 80 years later. That is the nature of losing a sibling.

Some siblings are lost through death, others to squabbles and disagreements. Sometimes it's minor, and sometimes it's major, although it seems to me that when you're standing over a sibling's grave, most conflicts will pale in comparison.

Many times, money is the culprit in family disagreements, especially when it comes to inheritances. In my own family, I saw my mom's two older brothers fall out and stop speaking to each other. They were each in their late 60s when the dispute began. It was over an insurance policy that had probably been cashed out 40 years before and had little cash value.

The brothers went to their graves without speaking -- each living over 10 years with no contact. The one who outlived the other did go to his brother's funeral. At the grave he was heard saying, "All he had to do was pick up the phone and call me." At that point it was too late.

Unfortunately, sibling rivalries and disappointments can last a lifetime.

I also remember a beloved aunt who severed ties with her family. She was the eldest of the seven kids, and we all called her "Sister." Sister was sort of the rebel of the family, and from what I heard, she kept tongues wagging most of her life. She lived where she wanted to live, dated whom she wanted to date, and had a hair-trigger temper. I remember her as my most "fun" relative.

Sister left her native Texas in the '40s and moved to San Francisco, which she loved. I live in "the City," she would say in a condescending way to her siblings who had settled across the bay in Oakland. On weekends, Sister and I would traverse the town enjoying all San Francisco had to offer: the Fillmore District, Castro, the Wharf, Nob Hill, Cable Cars, the tour boat to Alcatraz, Chinatown, and Candlestick Park to see Willie Mays! She loved the city and passed that on to me. Also, she taught me to drink foreign teas! We would have tea parties where she would serve using her "good china."

Sister had a dark side, which I saw more of as I got older. Today, we would probably diagnose her with some mental illness and say, "Oh well, Sister forgot to take her meds." However, in those days, whenever she would go into one of her rants, they just said, "Well, you know Sister is crazy!"

Years later, when she was near 80, Sister decided that she was done with her family and moved to Nevada. She left no forwarding address. I remember one of my last conversations with her when she told me that as far as she was concerned, she had no family. "Everybody needs family, Sister," I chided her. "Not me," she said. She had just received a sizable inheritance and took off to spend her remaining days at the slot machines. We never heard from her again.

A couple of years after she left, one of my uncles went to Nevada to try to track her down. He had heard that she was in the Reno area and had gotten into an altercation with someone and pulled a gun. Apparently, the police were involved, and she was institutionalized and died a few months later. Thankfully, no one was hurt. But, I have to admit, this is the way we thought she would go out.

I've thought of still trying to find her, or at least where she is buried. I'm sure there was a police report on her in Nevada (probably one of many). But she's gone -- has been for over 20 years. I've since lost all my other aunts and uncles -- her siblings.

My mom is the only one still alive of the seven kids. Every now and then, I hear her say tearfully, "I'm the only one left. They're all gone.."

Sister and I.  Circa 1960.

(first appeared in Huffington Post 4/7/11) 

My First Cigarette

I received my first cigarettes around the time I got my first iron, stove, and refrigerator. This was the sixties, and the appliances were toys. The cigarettes were candy.

Looking back, I don't know what bothers me the most these days. The fact that I was being prepared for housework at such a young age, or that I was being prepared to smoke!

We see the commercial of the woman with the hole in her throat describing how as a young girl she was encouraged to light up. We also see her depicted as a young teen admiring herself in the mirror with a cigarette in her hands. I did this as an even younger child with the candy cigarettes!

I, like her, grew up in a different time. The adults around me smoked, drank more than twice a week, and kept guns under their beds. But also, the men wore suits on Sunday, we had family dinners often, and children were expected to be respectful to adults. We emulated adults but were careful not to cross the line. We knew not to look under their beds.

I was given candy cigarettes the way kids today are given chocolate bars. The adults figured kids wanted to act grown-up and this was one way to do it. Even with alcohol, there was a 'children's version' and it was a treat for me to order a Shirley Temple whenever we went to a restaurant that served liquor. 

I also remember my first adult drink... one that was offered and poured especially for me! I was around fourteen, and it was at my next door neighbor's house in South Los Angeles. 

Our neighbor, Miss Cassie, was an older woman, probably around 60 at the time. Her husband worked at night and slept during the day. He was off on Mondays and this was the only time we would see Miss Cassie leave the house - always riding with him. Even though she stayed inside, we figured she knew everything going on in the neighborhood because she was always peeking out of her window. 

Finally, one day my mom managed to catch Miss Cassie outside and introduced herself (that's how we found out her name). After awhile, Miss Cassie would come outside to talk to my mom and eventually invited her into the house. After that, about twice a week my mom would visit Miss Cassie and some afternoons she would bring me.

We would sit in the small, tidy, dark living room and 'chat.' The drapes were always drawn. We found out that Miss Cassie's husband worked at Chasen's... a famous Hollywood restaurant that was known for its delicious chili. Miss Cassie's husband always brought home plenty of Chasen's Chili and we would sit and eat it. The women discussed the goings-on of the neighborhood and I would sit and listen. (In those days, kids weren't allowed to join in adult conversations unless asked a question.)

Miss Cassie would "serve cocktails" as she called it, and one day, with my mom's permission, she offered me a glass of Scotch-on-the-rocks... their drink of choice. I felt so grown up and 'privileged' to be joining these women in their afternoon cocktail; however, one taste of the Scotch made me sick to my stomach. (I still get nauseated just thinking about it.) I refused Miss Cassie's offer of cocktails after that.

I'm not going to say I don't drink occasionally today, but I never became a heavy drinker or developed a taste for the hard liquors. I prefer mixed drinks (I love margaritas!) or wine. Strangely enough, I also like beer. (It was the bitterness of beer that turned a lot of kids against drinking.)

But... back to those candy cigarettes. Around the same time I was holding them and pretending to inhale, I also started developing an aversion to cigarette smoke. I hated being in smoke-filled rooms and eventually would cough when exposed to smoke. My mom quit smoking around this time, although it took my dad many more years to stop. He wouldn't smoke much in the house however and never in the car. Still... as an adult I developed asthma and I think all the smoke I was exposed to as a child and teen didn't help. The Los Angeles smog might have contributed also. 

I don't fault my parents or Miss Cassie for my early exposure to cigarettes and alcohol. It would have happened anyway... possibly in a worse environment. Maybe adults in those days knew this and this was their way of trying to control things. Like I said... it was a different time.

(first appeared in Huffington Post 2/1/11)

"Tootsie"

When I was a child in Oakland, before moving to Los Angeles at age ten, our next door neighbor was a woman everybody called ‘Tootsie.’  I never knew her real name, but I knew from listening to the adults around me that Tootsie was known to hit the bottle every now and then – like everyday!   Tootsie had ten children.  (Stairsteps, my mom used to call them because that was the phrase she used in those days for multiple siblings close in age.  Today she would call them the equality unpolitically correct phrase -- bananas.)  There was a ‘Mr. Tootsie’ who would show up every now and then, but, for the most part the children were on their own.  Their house was in disrepair and the kids didn’t always make it to school.

Tootsie pretty much kept to herself.  Sometimes when my mom was hanging clothes on the line, she would venture out to say hi.  They would chat and laugh for a few minutes and then Tootsie would return to her sanctuary.

Even though most of us were only one paycheck from abject poverty, there were those on our street who looked down on Tootsie and her brood.  Some of the neighbors wouldn’t allow their kids to play with Tootsie’s children, but my mom let me play with the ones closest to my age.   She also insisted I address Tootsie properly – calling her Mrs. Johnson.  (I think a couple of her kids had that last name.) 

Once I caught a real bad flu and was out of school for two weeks. Tootsie made sure one of her children would go to my class and get the homework for me.  I also remember when my grandfather died, Tootsie cleaned herself up and came over to pay her respect.  She even brought some food over, although everyone was afraid to eat it. 

There were other “Tootsies” that I came across in my Los Angeles area neighborhoods as I grew up.  Some had money, some were destitute.  I always remember my mother telling me that it is a gift to be able to relate to everyone – from a pauper to a prince.  That was the beauty of the neighborhoods I lived in.  There were all kinds of people from all walks of life.

Today, we try to keep our children away from the have-nots in life.   Our suburban neighborhoods are pretty homogenous, so our kids may never learn about “the other side of the tracks.”  Also, they may never come to understand the saying “There but for the grace of God go I.” 

Yet I’m sure that within our pristine, well-kept neighborhoods, there are Tootsies lurking behind closed curtains.  Sometimes we see them at the supermarket, or picking their kids up from school.  They are just waiting for a “Hi how are you?” or some acknowledgment that they exist.  Maybe, instead of judging them, we need to throw our arms around them and see what we can do to help.  Someone might have to do the same for us one day.

 (First published in 2007)

Dance Alone: Women Reclaim Your Joy

This year marks the 15th anniversary of Chubby Checker's mega-hit, "The Twist." Checker himself is celebrating by performing in venues across the country.  "The Twist" is the only single to hit number one TWICE -- in 1960 and 1962. Other than being the most successful single of all time, the dance introduced a new style of dancing to mainstream America: dancing on your own.

Checker described this revolution in song and style as, "Dancing apart from the beat." Women no longer had to wait for a partner to lead the way. They were free to come up with their own steps!

This was just the start of many other freedoms coming down the road for women in the years following "The Twist," including freedom from unplanned pregnancies and the freedom to pursue careers. Still, even now, there is more to be done because most women make less than what men earn. Also, women often work two or three shifts when housework and caregiving are considered. However, women don't have to choose the limited roles of the past. Today, most women can decide when, where, with whom, and how, they will dance. Yes, there are forces beyond our control that can limit our options, but we ought not to be ashamed, or afraid, of dancing by ourselves.

Feminists probably wouldn't recognize the significance of "The Twist" in female emancipation, nevertheless, there is something to be said for dancing by yourself. It speaks to finding joy from within. Don't get me wrong, dancing with a partner is great and can be very fulfilling. Let's face it, some people love synchronized steps. However, partners aren't always available or they may not be inclined to join you.

There are times when you have to crank up the music and go it alone. Not everyone has the wherewithal, or desire, to travel the world in search of themselves like the woman in "Eat, Pray, Love." (Or was her real goal finding romance?)

Every woman has the ability to find her inner dance from right where she is now. It may be in the midst of turmoil and upheaval, or during a time of solitude and tranquility. Whatever the case, JUST DANCE!
Even though Checker exhorted women with, "Come on Baby" and, "Come Here Little Miss" no doubt, once women got on the dance floor, they realized they were on their own to twist up, down, left and right.

You ARE on your own, and it's okay! Create your own steps. Twist to your own music. Eyes closed and FREE!

(posted on Huffpo 9/2/2010)

"Follow the Money" -- Tracking Stimulus Spending

Recently, I joined ethnic media representatives from Southern California at a workshop designed to teach ethnic journalists how to track and investigate Recovery Act spending.

The event, called “The Stimulus Package and the Recession” was co-hosted by New America Media and Investigative Reporters and Editors.

This was timely for me, as I have been attempting to track stimulus funding in the Inland area. I have read about specific actions that claimed to have used stimulus funds – such as saving teacher jobs in Corona, and funding summer youth jobs in Riverside, however, I’ve had a hard time determining who decides how funds are spent, and how much goes to various geographic areas.

Our first presenter was Jennifer LaFleur, the Director of Computer Assisted Reporting with ProPublica a non-profit organization that bills itself as an “independent newsroom that produces investigative journalism in the public interest.”

Jennifer introduced us to several tracking databases on the ProPublica site which track Recovery Act money, including a database with spending by state and county. She stated that one of the first findings when researchers analyzed the data, is that “there is no relationship between where Stimulus funds are spent, and where there are areas of high unemployment and poverty.”

So what are the determining factors for spending the $787 Billion dollars in the Recovery Act? Who determines how funds are spent?

I think that summer youth employment programs and saving teacher jobs are good uses of stimulus funds..but still I questioned: “How is spending determined and where do I find this information?

Jennifer suggested several online recovery databases created by the Administration, various agencies, and state governments. Some are more complete than others, and most only give top level information.

Another tip from Jennifer is --when all else fails--simply google the word Recovery after the agency or locale name. (I thinks she means “recovery act.” I googled Riverside Recovery and got a listing of substance abuse centers…however, when I googled Riverside Recovery Act -- I was led to a page on the city’s website with a summary of Recovery Act funding by categories.)

I’m still not sure who decides how the funds are to be distributed, but at least I can “assume” that the funding listing under Workforce Training is for the summer youth program (or can I?).

Food Stamps or Economic Development?

Next up, Jean Ross from the California Budget Project reminded us of the goal of the Recovery Act when it was enacted. “Let’s remember the purpose of the stimulus, “she said. “The goal was to jump start the economy by moving money to people as quickly as possible.” She suggested the purpose of the stimulus was not to remake society, but to get the economy moving. She stated the bill had “no specific policy goals.”

Diego Alvarez, Deputy Mayor for Legislative and Intergovernmental Relations for the City of Los Angeles, said there are many federal programs that were expanded as the result of the Recovery Act…such as the Food Stamp Program, the Earned Income Tax Credit, and unemployment benefits. “Many eligible people just aren't applying” he stated, suggesting “people might be embarrassed to apply or just don’t know they are now eligible.”

The ethnic journalists, who represented, Latino, Asian, Caribbean, and African-American communities in Southern California, were especially interested in learning ways to track stimulus spending in their respective areas.

Kokayi Kwa Jitahid, from the Community Coalition of South LA, said the questions he hears from residents of South LA concern economic development and health care. “The needs in our community are great,” he said, as he discussed the desire for Recovery Act dollars to reach the empty lots and struggling health clinics of his community.

Jean Ross stated the “the biggest chunk of the stimulus money, almost one-third, is going directly to the people” citing a government study that determined the best way to get the money moving is “to give it to a poor person.” Diego agreed saying the two highest returns on investment are funds spend on unemployment and food stamps, “For every $1.00 you spend on these programs, you get $1.73 back into the economy.”

Ruben Guerra, Chairman and CEO of the Latin Business Association, took issue with the way Recovery Act contracts are awarded. He said small businesses are not being included. He described an effort by California State Senator Gil Cedillo to create a resolution requiring 25% of stimulus funding to go to small business.

Another issue of paramount concern in a state with high unemployment rates is jobs. Nick Sifuentes, from the Los Angeles Alliance for a New Economy (LANNE) said his organization is monitoring “quality of jobs, not just the quantity.” He talked of the need for ‘job accountability’ to make sure newly created jobs aren’t temporary or low end in terms of pay..

Perhaps the understatement of the day came from Guerra who said the stimulus bill “didn’t shift the paradigm” for ethnic communities. We must still fight for our piece of the pie.

Sarah Binder of the Brookings Institution, an expert on how government responds to financial crisis, summed it up back in February in an interview with NPR:

"Because there is so much money here, and in so many different forms, there is no single pathway for the money to go out to states and localities…When this bill passes, a Niagara Falls of money will flow out of Washington and into the accounts of state highway commissioners, governors and legislatures, local school boards, county executives — even mayors."

Even with the best of intentions, the Recovery Act seems destined to leave ethnic communities behind unless they can access the funding. To do that, we have to know where to look.

"Don't Make Me Have to Put Down My Cane"

Seniors are getting a little fed up with not being taken seriously. They are ready to march and protest…just like in the sixties! Senior voices WILL be heard!

Check out this story of Senior protest in Los Angeles:

Police were called on a group of retirees who refused to leave Sen. Dianne Feinstein's West Los Angeles office until she talked to them about health care reform.

Los Angeles police Sergeant Rich Brunson said Thursday that police lured the group of seven outside somehow, then locked the building's doors behind them.

Brunson had said earlier that eight people were being taken into custody, but corrected himself after getting new details from officers on the scene.

A spokeswoman for the 55- to 87-year-old activists said they arrived at Feinstein's office around noon and remained in her conference room more than six hours.

Feinstein spokesman Gil Duran says staff offered the retirees an in-person meeting with the senator during a Los Angeles visit next week but that they demanded to speak with her immediately.

Bet there will be a lot more of this in the months and years to come!

For more visit the blog Grayroots Showing.