On Perspective and Inspiration

I have a very high opinion of myself. That probably goes without saying, being a blogger - thinking that "what I have to say" is important enough to justify a regular readership. But - sometimes - I just realize how not special I am. And it kind of feels good.

I just spend the last two hours reading over scholarship applications for the AAYLC (see sidebar for more information), and I've come away humbled. After poring over application after application by kids who've overcome difficulties that I never had to think about as a kid, I'm inspired.

These are first-generation kids that came to the States in their teens, not speaking a lick of English, living in poverty with parents that spoke no English (and thus could not help them navigate the education system), and were still somehow able to dominate, academically. On top of that, these are students who volunteered their time helping other students with similar backgrounds - giving back to their community for real (instead of the lip-service version that many other more-privileged students tend to do). All while working nearly full-time jobs to help support their families.

Not all of the applicants came from this type of background, of course, but very many did - and they all blew me away. Their level of maturity and strength at such young ages really gave me a perspective on my own privilege (my mother immigrated to the States, but I was American from birth, with parents that met in college).

My favorite? A young lady that mirrors the story cited above. What put her above and beyond in my heart (trying to choose who's 'more deserving' in this group is painful and unfair)* was her opening reference to our rich, white male-dominated society and the importance of underrepresented groups finding a voice as a community (I wish I could quote her, but I don't want to push her right to confidentiality). I imagine that - in some cases - that reference would come back to bite her (because who do you think runs the admissions process for most universities?), but it made me smile knowing that her bravery and raw honesty in addressing that found the right reader, in this case.

So I want to give a head-nod to these kids (all of them, really) for giving me a much-needed shot of inspiration and hope for the future this evening. I doubt somebody like me was their intended audience - or, certainly, who they thought they would be inspiring - but that makes it all the sweeter.

I shall sleep happily tonight - a much humbler CVT than when I woke up this morning. And that's very much a good thing.

* And I have to say that the fact that all of these kids don't get their college educations paid for is an f-ing injustice and a sad reflection on the state of "higher learning" and privilege in this country.

Me, a Role Model?

When I think about what my future kids might be like - in terms of their racial identity - if I were to marry a white woman, I often think back to a student of mine:

Three years ago, this student joined my school as a 6th grader, we'll call him "S." From appearances alone, he seemed white - light skin, blue-grey eyes, general "white" features. He hung out with all white kids, and he identified as white when it came up (which was seldom, because it seemed so obvious). However, I was surprised to learn that he was a quarter Japanese when he mentioned that his mother was half-Japanese during a conversation when students were talking about my racial/ethnic background.

S. and I established a pretty good relationship over the year, one of mutual respect (as far as that goes in middle school), and he seemed to trust me. So, one day, he comes up to me at the beginning of the school day to ask me what a word meant. I didn't understand when he said it, but it was clearly a vaguely Asian-sounding word, so I asked him where he had heard it. He said, "some gook said it to me on my way to school."

I had a little record-scratch moment, and I said, "Do you know what you just said?" And I saw this look of confusion on his face, as he realized that I wasn't so happy about it. But he didn't understand - he thought I was referring to the "Chinese" word he had asked me to translate. And so I found myself explaining to a quarter-Asian kid why he shouldn't refer to other Asian folks as "gooks."

And I thought to myself: that's how disconnected from his Asian identity this kid is. And that is how it would be for my kid. I thought this story would end there.

But it didn't. It's three years later now. S. still goes to my school, but he's an 8th grader now, about to head on to high school. We've know each other for three years, and I have watched him grow, and we have established a really positive relationship (he recently said he's going to be a math teacher when he's older). He's often been in classes where I've talked about race, and my own background, etc.

So - the other day, he's sitting at a table playing dominoes with a bunch of kids in class (dominoes is probably one of the best games for having kids practice basic math skills without the kids realizing it), and he jokes with one of his friends, "Hey - are you lonely at this table because you're the only black kid?"

The other kid laughs it off and S. says, "I'm just kidding. Besides, I'm the only Asian kid at the table. But I'm not alone, because - insert the CVT's real name - is here."

I didn't say anything. I was caught too off guard. At this point, I always have something to say when race comes up in class, but this time - nothing. I just looked at S. And thought back to three years ago. And smiled.

Because S. claimed his identity so casually - yet clearly - right in front of my eyes. He claimed an identity that is an overwhelming minority at the school I teach (and in the area where these kids live). He claimed the identity of a race that is commonly ridiculed and mocked by the kids and adults that he is exposed to regularly. And he did it proudly.

And I can't help but feel an extreme sense of satisfaction about that. I definitely can't claim sole responsibility for this change (I'd hope his mom played a major part), but I don't really think it's a coincidence, either. I feel that my presence and way of being in the classroom and willingness to talk about my own identity must have had some influence on him. I'd like to think that the respect I've earned from the kids I teach - while simultaneously proclaiming my Asian-ness - has made "Asian" less foreign to them. A little bit less "other." More acceptable.

Maybe even something for those few with Asian blood to be proud of.

I've tried my best to be a positive, conscious racial (and otherwise) role model for the kids, and I think I mostly achieve that.

But I never saw this coming. I never expected to see S. identify himself as "Asian." And I never would have expected those around him to accept that so easily (not one kid said, "no you aren't" or "what are you talking about?").

Which makes me have to ask the question: if that's what happened with one of my students, what would it be like for my own kid?

Sometimes the world changes, and it starts like any other day.

Of course, this is by no means the end-all, be-all moment. He might change his mind in the future. He might never claim his Asian-ness outside of my classroom. My students probably think of me as "the exception" to the "Asian rules." Or maybe I reinforce them, somehow.

Be that as it may - I got to see a kid and his relationship to his own racial identity change (in what I believe to be a positive way). And I played a role in it. And no matter what else happens, that fact remains.

And it feels good.

And it gives me some hope for my kids (if they ever exist) - no matter the background of their mother.

And that's kind of reassuring.

On Bad Timing for a Good Thing

So - if you've been reading this blog (somewhat) regularly, you know that I'm pretty frustrated with the education system these days. I find it misguided, often irrelevant, and completely unequal in the opportunities it offers kids based on class and race (and gender, I should add).

As a result, I've been pondering a break. With this frustration on me, with my seeming inability to do some inspired math teaching, it seemed like a good time to make a move. I've known for a long time that I need to spend some real time in China to finally figure out what that side of my blood all means to me, but things keep coming up. So I decided that - next Fall/Winter - no matter what, I was going to make that trip, and I wasn't about to let anything get in my way.

Which seemed perfect, since I was feeling a little burnt, anyway. So I gave word to my boss and my co-workers, and I started making plans. For the last few months, I've been slowly setting up my departure from this country, and it seemed like everything was falling into place to make that the best choice.

And then, today, something happened. I sat down with my boss (we have scheduled one-on-one meetings every two weeks or so) and started talking about improvements we could make to our school's structure and way of doing things to best meet our kids' (and our staffs', really) needs. I talked - again - about my frustration with the State math standards. How I felt they kept me from doing my best teaching. How my elective classes (Psychology and Music Production) have been so damn FUN and educational and positive for the kids (and me). How I wished there was a way I could do the same for my math classes.

And none of that was new, really. I've had this conversation before. And, basically, they ended up with me and my boss agreeing that I just wasn't as passionate about math, and so I didn't spend the time making it as dynamic and empowering as my elective classes. That's where it would have ended any other today.

But today . . . I don't know what happened. But right when I would have normally hit that wall I've hit so often this year (of "f-ing system sucks, no way around it, f--- math"), I kept right on going to a SOLUTION. Inspiration struck me right between the eyes, and I couldn't stop talking. I started talking about how I could totally restructure the math curriculum to stop even looking like a math class. How I could basically turn it all into faux-electives that just so happened to teach all the hard math skills I've been trying to teach - but in a more hands-on, relevant way to the kids.

My boss mentioned me not coming back, and I said, "yeah . . ."

But I couldn't stop. The meeting ended, and I ran to my room, sat down at my desk with a pencil and the state math standards, and I drew out an outline of my restructured math curriculum. Suddenly, "Math" had turned into a year-long project divided into three large pieces - from start to finish, the kids were going to come up with a new product to market, test "public interest" through surveys, design a corporate office building and product, budget and make projections on earnings and market shares . . . And I incorporated almost every damn state standard into the whole deal.

The kids were going to take control over their learning, be creative, while learning hard math skills and how to apply them to real problems. Holy sh--!!! It's the freaking Holy Grail of middle school math teachers. And it just came to me like a bolt from the blue . . .

A few months before I've decided to leave the teaching field for a while.

A few months before I've decided to leave the teaching field for a while. Not enough time to implement anything at all.

And, suddenly, I'm thinking about coming back for "one more year."

But I can't - because I promised myself I wouldn't let anything stop me from making this trip. Because I know there will always be some reason to delay it for another year. Every year will bring me closer to one commitment or another that will keep me from ever being able to go. So I have to go now.

But I just came up with something so beautiful . . . And what if I never end up implementing it? What if my trip to China changes the trajectory of my life and this inspiration and (possibly) brilliant idea never makes it out to the world? Because that's how things work - I know too well.

Why did this have to happen now!? Why not a year ago? Why not in two years?

So exciting and yet so disheartening at the same time. I'm going to have to do some serious soul-searching now, and I'd rather not.

I honestly believe "everything happens for a reason," so I'll find the reason in all of this, and it should all end up how it ought to - but that doesn't make it any less beautifully frustrating right now. Not at all.

Such bad timing for such a good thing to happen . . .

Positive for Just One More Day

I get plenty of opportunities to complain about all that's wrong with this country and society, etc. on this blog, but I'd like to just keep the positive feelings going for one more day.

I started my morning watching all the clips of the Obamas' inaugural evening - all their balls and dances and mini-speeches. And I have to say, outside of all the other great things about this man (and his family) moving into the White House, is the fact that he and his wife actually seem to like each other. Maybe even - Heaven forbid - love each other. All the times she'd lean in and whisper something in his ear, him laughing softly about it - that's what couples are supposed to do.

And, really - when was the last time you saw a presidential couple act like that? When was the last time the President and his wife looked like anything other than a marriage of convenience? Seriously?

And then the man does the bump on the dance floor . . . Do I really have to say anything else about that?

So, full of these positive little feelings about the new first family and what it symbolizes, I headed to school to start a new term. Due to the nature of our school (and the transience of our population), we get new students every term, and this one was no different.

So we're in my third period math class, doing class introductions, going over my classroom expectations and what-not, and I look over to one of the new students (a Somalian girl) sitting off to my left. She's furiously scribbling something on a piece of paper with a big grin on her face, and I can't help but wonder what she's up to.

And then she holds up her sign, with the most blissful and proud look on her face. The sign? It reads, "My President is BLACK!"

She sees me read it, and I look at her. We catch eyes, she gives me a big grin, and I couldn't help but laugh and smile a big-ass goofy smile.

This is a student that I just met this morning. One who came to my school because things weren't working out in her previous public school. Who had regular problems with her teachers, has plenty of reason to be angry and sad and distrustful. And we got to share this on her first day.

You'll be damn sure I'll never forget it, either.

On Engaged Learning

I walked out of my class for a minute today to get some water, and none of my kids noticed.

Let me say that again - I walked out of my class for a minute today to get some water, and none of my kids noticed.

Yeah, I teach middle school (at the "middle school" of all middle schools, no less), and I walked out of my class for a minute, and none of my kids noticed.

There's something very wrong with that picture. Seriously.

For one - considering the particular kids I work with (so-called "at-risk youth;" the kids that other middle schools cast away) it's crazy that I left a room full of students completely unattended. The fact that I even thought about it is kind of crazy (considering what would normally happen if I did that).

The second part - even crazier than the first - is that they didn't even notice. Not a one. They didn't even know I slipped out.

Why was that? Well, considering how "bad" those kids must be, it's probably because they were fighting. Or playing violent video games. Or maybe they were so crazy and "out of control" that they didn't notice me leave because they never pay attention to me, anyway. Right?

Nope. They didn't notice because they were totally engaged in learning. Yeah - you heard me. A room full of middle school kids didn't even know that I left the area because they were too intent on learning to look up and see me gone. They were too happily discovering new things by themselves that they didn't even think to find me to ask for help.

I kid you not.

Now, this is not a post to talk about how great a teacher I am. Because, to be honest, this is the first time this has ever happened (could be the only time, too). No - instead, I write of it because it was so amazing to me. It is also a good representation of what's wrong with the education system today.

The class the kids were in was my elective Music Production class. In this class, I am teaching (along with another teacher) kids to write original music; use digital software to sample, loop and edit tracks; make their own beats using a digital drum machine; and to write and record lyrics to produce a complete song (that will be burned to a cd and given to them at the end of the trimester).

Today, the kids were so engrossed in putting together their music and playing with samples, that they didn't have time to "get into trouble." They weren't messing with each other. They weren't putting each other down. They weren't complaining about being bored or getting frustrated because it "didn't make sense." No - they were just creating something new, and learning how to do so through the experience of playing with sounds.

And it's easy to say - "Well of course they were into that, because it wasn't real learning."

But it was. In the last few weeks, they have been intently writing lyrics for their songs - expressing joy, pain, love, and other emotions they never share with each other (or anybody else). They have been learning to get comfortable with the computer software. They have learned about beats, bars, rhythm, and how to keep musical time. They have learned how to determine a song's tempo. They've created hip-hop music, rock songs, motown-esque ballads. They've had art, math, social skills, language arts, and a little bit of history all in one class.

And every single one of them has been in it from start to finish. And it's not like these are some special selection of kids. I have two classes of Music Production, with a very representative cross-section of our student population (almost half the school, really), they have been learning more - and actively so - than in any other class I've ever taught.

But there's one huge problem: this is the exception. It should not be such a huge f-ing deal that I left a class of kids to learn, and there was no problem. It should not be so amazing that the kids are happily learning through experience. It should not blow my mind that the majority of the time in class today (after 10 minutes of in-front-of-the-class "teaching"), I just sat and watched the kids create. That they called my name to share what they had made - not to ask for help or call out other students.

Because our schools in this country don't work like that. Our school system does not provide for this kind of learning to happen. There is too much B.S. "content" to teach in the "core" classes (math, science, reading) to slow down enough to really dive in and enjoy a particular topic. Budgets are too small to allow for anything even remotely "artsy" to get funding - even when hard academic skills are being learned. Teachers don't get paid enough nor have the time to put in to create truly engaging lesson plans. Training is a joke. Most teachers are doing it for the wrong reasons or are completely disconnected from the kids they teach. Those that do it right do so at the cost of sacrificing most of their outside life. So many things are wrong with the system - and they all combine to keep this from happening: kids so engaged in learning that they don't even really need the teacher, or feel like they're "learning."

But it's possible. So when our kids hate school and can't help but go a little crazy when they are there - it might just be the fault of the school, and not necessarily the kids. Or, more accurately, it might just be the fault of the school system, and not so much the kids. Because these students I'm talking about are the kids that society wants to forget. These are the ones that are "bad" and "disrespectful" and "lack discipline" and everything else folks like to throw at them. And yet - these are the same kids that created the "perfect learning environment" that teachers speak of in hushed whispers of impossibility.

What if somebody had enough and finally rebuilt - ground to ceiling - this depressing school system so that that was the norm? It could happen. My math classes could look like this, no matter the kids. If only the "system" would allow it to happen.

And I can't help but think that it's likely impossible. At least very improbable. But I won't let go of the surprisingly-wonderful gift this country gave me two months ago, and so I allow that it's worth it to hope. Hell - maybe I can even be an active part of that change.

And so I turn to you, dear readers - how best can I begin the Education Revolution?

On Walking in a Snow Storm - Literally

I keep putting off that "Invention of Race" post I promised, but . . .

It's snowing outside. Real snow. Big, fluffy flakes of snow that are actually sticking to the ground. SNOW.

In Portland, Oregon.

That doesn't happen very often.

And I have this giddy-as-a-schoolboy feeling about it. I keep standing up on my chair (I live in a basement) to look out the window at the falling flakes, and the white sky beyond. I have a park across the street from me (I like to call it "my park"), and it's so exciting to see the grass replaced by a covering of snow. The white clumps sticking to the trees - the cars slowly disappearing under a fresh coat.

I'm planning out the rest of my day as I write this: DEFINITELY going to throw some wood on and have a nice, crackling fire. Going to snuggle up and do a whole lot of reading (George R.R. Martin, for those curious - this faux-radical wannabe emcee likes his fantasy) and - at some point - I'm going to go walk around a little bit.

I'm going to bundle up like crazy, throw on some boots (if I have any that can withstand the snow) and go run around in the park like I'm 5 years old. I'll probably throw a snowball or two (maybe even try to build a little snow-sculpture). And once I'm all tired-out from that (and soaking wet and freezing), I'm going to run back inside (right across the street - brilliant) throw off my wet clothes, and warm back up in front of the fire with a mug of hot tea (or maybe cocoa). And read some more. And not leave my house for the rest of the day.

And then, tomorrow morning, I'm going to cross my fingers and hope against hope for . . . a Snow Day. Again - I'm a teacher, so if I am lucky enough for the snow to stick and make travel difficult, I could get a free day off of work - and how could I use it at this point in the year.

So that's how I'm going to spend my day. Cheerful and cozy and light - because, somedays, there are other things to think about than race. And I'm going to take advantage when I can.

Have a great day.

On Blogging, Preaching to the Choir, and Throwing a Party

I chose this image not because I'm going to write on the movie, but because it seemed to best convey all the topics to be covered in this particular post.

So who would have thought my last post would be so aptly named? "On Walking in a Wind Storm." We certainly got ourselves some wind - and quite the storm - from this one. More drama than I'm used to - for sure - and I teach at a middle school.

I keep thinking of the image of the Joker from the most recent Batman movie, as he says, "And . . . away . . . we . . . GO!"

BOOM!!! (imagine explosion sounds)

So here goes. I've been crazy frustrated for the last few days. To the point of not sleeping and all that. I have a feeling my counterpart in this particular blogosphere whirl of a storm probably has an idea of a similar kind of irritation and stress. Because - I mean - did either of us ever want this kind of ridiculous "battle"? I seriously doubt it.

And there are a number of frustrations to this - that I've already aired - but one that's got me is what happened when I tried to wander over to "the other side" and say my piece. In retrospect, I should have totally seen it coming, but it kind of surprised me the reactions I got over there. Nowhere (other than with the blogger herself) was there any sort of response to the gist of the matter - that something had offended, unintentionally, and should be addressed in some way. Instead, there were attacks, numerous references to my "sensitivity" and inability to take a joke, "PC" references . . . the usual.

And, really, why did that surprise me? Because that's what happens in the larger world - but it's also what happens when you step into somebody else's turf and call out the boss. At that point, whether or not you are making sense, the boss's people are going to step in and protect. That's normal human reaction. When the opportunity to draw a line in the sand and call out sides occurs, we all choose a side and defend those we know. "Our people" - whether that line is drawn by family ties, race, neighborhood, or who reads whose blog.

And that's exactly what happened. Those on "my side" jumped to tell me how right I was and how reasonable I was being, while "her side" jumped to say the exact same thing to her - while both of us were probably a little bit wrong. Et voila! Drama.

And that's what really bothers me here. Because this blog stopped being about my personal space to vent or "practice writing regularly." It's become an opportunity to educate and share experiences, as a means to spread the word and battle the institutionalized and media-led ignorance of those living in this country. And I don't say "ignorance" as the loaded term that so many see it to be, but the definition - lack of knowledge. Because, if you don't have the experience, and nobody takes the time to teach you, you're going to lack that knowledge.

And in my attempts to share experience and knowledge, I've developed a little following. Not a huge one, by any means, but a decent number. The problem is, this particular following sounds so much like a choir. Because people choose to come to this blog to read it. And most people are going to continually come to and read a blog that they agree with - because it's just too painful and frustrating to read something that you can't nod your head to on a regular basis.

The problem is, that process makes it difficult for true education and learning to occur. Because one-sided agreeing doesn't really change anybody's mind. I just get to hear - "Yeah! Say it again! I totally agree with you!!!" - which feels great, but am I really reaching anybody that wasn't already headed in that direction?

And then I found a venue (blog) FULL of EXACTLY who I want to reach - folks learning about race and dealing with it from the context of raising their children (of color) in a white-dominated society and world. Folks that seemed willing and excited to learn (I know this because I only found out about it when they linked to my post on Guess Who? as something to think about). And so I paid it a visit. And I saw something that bothered me, so I commented - thanking the writer for the link, and explaining my concern.

And then . . . away . . . we . . . went!

EXPLOSION!!!!

Because it turned out that that particular choir wasn't having it. We all went into "protection" mode. And here we are.

Want to know the saddest thing? Since the drama occurred, I have gotten hundreds of hits coming over from that site. When I was originally linked to, as a means to learn something and think about it? Three. It's one more microcosm of how people of color tend to get attention in this society - ignored until something BIG and negative goes down.

So where am I going with this? I'm not exactly sure. But I have always been proud of my ability to win anybody over - no matter their demographics. Race, gender, economic status - throw it all away when the CVT walks in, because he can find the common ground and walk there. The beauty of practice in "The Gray Area." But that's in person. In writing? I tend to chafe a little bit more . . .

And so I find myself thinking about a party that happened at my new house after Thanksgiving. My new roommate (a black man) can best be described to have stereotypical "hippie" tendencies from an outside viewpoint. His friends follow suit. The friends I brought to this party were a bit more colorful (still a few white folks), but from a hip-hop cultural grounding.

So, most of the party, there were sort of two parties happening - the upstairs: hand-drums, barefoot, and less-clad dancing with abandon( average age between 40 and 50); and the downstairs: chilling on a big couch, listening to hip-hop and giving each other a hard time (average age mid-twenties to mid-thirties). When folks from the upstairs wandered down, we would exchange cordial greetings and introductions, there would be an awkward pause, and then the newcomer would return to upstairs.

Except at the end. At the end, the straggling "upstairs folks" came on down and joined us all on the big couch. We made a mini-performance space, and folks took turns sharing their words. I shared some politicized spoken word about my relationship with race as it pertains to my father. An "upstairs woman" shared some of her own spoken word (also political) from back in the day. Two of the downstairs crew dropped lyrics over a generic beat I put on. And we all just shared a positive, creative, and intimate space for a short period of time. "Them" and "us" - sitting all lined up on a big-ass couch, appreciating each others' talents (and courage to share).

And THAT'S the kind of party I want to host again. A party where you can all have your different places to camp out and do whatever it is that brings you satisfaction, while also coming together to share and learn and connect at the end of it all.

I don't want to preach to just the choir. Sure, I need the choir to keep me fed and strong enough to battle on through the rough stuff, but I don't want only the choir. Because I want the opportunity to really reach some people who don't see my side. I want the opportunity to re-structure my own views based on somebody else's comments. And I want the opportunity to foster a respectful dialogue between different sides, so that they can edge a little bit closer towards common ground.

And so I make an offer to all those from the "upstairs party" that have been coming over here to see what I have to say: why don't you come back again, bob your head to my beat for a minute, appreciate the subtleties of a well-formed verse? And to those with me at the "downstairs" party - how 'bout we go upstairs for a bit and dance a little; see how a head-spin goes to a natural drum rhythm? And when we hit that point of being a bit too far past our respective comfort zones, we'll both head back to our little areas of the party - but we won't go home. Oh, no. We'll share the same house, and all the positive, good-natured fun emanating from upstairs and down, until we're relaxed enough to switch it up again and stretch.

And to the now-"infamous" blogger from the "upstairs party" - I offer you a space to post a little something. Share your thoughts and where you're at, honestly and respectfully (as you have been doing), so we can reach out a little bit. I offer my own services to the "upstairs," as well (but not pushing it).

And wouldn't that be quite the party!!?? I mean - seriously. Somewhere where we all don't just preach to choirs, but to the "other side." Somewhere where true, knock-the-breath-out learning happens. Dang.

I'm not a (specifically) religious man, but I've always felt that everything happens for a reason. I doubt you disagree. So wouldn't that be tight if this was the reason?

That's my little dream. Not likely, by any means, but something worth aspiring to (and daydreaming about).

And as far as my choir goes - thank you all for the support, don't stop reading, and please feel free to share a verse or two whenever the need strikes.

On Bridging the Divide . . . through Paintball?

This might be one of my stranger posts, but bear with me here - because I'm serious.

So - I was down in LA this last weekend. And, although I'm going to save this for another post - I have to say that being there really knocked the f-ed up aspect of Prop 8 into me. As there is a large gay community in LA, there were marches and rallies being held all over the city, and everybody was talking about it. My brother (who I was visiting) told me about his friends who had just had their knees cut out. How can you just undo something like that?

I'll write more on this in a future post (soon) - and I'm not trying to minimize the issue - but I want to try to keep a little bit of the positive flow that Obama's election brought me, so I'm going to change the subject right now. To paintball.

Yup, paintball.

My brother and I went paintballing my last day in town, and I couldn't help but bring my race-ometer with me, and I was kind of amazed by the results.

To be brief - paintball is a form of entertainment that basically consists of running around with guns in a faux-battle type environment shooting each other with paintballs (that explode and thus show you that you've been hit). There are playing fields all over the place - but the one we went to consisted of a few different large fields covered in bunkers and hills and partial walls and what-not. We joined as "walk-ons" with other people who had just shown up on their own to play - and for each game, we were divided randomly into two different teams (try to shoot members of the other team, and protect those on your own as you try to capture your opponents flag).

That's a quick summary, but it captures the gist. So - obviously - it's not the most PC form of entertainment, due to the gun-toting, shoot other people, war-imagery nature of the game. It's pretty "masculine" and vaguely violent. So you'd expect it to be a bunch of adrenaline-filled macho-men that just want to shoot things.

And, at first look, it seemed like that was the case. Most of the other people there with us when we got there were men, a lot of them in army fatigues. They ranged from about 18 to 40 years old.

But, an hour later after more people had arrived, I started really looking around, and I was a bit surprised. The first thing was the incredible racial diversity of the participants. There were white guys, of course, but also a large number of Latino (mostly Chicano), Asian (Filipino, Vietnamese, Japanese - with certainty), black, and ambiguous folks like me and my brother. And I'm talking true diversity here, meaning white did not make up 50% by any stretch - and neither did any other racial group. And neither did any group fill the "token" role of being just one or two people.

Then I noticed it wasn't just guys. There were actually a decent number of female players (not 50-50, of course, but still many more than I would have expected).

The age-range stretched FAR. There were a ton of younger kids (from around 11 to 16 years old), as well as their parents and other older folks (over 50 for sure, probably up to 70-ish). And a number of people spanning the years in between (and I really don't think that was the largest population).

And the part that really blew my mind? The span of socioeconomic categories. Seriously. Because, in real life, when people are talking about diversity - they are seldom talking about a group that spans different economic classes evenly. But this was just that. There were the stereotypical "working-class" types (more rural, white hunter-types). There were "urban" youth (vaguely "thuggish" with the whole hip-hop "gangsta" look). There were middle-class folks (some business-types, college kids). And there were upper-class folks driving around nice-ass cars. And it really was pretty evenly spread throughout. Of course, I'm making some big assumptions and generalizations about the people there based on a number of stereotypes - but I feel confident in my assessment, nonetheless.

And finally - the number of languages being spoken on the field was refreshing. Everybody there spoke English fluently (as far as I could tell), but it felt good to hear them easily switching back and forth between English and (what I assume to be) their "home" language. I heard a group of kids speaking Japanese with their parents. A number of folks (that didn't come together) were speaking Tagalog. Spanish was prevalent. And there were a few other languages that I didn't recognize.

All of the above. On a paintball field. And it felt perfectly natural and fine. There were no conflicts. In a game where you shoot other people (and it can hurt), there were no arguments, or threats, or even cussing. People just played the game. We were stuck on random teams with strangers - guaranteed to be filled with people spanning a number of different demographic categories from each other - and we played together, as a team. We strategized, covered each other, took risks for each other, and played to win without blaming anybody else when we lost.

And it was FUN. On a number of levels. It just felt so good. Maybe it was the ongoing high from the Obama election, but it just filled me with ease and positivity. F-ing PAINTBALL brought together so many different groups of people that we have been taught cannot get along in this country. We're filled with stereotypes about racist "red-neck" rural white guys who just want to go hunting and hurt non-white folks. We're taught that urban Latin@s and black folks are gang members that are violent and unable to get along with other groups. Asian folks are foreigners that don't trust or respect other races. Middle-to-upper class people are arrogantly prejudiced against "lower" economic classes and races and don't mix it up.

But - for one day -this was all flipped on its head. On a paintball field.

And I couldn't help but try and apply the lessons learned to the bigger world: the most obvious one is a common goal. The focus wasn't on race, or economic status, or any of these other dividing factors because everybody was playing together to achieve a common goal - and so individuals were willing to help each other out and get along because it clearly benefitted themselves, directly.

The other big part (in my head): there were no given stereotypes to play upon. It was paintball. To my knowledge (and probably to most of the people there) there are no stereotypes about what kind of person is "naturally" better at paintball. Not by body-type (I saw plenty of "larger" folks who were just as good as any "more athletic" competitors), not by race (there's no "insert-race are just built for paintballing," and - surprisingly - not by gender (the females were just as good) or age (one of the best players was the oldest). So, without stereotypes to fall back on, every individual was treated on their own merit - by what they demonstrated on the field and nothing else. And when was the last time you ever saw that actually happen?

Finally, there's the simple fact that the stakes were low. We were all there to play a game. And that's it. We wanted to win, of course, but that wasn't all-important (because there was always another game, another opportunity to make up for it). And so we were able to relax and not resort to all the negative qualities of humankind that end up being triggered by the stress of high-stakes (survival, success, etc.) and that cannot be ignored.

So my question is this: how can we build this into "real life"? Can we even do so? Are there other areas of life where these three conditions exist to eliminate the tension of "perceived difference"? Because now, I actually think it can be done. It would take a ton of work, of course (because I think it runs counter to a lot of ways we do things in this country), but it could be done. And if y'all can help me figure it out, I'll see what I can do to become your president and put it into action after Obama's eight years are through . . .

* Now, obviously, there are stereotypes about sexual preference that likely would be brought out in this atmosphere. However, I cannot be sure about that one, as that was not a readily-noticeable distinguishing factor in this context. Of course, I had a lot of other assumptions dashed about stereotypes that would be played out in this situation, so maybe even ones about sexual preference wouldn't have come out this time (unlikely, but I've been proven wrong before).

On the Unexplainable

I wish I could share this feeling with everyone. This blissful, giddily-surprised, calming, uplifting feeling. Hundreds of pounds of baggage have been lifted from my shoulders, and I get to raise my head from the burden and just look UP again. It's like I've been knocked back to childhood - looking at the world through new, shining eyes.

The world changed yesterday. It did.

Everything I did was new. As I drove to work - 'I'm driving to work, and we just elected a black president.' I ate breakfast - 'I'm eating and we just elected a black president.' Talking to my students - 'I'm teaching math after we elected a black president.' EVERYTHING is NEW.

Because I never truly believed this day would come. And so EARLY in my lifetime. So monumental that I even had flashes of - maybe I could run for PRESIDENT!!! - like a giddy kid. Because that had never been a true possibility before. And maybe I will run for President. Because this country just showed me that it could happen.

And as I walked around with my giddy smile, I wanted to find every single person of color in this city and just look at their eyes. To share this glow and emotion. To have a wordless exchange of pure joy on such a scale that I'll never feel again - and SHARE THE EXACT SAME FEELING with another soul (or more).

I tried to share it with white folks. I did. But it didn't work. Because this amazing moment is for us - people of color. I don't minimize the part of all the white voters (who I suddenly have so much more faith in than I ever had before), but white folks just can't FEEL this. As I told my co-workers, "Today is the only time that it kind of sucks to be white in this country - because you can't feel THIS" (as I tapped my chest). And in spite of arguments to the contrary, it's absolutely true. Because, without all the weight and baggage of race in this country, white folks can't fully feel the power of having a load of that knocked off.

And I kind of feel bad about that. Because I really DO want to share it with everybody. My teaching assistant came in, and as I explained to her how I had no intention of teaching anything real because of the moment, she said, "Cool, I totally understand."

And then when I started talking about how I hadn't been able to sleep and how shaky I was, etc. she asked, "Why?" And I wanted to scream. "WHY!!??? We just elected a f-ing BLACK PRESIDENT, that's why!!!! Suddenly this country has invited all people of color to be a real part of this nation!!! There's a guy that's moving to the Oval Office that actually gives a sh-- and KNOWS what it's like to be another color!!!!! Are you kidding me!??"

And it's simultaneously crazy and sad and kind of gratifying that not everyone gets to touch this feeling. It's like all my payments to the "being a person of color in America fund" got reimbursed in one fell swoop, and I honestly think I'll be a little high for the next month or so. Maybe longer.

And it felt even BETTER to share this with my one co-worker of color. We just looked at each other and KNEW that we were in the same place. We both had raw, post-teary eyes. We both couldn't stop smiling. We both had shaky hands. And we both were looking at the world from a brand-new set of eyes. And we got to share it.

And from that, I suddenly feel this familial, happy bond with ALL people of color (even worldwide, really). We're all getting to share in something so wonderful - and it's just for us. Not to say white folks aren't happy, and don't understand it to some level, but this FEELING - it's just ours. It's a little bit of a refund for all that we've had to shoulder.

And the smiles I get when I think about those who lived through and participated in the Civil Rights movements of the 60s? There's must be a level of bliss that can be matched by nothing less than Heaven, itself (and even THAT might not match it).

So I thank you, America. All of you - no matter who you voted for. Because, in the end, you gave me (and so many others) a gift that defies explanation and comprehension. I really don't think anything else earthly can match this, and I say that with no exaggeration.

Thank you for this new world. I promise I won't ever take it for granted.