Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Advice to my Daughters


I wrote this in November 2011.  Its not a Theresa Story, but I love it any way.




  1. Jesus is[was]n't a Christian because he is[was]n't cocky.
  2. Sometimes motherhood is all the greeting cards say it is. Most of the time it's the  special topping to the suck salad that's adulthood.
  3. A baby is 18 years; herpes is forever.
  4. No he won't.
  5. no he doesn't
  6. yes he would
  7. There's an app for that
  8. Fuck (th)em/him/her/it!
  9. een is a word; a contraction to be exact.
  10. You are smart, just not like me.
  11. You don't have the mother I had; don't fuck up!
  12. I'm not saying which one, but one of you should go to community college and marry a good husband.
  13. same shit; different toilet (or same poop different potty)
  14. it never gets better.
  15. I often find that the most vehement the denial that a perspective, opposition, or support is based on race the more deeply entrenched race is within the issue.

I'll add to these as I come up with more.  I may may this a blog called Advice to My Daughters...and Son



I Have no Words...because I'm not Allowed To



Last night I received a text message. "Diary of a first year Teacher. Look it up".  I looked up the title and found a blog written by an anonymous 22 year old white teacher in the Mississippi Delta.  In the blog she writes of an experience teaching about Dr. Martin Luther King at an all-black school in a part of the United States that always has been and always will be segregated, my birthplace, the Mississippi Delta.  The top comment on the bottom of the page was from a young man from Louisiana who "attended" college. 
the elephant in the living room:
"When a majority of parents refuse to require their kids to behave and do their work in school, those students drag down the standards for the whole school. Disruptive behavior dominates the classroom. It becomes harder and harder for the serious students to actually learn anything, or get any work done. The parents of those students are left with no choice but to remove their children from bad schools."

This young man was the top commenter and legions of white non-Deltans rallied to agree with him. The problem was that it was inaccurate and inconsistent with history. I replied:
 "I am from the Delta.  I was born, raised, and educated there.  The majority of my classmates graduated and moved away. In fact 22,000 African Americans between the age of 18 and 35 left over the 2000-2010 Census decade.  When I was growing up white students went to college to get better jobs.  Black students went to college to leave.  The exodus of over 20000 African Americans along with the decline in manufacturing left the Mississippi Delta impoverished.  However, before the region was in the shape it was in now, there were strong black families and good public schools.  The schools were black because white people never have sent their children to the public schools there.  Even in districts where the quality of public education exceeds that of private education, white Mississippians elect to send their children to white flight academies.  You can't remove students from schools they never attended."

I allowed the comment to stay up for about an hour and then I deleted it.  I deleted it because it had been made aware to me that people from work watch my Facebook page.  Rather than being called into my boss's office for posting racially charged material I deleted my very accurate post and went to bed.  This morning I walked past the neighboring office complete with pictures of her heroes, Colin Powell, Ronald Reagan, and Audrey Hepburn.  I wondered what the reaction would be if I were to put up pictures of Michelle Obama, Nia Long, and Angela Davis.  But all I can do is wonder.  African American women experience a spiral of silence at work.  While white employees are allowed to vent about low job satisfaction and celebrate their political affiliation African Americans typically hold all complaints and political beliefs in until they are safely among other African Americans or until they go home.  Racialized normative workplace feeling rules must be obeyed.  There is an interaction order after all.  The compound effect of this has caused me (one of the few educated professionals from my class remaining in the state) to seek employment and life away from Mississippi.

Thursday, February 21, 2013

An Evening with B.O.B.

On May 7, 2011, I poured myself a drink, lit a candle and curled up in my bed-office with B.O.B. Bob, like Jamie Foxx has always been faithful and is only as rough as I tell to to be.  So you can imagine how surprised I was when I was stricken with a sharp stomach pain.  I stopped, took a warm bath, and went to bed.  The next day I did what we all do with kooch issues, I phoned a friend.  In the middle of the conversation I tried to stand up and the pain was so sever I couldn't stand upright.  I ended the call and headed to the emergency room.  I explained to the nurse that I was having an evening with myself (that means B.O.B. not a man). I had not been with an actual human being in over a year. The doctor insisted I had PID or Gonorrhea and insisted on running a CBC and doing a Pap to detect which infection I had contracted.  The pelvic exam was painful. The whole experience was humiliating. When I insisted that my having PID was impossible he said, “It must be your period. It smells like its coming.”  He then wrote me a prescription for doxycyclene  and sent me on my way.  
The next morning I went to my OB/Gyn (A black woman) and she explained that I had a cyst to rupture on my ovary. The ER doctor was right about my period coming but failed to diagnose me at all. It turns out that the hormones from pending menstruation causes the cysts to rupture. This is a mechanism of gynecologic self-correction. However, when the cyst is large it causes the sudden onset of pain during sex or happy vibe time and the inability to stand up. A researcher, by nature and for occupation, I looked into Gynecologic conditions and found that 30% of them are misdiagnosed at the ER. 

About a year later I gave birth at the same hospital because my water broke and I couldn't make it to my hospital and was badgered about my birth control options by another white male physicians. When I said I will discuss my options with MY Ob/Gyn” he shouted at me, “I just want you to have a plan!” I shouldn't have had to explain to him that my children were 14 years apart so I think I know how not to get pregnant. I also shouldn't have had to tell him that my son was planned. So again, I wonder how many white women with advanced degrees are treated this way?

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Theresa Story No. 1: My Technologically Enhanced Passive Aggressive Force Field (TEPAFF)


I have always claimed to have a technologically enhanced passive aggressive force field (TEPAFF) that is comprised of my iPod, cell phone, book (now iPad), and either a hat or shades, or the combination of the two.  The goal of this is to prevent human interaction unless it is absolutely necessary.  I later observed that another purpose of this is to avoid a breech of ideology that is incompatible with mine unless that breech is invited.  I did not however have this insight on my own.  I'm introspective but I am yet to achieve that level of self-actualization.  Instead it was at a moment where I wished for a camera (I dabble in photography too).  I sat in the hallway of Hilbun Hall after a Medical Microbiology exam (I love Medicine so I occasionally take medical classes).  The demography makeup of a class is an immediate observation.  Then I watch as patterns emerge.  This class was  comprised of:
1 uber-conservative Southern Baptist (I say that because she informed of this the first day as a disclaimer to some of her future comments and view points.) Professor who felt the need to expound how the immune system was proof of God and who actually expected students to answer the exam question, "why is the cost of pharmaceuticals justifiable?"

1 black, female continuing education student who has been told she is too smart for her own good. (Guess who that was).

1 white female student who said she is Catholic because it is the only religion "flexible enough" to adjust to her individual beliefs.

1 black male student who felt the Daily Show was offensive, stupid, and needed to be taken off the air.  He also said it wasn't funny. 

1 white female nursing student who needed the course before she could continue at MUW.

2 black female students seeking entry into any nursing program.

1 white female student from Belzoni, who was the daughter of a man I came in contact with everyday as the office manager at the clinic, but had never seen because Belzoni remains that segregated.  *Side note I love when I meet white people from the first time.  Depending on my mood, I feel the need to say, "Hey, isn't funny that we grew up in the same town and had to leave that town to meet?"

Now the picture perfect moment that made me realize that more and more people carry a technologically enhanced passive aggressive force-field and to what end it was being used for happened as we awaited the last people's finishing the test. (For those of you who are curious it was the two unclassified black girls...not necessarily racist just a fact.)  This was a summer session and after the test we would have another hour of lecturing.  As I sat there with my iPod blaring French pop singer Camille and Corneille, hoping to glean a bit more unapproachability, I observed similar efforts in other students.

One student had pulled her hat down over her face and plugged in her ear buds and was texting.   She had also gone to the far side of the corridor closest to the exit and was leaning so that neither the students in the hall nor the students and professor remaining in the classroom was able to make eye contact with her.  The catholic student and the Daily Show dissenter were engaged in a conversation with each other, but they were standing closer to the classroom facing each other.  The nursing student never left the class.  Instead she pulled out her notes and began to prepare for the pending lecture while listening to her iPod as well. (I don't know that she was actually reading her notes, but I do know that feigning intense academic diligence is a very effective means of deterring interruption while simultaneously avoiding eye contacts with whom I like to refer to as "undesirables."  My homie (the student from my hometown) stayed behind to quietly talk to the professor.  

Finally as the two young ladies exited the classroom they both mean-mugged (sneared/glared) at the young black man conversing with the young white woman.  At this point I must tell you that these two individuals' conversation appeared to be the most inviting.  They were talking Biology in the Biology building. They were smiling.  They're body language said hey come talk viruses and labs with us fellow nerds. 

Nevertheless the two black students who appeared to share their distaste in a conversation between a white female student and a black male student that neither of us would ever date (not gonna get into that), did not sit and speak to me (I after all participate in class discussions, finished the test first and was listening to French music - Weird) nor did they speak with each other. Instead they sat right next to each other, buried their heads in their phones and began to text. 
Now you may be asking yourself why does she remember this day so vividly.  Could it be the D I got the exam for my failure to fully understand the financial commitment made by pharmaceutical companies in Research and Development? Was it that it was the beginning of the end of one of my sexiest summers before the graduate school weight gain began.  No, it was the imagery.  It was the fact that if I hadn't looked up everyone involved would have been totally unaware of how technology and the interaction order (Google it) worked together to create a living & breathing still shot of human indifference and my own misanthropic avoidance techniques. Its also because it’s the Theresa Story I tell whenever someone questions what my TPAFF is and how are they breeching it.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Theresa Story Number 2: Mulatto Butts

I was standing in a store engaged in a conversation with a kind bald white man.  He stood there smiling, showing pictures of his young black daughters.  I had recently viewed one of my favorite TV Shows, Archer.  Now what's great about good TV is that even after multiple viewings of the same episode you still enjoy watching.  What great about great TV is that even after multiple viewings there is still something to discover.  My most recent discovery was Archer's ringtone.  In Blood Test, Season 2: Episode 3 (one of the most hilarious), Archer is named as the father to Trinette's (his call girl of choice) "wee baby Seamus".  He and his mother demand a blood test.  Upon the realization that the baby may indeed be his, Archer decides to replace the blood with his accountant, Cyril's blood.  Because the main characters are spies the blood is kept in a Mission Impossible-like vault.  As Archer breaks in, his phone rings.  The fact that Archer didn't put his phone on silent is funny enough that you may forget to pay attention to the ringtone the first time you see the episode.  So when I finally paid attention to the ringtone I immediately downloaded it and added it to my quirky ringtone collection.  I unintentionally made this ringtone my default ringtone, and as I stood there with this proud papa my purse sang out "Mulatto Butts, Mulatto Butts.." I scrambled looking for the phone in my large unorganized handbag, but the damage was done.  You can't unring a phone.