The Name Game: Migrant Children

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When I was in the Master’s Leadership program, the professor asked: What’s the most important thing about a person?

Though I loved this professor, I knew he was wily.  Two brave students attempted an answer, only to be told they were incorrect.  The professor walked to podium, cleared his throat, and we knew we were about to learn a very important lesson.  Ladies and Gentleman the MOST important thing about a person is his/her name!  A name that distinguishes him/her from “you,” “kid,” “son,” or “ma’am.”  As an educator you must value people’s names, whether they be teachers, students, and parents.  You’ll be surprised by how much they respect you. A lesson I’ve not forgotten.  

Know I have the utmost respect for migrant workers and am most grateful for their service.  I’m certainly not going to pick lettuce, avocados, nor apples as my career.  Even at my grandparents’ farm years ago, men wandered up the lane to help with haying season and combining wheat and oats.

I am appalled at the separation of children from their migrant families.  I am appalled the US government is spending millions to house these children.  But I am most appalled we do not know these children’s names.  Really?  WTF?  And now, the government is going to spend millions to identify them via DNA testing.  Hmm.  In this technological age, it was not considered to identify them first–through photograph, finger print, or number?  These are children–some toddlers.  I can’t imagine their terror.

 

people-id-solutionsUnfortunately, this is just another example of mbsp–management by the seat of the pants. No one seems to understand the consequences of a decision until they’re faced with reality.  Decisions are whimsical, often retaliatory to garner votes.  Certainly, none of the recent decisions can be viewed as thoughtful.  (Just wait.  The tariff position is about to decimate American farmers.)

Yes, I’m a teacher. Yes, I’m a child advocate.  Yes, I would gladly open my home, my extra beds, and my kitchen to six children.  And yes, I would know each of them by name.

A view of inside US CBP detention facility shows children at Rio Grande Valley Centralized Processing Center in Texas

Heart Month

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This month’s blogs will focus on heart; no, I’ve not morphed into Delilah!  My eldest is a nurse practitioner who specializes in heart failure.  When I mentioned to her I was going to get my nails done, her reply was, “Wear red nail polish!”

“Why?”

“It’s national heart month, and one in three women die from heart issues.”

I followed her direction.  (Long ago I learned not to argue with her, as she far more knowledgeable about medical issues, more bossy, and cuter.)

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With that said, I share a poignant story of heart. Two young friends of mine, Mike and Becky, bought a 10,000 square foot, antique mall, Zinnias, and turned it into an eclectic Phoenix landmark.  The couple had many humorous adventures across America “picking” for collectibles, which eventually resulted in my officiating their wedding several years later.  Of course, aptly the venue for their wedding was Zinnias they had decked out with colorful murals of their new life together.  Their Boston terrier, Detective, is one of the mural’s focal points.

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When the Arizona legislature passed SB 1062 (later vetoed by the governor) that allowed any business owner, based on religious reasons, to deny sales to gay and lesbian customers, Mike and Becky posted: Open for Business to Everyone signs.  With their technological expertise, they pioneered a cloud inventory and created international sales of vintage items via social media.

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Sadly, the NYC absentee owner of the property recently raised their rental fee to an unconscionable amount and refused to sell them the building, unless they offered an exorbitant amount of money.  At the end of the month, Zinnias will close.  However, Mike recently reflected: We wanted to create a place where people of all races, religions, socioeconomic standings, and ages felt like they belonged.  Zinnias was the Cheers bar for Phoenix antiques shoppers.  Mike and Becky accomplished it.

Best of luck to great for with big hearts!

Bon Vivant…Not

I’ve never been a gourmet cook, perhaps because of my upbringing.  Both of my grandmothers were simple, country girls who prepared simple, country meals.  Each had their strengths.  My maternal, Tennessee, grandmother’s fried chicken and green beans were delicious.  My paternal grandmother’s homemade cinnamon rolls,  blueberry muffins, and fruit pies were spectacular.  Beef, pork, or chicken with various potato dishes were my staple.  On rare occasions, fish was served.  My mom never mastered the art of anything that tasted like spaghetti sauce, but to this day, her banana cakes light up my palate!

As a mom, I tried to introduce my kids to different foods.  As toddlers, they abhorred baby food carrots and peas.  Who wouldn’t?  For years, my youngest ate only chicken fingers or a hot dog smothered with ketchup.  The thought of ingesting a piece of lettuce, a slice of tomato, or a green bean gagged her.  In contrast, my eldest was more daring.  She loved spaghetti, stuffed peppers, prime rib, and baked potatoes and sour cream.  Today, she’s a sushi addict.

However, when we’re together and want to venture out for dinner, we frequent Mexican or Chinese restaurants.  I accepted long ago I’d never be able to duplicate their culinary expertise.  When we’re in NYC, we eat cheese cake.  Yes, we have compiled a list of best to so-so.)

Admittedly, I’ve never prepared veal, lamb, elk, javelins, deer, nor pheasant.  Further my thought of preparing brains, liver, or mountain oysters gags me.  So you can imagine my reaction to a high-end magazine’s feature story: Welcome to the New World of Eating Insects.

Dragonflies, ants, grasshoppers, cicada, water bugs, and…freaking scorpions and tarantulas!  According to one source, “over 2 billion people regularly rely on one of the 1,900 edible species of insects as a source of protein.”  Cricket-flour chips are the new rage. Frankly, I can’t think of anything more revolting than a fly whose just sat on one of my dogs’ poop ending up in a casserole.

And to those of you who’ve been invited to my dinner party next week, the evite read: BYOB.  I’m well-stocked with booze.  Bring Your Own Bugs!

November Moth (Epirrita dilutata)

November Moth (Epirrita dilutata)