For those who were concerned…

Daryl has returned.

Seeing him made my day, because I was worried. He stopped by to say hello and tell me a couple new stories. He also, to extend the parable, brought me a lucky charm – a purple stone on a long chain that he pulled off his neck and put on mine. I told him he didn’t have to and that it was too much (it looks like costume jewelry, but still), but he just smiled that huge grin of his and said that when he saw it, he knew I was supposed to have it, and that I’m not supposed to take it off. Oh, and I’m supposed to occasionally wash it with soap and water and run the chain through a white towel to make it shine. (He was very specific about that.)

No, I’m not kidding. I’m wearing a long chain with a purple glass/stone/drop thing wondering what I’m going to do when my metal allergy kicks in. Any suggestions?

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Life According to Daryl

Meeting “Sweet-boy”

I met Daryl a few months ago when he knocked on my door and offered to clean my porch and mow my lawn. With an enormous smile on his face, he told me I was so pretty, I could pay him whatever I wanted.

I hired him, of course (though I did make him tell me how much money he thought was fair for the work), but before he got to work on the yard, he started talking and I started listening. Daryl is a consummate storyteller with no training, naturally revealing interesting details with a clever turn of phrase as he tells his stories with his expressions and hands. He told me about how all the girls call him “Sweet-Boy” because he’s so sweet to them (assuring me soundly that he didn’t approve of this rough, disrespectful behavior on the videos), proudly showed me his rent slip for his new place, and talked about how he is 57 and its getting harder to push a mower, but he believes if you’re willing to work, it’ll all work out in the long run.

He told me that all he needs is a little change in his pocket and a place to sleep, and he had both so it was a good day.

When he started mowing, I went inside and starting writing. My desk is right by a window looking out on the front yard, and I couldn’t help but watch as he’d wave and offer friendly words to everybody that passed by him on the sidewalk. Truth be told, it was more than a little unreal. When he finished working on my yard, I gave him a glass of water and more money than we’d agreed on, and he told me I was the prettiest white woman he’d ever seen and asked for a hug. I couldn’t help it. I gave him a hug.

Political correctness, stereotypes, and breaking both

I can’t explain exactly what it is, but there is something good inside Daryl. And the 21st century has taught me that I’m not supposed to say that because somehow I’m revealing classist or racist tendencies. That I only think he’s good because I secretly believe that white middle class women are supposed to be hiring itinerant black men to cheerfully do manual labor for cheap (possibly while singing “Zip-a-Dee Doo Dah”). It actually crossed my mind, at first anyway, that he was putting me on, playing on stereotypes in hopes that I would give him money (or maybe that he could con his way  into my house and rob me).

But I’ve seen Daryl several times since then, and he really is that cheerful, and I’m really not that racist. Every time I talk to Daryl, he reteaches me something about  happiness: when I think the 21st Century American definition of success, with it’s college degrees and corporate wealth, is the “right” one, I’ve lost something sacred about just being human.

Daryl vs. the cold

Daryl stopped by today, when it is literally freezing outside. He wasn’t looking for work, but he’s concerned (or as concerned as Daryl ever gets) because he’s behind on his rent and getting kicked out of his place. I found it highly amusing that while he’s not worried about freezing tonight (he assured me he has a place to stay) what he IS worried about is losing his TV. He can’t go back to his motel (where he’ll be required to surrender his key) until he’s gotten somebody with a car to help him move his TV to a new location. So he’s outdoors wandering Austin in the freezing weather until his friend with a car gets off work. So they can rescue his TV.

I let him warm up in my living room (his fingers were practically numb) and gave him a couple apples. (Daryl loves apples, and since I figured that out, I give him a couple every time he comes by. But I’ve never seen anybody eat them like he does; he bites in, turns the piece around, bites the meat off the skin, and throws the skin away on the ground (if he’s outside) – at first I was slightly horrified, but then realized it’ll decompose. Maybe it’s his offering to his version of the nisses. But in my house, he couldn’t do that, so he pulled a couple tissues out of the box to use as a napkin. Before he put them down he waved them at me like a white flag saying, “I took some of these, I hope that’s okay!” as if I would have a problem with him having a kleenex. But he’s like that, very careful to make sure I don’t think he’s taking anything.) I also let him use my iPhone to call his friend with the car (he made me dial; he said his fingers were numb, but I couldn’t tell if he just didn’t know how to use it), and then he ate one of the apples and told me more stories, this time about a car he’s trying to buy for just under $400 (“with stickers that will be valid for a year; you can’t beat that!”) and a girl who was so fat she had to turn sideways so he could hug her.

Daryl is going in one of my books one day.

Luck and the Divine

As Daryl walked out my door back into that cold to meet his friend with the car (and recover his TV), he told me that he always finds money after he sees me. He said it’s because I’m lucky, and my luck rubs off on him. As I gave him his hug (which I admit, I asked for this time), I thought about luck and how I’ve always considered my inability to win any games of chance to be because my good fortune was all used up in the people I’ve met built my life around (I have the best parents, sister, husband, and friends the world has ever seen; you couldn’t WRITE people this amazing) – and given a choice, that’s where I’d put and keep my luck.  But if I do have any whims of fortune of a more pecuniary nature, I send that luck with Daryl for the night - in this weather he’ll need it far more than I will.

Talking to Daryl makes me think about all those stories so many different cultures have about how when God shows up at your door, He never looks like your definition of success. He’s usually friendly and a good storyteller. He’s usually looking for a little food and a little shelter from the cold. And He always seems to be happy with whatever you give Him as long as it includes your time and your respect.  Now I am not crazy in the head and think that Daryl is God (and if he is, maybe I should’ve given him more than two apples and some pocket change). But his effervescent smile brings a smile to my face, and his uplifted spirit in a life I would be terrified to live is practically a parable of faith. And there is something divine in that.

As I say this, I worry that I am a self-absorbed girl, looking for my own personal miracles in the real lives of others. But at heart I am a storyteller, and the blood of poets, people who uplift the mundane to the miraculous, runs through me. I know that Daryl’s life must be full of hardships, but I find in him an inspiration, a… something more than flesh and blood that walks the Earth. And so I mean it as a compliment to his soul, without a disregard for the reality of his Earthly life, when I say that Daryl is a Wanderer in the Cold who has blessed me, not with riches, but with the richness of the reminder that with shelter from the cold and enough pocket change to “get me a couple tacos and some French fries,”  life is beautiful.

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Pat Robertson, Glen Beck, and I Agree on Something

It’s a Festivus miracle.

I’m sorry, I try not to get TOO political on here, but I know I’ve been down on these guys in the past, and, well, I want to give a shout out when I think they’re being smart. I like giving props, especially to people that I usually don’t give props to. And what is this issue? Legalization of marijuana.

Go Pat Robertson. I have to say that I agree with pretty much everything he says… and not just about marijuana. Prison DOESN’T work – as a teacher who’s had several students go to jail and came back, I can attest that prison doesn’t help.  They went in confused but basically good-hearted kids and came out with  a lot of dangerous connections and little regard for authority (and not in a healthy, “question authority” sort of way, but in a “all authority is evil and must be subverted” sort of way). Example:

We got a large influx of students from NOLA post-Katrina, and a lot of them stayed for good. One of them was put into my drama class mid semester after never having taken theater before (and not wanting to take it now; I admit it took us awhile to warm up to each other :) ). But he surprised me one day by popping into the theater during lunch to tell me about working on his slab (“slow, loud, and bangin” car – I had to ask) in preparation for the Juneteenth parade. I’m sure he was coming into the theater to avoid somebody, not to see me, but that’s fine. I’m in favor of giving students a place to hang out instead of getting themselves into a fight. After that, every now and then he would come by at lunch and we’d talk about generational race relations and he’d give me street slang lessons. Finally he showed me a picture of his girlfriend and talked about the baby on the way and how he was trying to make ends meet since her folks kicked her out. Then one day he quit showing up to class and disappeared from my roster. Admin wouldn’t say anything other than he was “no longer attending” our school. I asked around his friends and finally found out he was in jail - real jail, not juvie - with hints it was for dealing.

When he got out the next year, he came by the school to say hello to people and found me. I was so happy to see him, but it was sad, too. He was covered in prison tats (not that I mind tattoos, some of his were very good looking, but it was such a visual change). He gave me a big hug and a smile and asked how things were going, but it was clear he didn’t belong at school anymore (he wasn’t coming back; I hope he at least got his GED); there was a wariness to him – the whole time we talked he was scanning the courtyard giving knowing nods to people. After one particular nod, he cut our conversation short with an “I gotta go,” gave me a quick hug, and left. (And for those with suspicious minds, my students usually cut out to avoid fights – “so-and-so just got out of class; go now so you don’t get into it” is way more common than, “I just saw so-and-so, let’s move so we can start something.” The ones who are really in it know the stakes are serious, and they don’t start something unless they believe they have to… hence, in my experience, wannabes are more dangerous than actual gang members because wannabes are trying to prove something. But that’s another topic.) I never saw him again.

Sometimes I think about my ex-student and all the ways that life just failed him. He was a smart kid. A kid with a good heart. One who was willing to connect with a blonde, cheery, middle-class theater teacher from small town Texas when everything in society said we shouldn’t get along. I just can’t see how prison was the right solution for him, how his time there benefited him or benefited society. As far as I can tell, I paid money (via my taxes) to turn a confused kid who was trying to support a family into a hardened gang member, and that has got to be one of the worst purchases I have ever made.

Drugs hurt people. I agree. But the criminalization of marijuana hurts people, too, and from what I’ve seen the ramifications of policing this incredibly common drug is a lot more damaging to our young people (and far more costly to our society) than a joint has ever been. Just my humble opinion… and apparently one shared by Pat Robertson, Glenn Beck, more libertarian segments of the Tea Party (I don’t have an easy link for that, but I’ve seen smatterings of it around the ‘net), segments of the NAACP, and the ACLU. When all of these people are in bed together, either they must be right  or the apocalypse has started. I’m hoping for the former.

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Beautiful Words of Love from the Absent Nobel Peace Prize Winner

Holy moley. You can read the text of the “last words” of 2010 Nobel Peace Prize winner Liu Xiaobo before beginning his 11 year prison sentence in the New York Times, but I had to pull out the part that he wrote for his wife. Wow. So. Beautiful.

Ask me what has been my most fortunate experience of the past two decades, and I’d say it was gaining the selfless love of my wife, Liu Xia. She cannot be present in the courtroom today, but I still want to tell you, sweetheart, that I’m confident that your love for me will be as always. Over the years, in my non-free life, our love has contained bitterness imposed by the external environment, but is boundless in afterthought. I am sentenced to a visible prison while you are waiting in an invisible one. Your love is sunlight that transcends prison walls and bars, stroking every inch of my skin, warming my every cell, letting me maintain my inner calm, magnanimous and bright, so that every minute in prison is full of meaning. But my love for you is full of guilt and regret, sometimes heavy enough hobble my steps. I am a hard stone in the wilderness, putting up with the pummeling of raging storms, and too cold for anyone to dare touch. But my love is hard, sharp, and can penetrate any obstacles. Even if I am crushed into powder, I will embrace you with the ashes.

Wow.

Just. Wow.

(Taiwanese cartoon (not funny) explaining Liu and why he’s being awarded the prize follows…)

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You Might Have ADD (ADHD, Inattentive Type) if…

  1. You know it takes 20 minutes to drive somewhere, so you walk away from the computer 20 minutes before you need to be there.  Because that worked the last 500 times you did it… right?
  2. When you were a kid, you were very attentive to teachers because you knew it was rude to not be and you wanted good grades and to be considered a good student and- ooh! Cool bird!
  3. Meditation goes something like this: I empty my brain, like pouring tea from a cup. My cup is decorated with green bamboo, ’cause meditation is Asian. No wait, it’s probably not decorated, because we’re supposed to be emptying our minds. Okay, so my emptying-brain-cup is plain. Ooh.  And it has green tea in it, because that’s Asian. No, wait, I’m not Asian. I want Earl Grey Tea in my brain-cup. With lavender. That new tea shop makes the best Earl Grey with lavender… wait, empty brain. I’m emptying my brain. From a plain cup. With plain tea. Where do I empty it to? Because if I poured it into my lap, that would make a mess.
  4. You failed the gifted and talented test at your elementary school because, despite the fact that you were the only taker that year to get every question you answered right, somewhere around 2/3 of the way through the test, you quit taking it and started doing something else. (Hopefully you had a good teacher who noticed and gave you a second chance!)
  5. When you need to calm down and focus, you get cup a cup of coffee.
  6. Listened to instructions = broken project
  7. Buddhism is not your religion of choice because Nirvana, where you become one with the universe, sounds like a punishment. (Seriously? Be one with the universe? It sounds so boring… Otherwise, I really like Buddhism.)
  8. Starting a project is soooo hard. Finishing a project is unheard of. But that place in the middle, after it’s started but before you got bored with it, you are all over that – potentially for hours with a zen-like focus.
  9. April 10: in two days it’s my friend’s birthday, and this year I will NOT forget to post on Facebook!  April 11: Tomorrow is my friend’s birthday, and this year I will NOT forget to post on Facebook! April 12: Look how clean my kitchen is! Yay me!!! I’m awesome!!!!! April 13: I have a friend’s birthday coming up… oh… no…
  10. “Interesting but unhappy” or “boring but nothing’s wrong” is a hard choice
  11. You agree that the above ten items represent a disorder because the way your brain processes information is deficient and needs to be fixed.

I don’t have ADD. Numbers 1-10 are taken from my life, but 11 is not. (*At this point in writing I randomly decided to get up and make tea.*) I get into the most interesting conversations with people about ADD (I’m just going to call it that instead of ADHD Inattentive type, which is currently the “correct” phrase, but that takes too long), especially because when I was a kid, ADD was an unheard of diagnosis – if your mind wandered, you needed to get it back on task and quit screwing around – and a lot of people my age are suddenly realizing that the set of descriptors around ADD describes us very well. In my latest discussion, a friend who’d done quite a bit of research on it was explaining that there’s a theory that ADD is actually a primal mindset – ancient man needed to be able to shift gears quickly (especially in times of danger when, “Ooh! Bird!” might be either “ooh! Dinner!” or “Ooh! Danger!”), task sets weren’t so convoluted that you needed to remember nine jillion steps, and life was more about the here and now instead of pension plans and “when you graduate” (plus, lions=threat, cancer=not a threat… and not just because they didn’t know it existed, but because it might not have really existed; back in the hunter-gather days, there’s evidence that the people who didn’t die of trauma (ancient medicine did not cope well with animal maulings or breach births) lived long, disease free lives).

But to me, this is one more piece of proof that us 1-10ers do not have a disorder. Is it a different way of processing information? Sure. But that doesn’t make it a bad way of processing information. Sometimes it doesn’t mesh with the modern world, but it’s not un-copeable. And there’s perks! Until somebody explained to me what hyperfocus was, I thought everybody could get wrapped up, trancelike, into a project until everything fell away and all was right with the world. I love that feeling (and it frequently goes hand in hand with a caffeine high – even better!), and I have a regular quest to try to induce it (though I haven’t quite figured out how yet; sometimes it just happens and then everything’s awesome).

Engagement can be a major issue for us 1-10s, but sometimes people make life far more boring than it needs to be, and that’s not our fault. My second grade teacher who demoted me to the regular math group because I didn’t do stacks of work sheets with perfect attention to detail was a bad teacher. I will never forget arguing with one of my ex-students; I told her she needed to sign up for AP English next year (she was in my regular class). She shook her head and told me that I was crazy because she was making C’s in my class, so how was she going to handle AP? I told her she was making C’s because she was bored and as much as I wanted to offer her an engagement level that would work for her, I couldn’t do that and not lose the rest of the class. After much harassment on my part, she did sign up for it, and lo-and-behold comes to my class a month into her AP program to thank me. She was making A’s and loving English. Us 1-10s need to make sure we stay engaged… and quit blaming ourselves that we think boring professors are, well, boring.

The calendar ap on my iPhone (*must fix the size of this writing box; it’s waaaay too small.*) (*Fixed!*) is also one of the modern conveniences that is a huge lifesaver. I can’t tell you how many datebooks I’ve failed to keep over the years (I’d get all excited about starting one… and would be lucky if I used it for two weeks). But iPhones are designed for us 1-10ers. I don’t forget it because it’s not just a calendar, it’s a boredom saver! Have to wait somewhere? I can play Sudoku! So I never leave my calendar behind anywhere. Plus I can immediately put events into it when I learn about them – no more writing it on my hand and then forgetting to transfer it to the datebook I can’t find.

Procrastination is still a problem, but I’m learning to work around it. I’ve found that using a timer to get “as much work done as I can in x amount of time” is much better for getting tasks done than a list of tasks. I have tried so many different methods for housecleaning, and this is the only one so far that’s worked. But I think it’s because I get to make decisions on the fly (no following a schedule… that is always a major fail) and there’s something about knowing it’ll all be over in x time that makes me feel better about starting… it’s not like a project that I’m going to go crazy with and then either lose track of time (and waste my whole day) or randomly get bored with before I’m done and walk away from. I have a time limit. I can cope.

Basically, we 1-10ers have nothing wrong with us. Do we need coping strategies to deal with the modern world? Of course we do. WHO DOESN’T?? NOBODY takes this mind and body that evolved in a hunter-gatherer society and seamlessly blends it into the modern world. In many ways we are aliens to the world we have created, because we change it faster than our species naturally copes with change. So we have coping strategies to facilitate the difference. There is nothing wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with you. We do not need to be fixed. We all need to figure out what our natural tendencies are and figure out how to use them to our best advantage. And there’s nothing  at all disordered or deficient about that.

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