Archive for the ‘story’ Category

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I work as a nanny for three amazing kids and everyday they surprise me. Always so curious asking tons of questions a day What are clouds made of? Why do people kiss on the lips? What happens when you die? They have this ability to believe anything I tell them (another reason why I love kids so much). I feel I was sometimes misinformed as a child so I always try to give them the most honest and true answers to their questions. Clouds are made of water, people kiss when they love each other, no one really knows what happens when you die.

This brings me to the topic of my blog today. One day while I was at work I noticed the kids calling others kids of darker skin as black or brown. This disturbed me as I had never referred to people of darker skin tone as a color (certainly not in front of them). It didn’t feel right to me to let them continue on using these terms so I said “Kids you don’t call people black or brown. Does anyone call you white? No. People are not colors they are simply people. We are all different shades some people are lighter shades others are darker.” They were about three at the time and that simple statement kiboshed their use of those words to describe people. The best part was seeing them go out into the world and spew this information to people young and old so proud of this new information they had learned. “Did you know people aren’t colors? They are shades? I’m a lighter shade!” (so cute, and the looks they get from people, priceless!).

Since then I have used this tactic to instill understanding and compassion for many other things such as homosexuality, adoption, poverty, amputations/physical differences/paralysis. These kids understand that you can love whoever you want, that some kids have many parents some have none, that we all are a little different but we are also all a little bit the same. They don’t seem to hold it against people their lifestyle choices or aesthetics. If you play with them and make them laugh, they will love you! I find it fascinating that such young children could understand and accept such concepts that most adults can’t or choose not to understand.

Let me make it clear, I am not trying to suggest I changed these kids lives or that I am Miss-Judgement Free 2012. I only wish that when I was a young I had someone to stop my stereotypes before I had time to develop them. Instead I work hard to break through a little bit of my judgements and generalizations everyday, that I feel, the society I grew up in conditioned. However the more I break through the easier it gets.

Children are our future. Ellen Degeneres was right when she suggested that Compassion should be a subject in school. Children are like sponges soaking of every last bit of information available. Why don’t we make the available information be ones of compassion, love, acceptance, and peace? Everyday I lose hope in humanity, it sometimes seems that people will never get it. We have 7 billion people each living in their own realities, how do you get them all to live as one? Is that even possible? Should I even care? I don’t know (as usual). All I do know is that when I see kids spreading words of support, empathy, happiness and helpfulness I gain back the little hope I had lost. Children are our hope.

Side note: Miss Judgement-Free 2012 intrigues me. Maybe a contest is in order?!………

Another little exert from the story that is as of yet Untitled but could potentially be called Gray Hayles. It’s coming to me in pieces so it’s not in sequence. I apologize if it is too vague but I’m working on it 🙂

“I woke up with tears pouring from my eyes. I could feel the box screaming at me to be opened. I felt paralyzed as I always did on this day; I slowly pushed my body up, out of bed. I was aching already, the pain was devouring me. I walked over and slid the closet door open. The box burned me as I pulled it from the shelf, the memories were already seeping out, gnawing my skin, scratching my bones, ripping through my heart. I dumped the box on the bed, releasing the smell that it had so tightly kept since the year before. Pictures, notes, books, poems, and her scarf piled my bed. I dropped the box and climbed under the covers. Reaching my hands down, scooping the items up over my torso, submerging my body in the memories, each one like a splash of acid on my soul. I let myself get lost in her essence once a year, attempting to remember every moment we had together. I spent the day scanning every word, every photo, smelling every article, reminiscing every conversation. All the while realizing that none of these things were her, and this stuff could never bring her back. It bothered me that she left, but none of her things went with her? They stayed, haunting me, forcing me to lock them away, denying any memory, accept for one day, this day. I wished I had no memories of her at all. She was too good, She loved so big, she was so honest, so open. She was free; She helped me be free, and then one day she was gone and so was my freedom.”