I was a teenage runaway

When I was 15 I ran away from home.
It was 1987.
It was the day after Martin Luther King Day, and there was a blizzard approaching.
I had saved around $250 in cash gifts from a recent birthday party.
My plan was to get to Florida, because it was warm there.
From there I would somehow get to Jamaica, and join a reggae band.
If I didn’t get that far, then I’d join a rock band.
It made sense to my 15 year-old mind.
I went to Penn Station, and took a train to Miami.
It was a 26 hour ride, giving me ample time to think and draw.
Long train rides have a way of inducing reflection in its passengers.
I was convinced I was doing the right thing.
Once I arrived in Miami, late at night, I realized that the train station was nowhere near the center of the city.
How would I get there?
I took a taxi, but had very little money to pay for the fare.
I told the driver to take me to the nearest Salvation Army.
On the ride we spoke, and he figured out that I was a runaway.
Instead he took me to a police station.
At the station, a policeman called my parents, and I spoke with them.
My mother’s voice was stoic, while my father sobbed on the phone.
I felt very sad by the pain I had caused them by leaving.
My parents flew me back home the next day, and the police took me to a runaway home for the remainder of the night.
The next morning, at breakfast I met the residents.
Girls and boys, lost, lonely, and hopeless.
I did some assigned chores, like the residents.
I spoke to a counselor.
I went to the airport, left Miami and arrived at LaGuardia.
My mother and uncle were there to receive me.
It was a quiet ride home.
At home, my room felt sterile, the police had gone through all my belongings.
They had read all my letters.
Everyone at school knew that I had run away.
The school had been scandalized; rumors abound for my reasons for leaving.
They never thought that it was because of them, because wanted to be someplace else.
I had earned the respect of some kids because I did what they only fantasized about.
I hated that place, I hated those people, and I still wanted to leave.
I felt a profound sense of sadness for my parents and myself.
I took the police officer’s advice, and waited to go to college.

Years later when asked by my siblings to recount this experience,
I can hear my father sobbing over the phone, and I weep.

Vygotsky

Lev Vygotsky was a Soviet developmental psychologist, during the 1920-30’s. His short but utterly prolific research and writings have made an indelible mark on the social constructivist approach to pedagogy and child development. Vygotsky had a profound understanding of; how children develop, how language is learned, how behaviors are learned and evolve.

At the root of Vygotsky’s research is cultural mediation, the way a child’s higher mental functions develop, which happens when a child is interacting with others, generally parents, siblings, extended family, etc. These interactions teach children cultural habits, linguistic patterns, and symbolic knowledge. Vygotsky’s theory asserts that culture is the primary factor that determines an individual’s development; so the culture dictates what to think and how to think.

Vygotsky supported teaching morality as an important aspect of education. Without learning morals we can revert to fulfilling our primordial base desires, and in essence, the instinct to restrain ourselves from pursuing those desires, which separate us from our former, primitive selves. Our instincts have evolved to suit the respective set of conditions in which we live, and our instincts can be cultivated to regulate our behavior. Morality is a product of social psychology; moral concepts and ideas vary depending on the social environment.

The problem is teaching morality in a way that is not merely a list of dos and don’ts with rewards and punishments, but teaching children how to make their own decisions within the realm of what is socially acceptable. “Do not turn morality into the internal policeman of the soul. To avoid something out of fear still does not mean you are performing a good deed.” (Vygotsky, 1926) The conundrum is teaching ideals in a less than ideal society. Parents and teachers should model moral behavior, yet we are all so fallible, committing minor (sometimes major) immoralities on a regular basis. We are hypocrites.

I do love Lev Vygotsky; he was a realist and understood that teaching ideals in a society with social contradictions was a utopian dream, much like the great experiment that was Soviet society. I respect the desire to attain ideals, but clearly, it is set up for failure. The beauty of failure is that there is far more to be learned from failure than success.

Negative Space

Negative space is the space around (or in between) a subject.
Positive space is the subject itself.

I first learned the concept of negative space when I was 16, in my high school Art History class. At first, I thought it sounded cool and I understood it; i.e., the space that is around a sculpture is as important as the sculpture itself, because the negative spaces of the sculpture may form interesting shapes and ideas.

It is not merely the opposite of positive space; such duplicity limits all that it is.
A subject is defined by the space it inhabits as well as the space it does not, but sometimes, what is not there is far more interesting than what is there.
Negative space is seductive; it is a known mystery, a constant change.
It is easy to see, it is a matter of allowing oneself to see it.

Blue Monster

Little girl with golden hair, little girl not quite so fair
Cannot sleep like the others do, in the afternoon nap to protect from loo*
She crawls out of the bed to play, in the shade where she must stay
Away from the flood of sunlight at the gate, to avoid a deadly fate
Standing at the cusp of light and dark, she hears a stray dog’s wretched bark
No one on the street at all, then a figure dark and tall
He is blue with fearsome face; tusks, flaring nostrils, red eyes ablaze
Transfixed at him she stares, he looks back at her and glares
Paralyzed she stands at the verge of sun and shade, he turns his head and walks away
In the stark sunlight he disappears, she goes to bed out of fear
Creeping back into the darkness of the room, she wraps herself to her mother’s womb
His visage and gait ingrained in her mind, there he resides for her to find


*Hindi/Urdu- very strong hot afternoon winds that can cause heatstroke and death.

Coma

Did you hear about the man who came out of a 13 year coma?
After he got the hospital bill, he exclaimed "I wish I were dead!"


note: I wrote this joke a few years ago, before Obama had been inaugurated.
In light of his health care reforms, I do not know how this joke would be altered.
While I understand some aspects of the reforms, a lot of it makes my head hurt...

a foot

Today has been a fragile day.
I was crossing the street around 8:45 this morning, I was hit by a shiny red car.
The woman driving turned out to not be a woman, but a girl. A 19 year old girl.
She simply did not see me crossing the street, as she made a left turn.
She could not see past her self.

As I crossed the street, I could see that her vehicle was not slowing down for me.
I stepped back a bit, about a foot.
Still, I was hit by her car.
The passenger side of her shiny red car had hit the left side of me.
I felt my shoulder, arm, leg, and knee colliding with her car.
The collision was relatively minor.
I did not fall, perhaps I was spun a bit.
I was hurt and stunned.

I yelled at her, "Are you driving with your eyes closed?"
She stopped the car, got out, and apologetically answered "no".
She asked me if I was okay.
I wasn't sure.
She asked me what I was going to do.
I did not know.
Then, I asked for her name and phone number.
After some words, I said, "pay attention to your driving."
I wrote down her license plate number and left.

I did got to the hospital, and did the necessary paperwork to have a record of this incident.
At the hospital I was told that I was lucky.
I didn't feel lucky.
The girl was lucky.
The Con Edison truck driver was lucky.
I was not lucky.
I was hurt.

I laughed that though it was a minor accident, it sounded really bad.
I was hit by a car.
I was hit by a truck.

Today, I realized that one incident would warrant, "I am not lucky."
Two incidents, makes me very lucky.

What god said.

In a recent interview, when was asked about how much god cares about humans.
God’s reply was “OMG, you guys were so four million years ago,”
and added, “too many choices make me feel indifferent.”
The interviewer went on to ask, “so the universe is random and perverse?”
to which god replied “no, mostly just perverse.”