“Just another Day in the Neighbor-Hood”

“Those children were left behind” was the headline on the Washington Post front page on Saturday, April 3, 2010. There is nowhere for them to go in the area. “They don’t have anything to do, no jobs, no activities,” says Fahim Shabazz, a resident of Ward 8. I am still reeling from the entire shooting incident that I ran into taking a fellow-church member home. I am a resident of Ward 7 and so we are sister wards and like siblings we have common genes and problems. Left behind by whom, when, how, the statement presupposes that there were others who were being led somewhere other than to juvenile detention. I say this “we” in this society program for juvenile detention, if a youth wants services, then get herself/himself adjudicated as a delinquent and a flood gate of social services, programs and activities open wide. The only money we spend on our youth is reflected in the per pupil cost for educations, food stamps, Section 8 housing, Medicare, Medicaid, tax credits and recently reauthorized Children’s Health Insurance Program (CHIP), that makes up approximately 2% of the federal budget which barely keeps up with the interest on the national debt. No room for growth or inflation that means in the long term, funds for youth are decreasing at an alarming rate. Where is the “Children’s Budget?” Where is the White House Initiative on Children? Where is the National or Local Commission on Children? In the recently released District of Columbia budget during an election year, the focus is on voters, children do not vote. Government will not save our children. In Wards 7 and 8 there are a plethora of churches, in fact one or two on every corner, schools, civic associations, and the public does not get a pass on this. What about the children? It is so easy to forget about them until a tragedy strikes. But if you think about it, where would you be today without some help, some guidance, somebody? In order to be left behind there must be some intent, perceived or otherwise to move forward. Let’s forget the clichés, “it takes a village…..” “everyone teach one….” And everyone do something!

A Cup of Civili-Tea

A Cup of Civili-Tea, Anyone?

What’s the matter with the world? Has the world gone mad? Nothing is the matter with the world; it’s the people who are in it. These words rang in my ears as I read the article on Monday, March 22, 2010 in the Washington Post by Dana Milbank, “The Republicans who stirred the tea” that capsuled how the Health Care debate was reduced to demonization among members of Congress, the epoch of protocol. The words, “Some worried about the risk of violence,” jumped off the page as I thought about our children. Did we somehow forget that our children are watching everything we do? Is it Ok to spit on people? Is it Ok to yell out “baby killer” or epithets in your classroom because you disagree? Is it alright to incite classmates to near riotous behavior just to win a point? We encourage our children to model themselves after our leaders. But in an era where anything goes, there are no rules for the children, ride the subway, visit a classroom, or just walk the streets and see for yourself. In a country that touts itself as a world leader, where is the Civili-Tea?

Welcome to the Tea Table

Hello,

I am so happy that you are able to join me for tea today. You can find yourself or lose yourself at afternoon tea....

THE TEA SET
My first remembrance of an afternoon tea is not of a fancy affair with a china tea set, tea sandwiches, scones, cookies, fine linens, candles, and silverware. Oh no, growing up in Akron, Ohio, there were no extras, but we had the basics—food, clothing, shelter, and a strong value system. What we lacked in material wealth was made up in the rich value system and work ethic that were daily drummed into our heads with a sprinkle of love by Minnie Bell Gooden (Minnie B.), my mother.

Growing up there were the two of us: Wilma, my older sister, and me. Although my sister was four years older, momma dressed us alike, except if Wilma wore a blue plaid dress, then I wore a red one. We wore black-and-white or brown-and-white Stride-Rite saddle-white oxford shoes to school and black patent leather shoes on Sunday. Momma always invested in good shoes because they had to last. She wore Andrew Geller shoes. We longed for the day when we could wear penny loafers, but she always said loafers do not provide enough support for growing feet. Our hair was parted so that we had bangs and two braids with ribbons like Pippy Longstocking. On Easter, we would wear our hair out in curls.

This short introduction to my past lays the foundation for my tea journey. In some households, afternoon tea and all the accoutrements are a way of life, but afternoon tea is not reserved just for the rich and famous. Afternoon tea is for anyone who likes to dress up and play make-believe. I was introduced to tea quite by accident when every Christmas Wilma and I received a white doll with a porcelain face that said “Momma” when you laid her down. Each year the color of the doll’s dress would vary from pink to blue. If mine was pink, then Wilma’s was blue, and vice versa. My father worked at Firestone Rubber Factory. Each Christmas the company would give a big Christmas party for the families of the workers, and each child would receive a toy. So each Christmas Wilma and I could count on at least two gifts. The one from Firestone came in a big box, and we could not wait for Christmas to open it. When Christmas came, we were pleasantly surprised to find a complete tea set with teapots, plates, cups and saucers, a creamer and sugar bowl, and flatware, all plastic.

Wilma and I would go outside under the apple tree and set our tea table in the grass. We invited our dolls to tea. We filled a jar with dandelions; we had graham crackers and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; and we put grass on the plates for watercress. We put our tea sets together so that we had enough plates for everyone. We poured imaginary tea and had a splendid conversation. There were no hats and gloves, scones, tea sandwiches, or fancy pastries. It was an afternoon of innocent play where we used our best manners of “please,” “may I,” and “thank you,” just like momma had taught us around the dinner table. These make-believe tea parties rivaled the one in Alice in Wonderland with the Queen of Hearts and left an indelible impression in my mind that I would replay at some future date. Do you have a tea story you want to share with me. Just remember, "Tea is not just for two."