The Beginning of Something…?

The Eulogy - August 10, 2001

"Hey, you gotta minute?"

"Me?"

"Yeah…do…you… have a minute?" she asked in a smartass tone so familiar I thought I actually knew her. It was 2001. I was 22; she, a couple of years younger and (obviously) nuts.

"Nah. Don't think I gotta minute." I wanted to get away from her a.s.a.p.

"Oh, okay. It's just that…I'm writing my father's eulogy…and…I could use an indiscriminate ear. You know…all my friends would just tell me what they thought I wanted to hear…"

"You're writing your father's eulogy at Borders?" That's where we were.

"They got good chai tea here." And then a hint of a smile, but her eyes were dead serious.

"O-kay. I guess I do gotta minute then." I really didn't have anything important to do. I was actually on my way to meet a girl I had met at that same Borders the week before. I wouldn't have called that something to do, though. I was always meeting girls back then.

"Thanks. Give me your honest opinion."

"Most definitely," I said as I took a seat in the leather chair beside her.

"Okay…" She began, "Losing a loved one is never easy, especially when that loved one is your parent. That's why I'm here to pay my respect to Mr. James Sterling, Jr. because he was neither loved by me nor a parent to me, so he is making this process a breeze. True, he did contribute sperm, which, in turn, offered me 23 chromosomes towards life. But our bond ends there. James Sterling, Jr., commonly known on the streets by the 'unique' moniker, 'J.R.,' did nothing in life that he didn't want to and everything that he 'felt like' doing. Living this way takes balls. It's an all-or-nothing sort of life, and that's just what he had. Ironically, this is what I admire about him the most. He didn't believe in gray areas. He was black and white. He threw his life into the drug game (ALL). He didn't give a damn about being a father (NOTHING). He loved having a lot of girls, so he did (ALL). My mother wasn't a girl. She was a woman, so he gave her… (PAUSE IN TEACHER FASHION AND WAIT TO SEE IF THE AUDIENCE WILL FILL IN THE BLANKS, AND WHETHER THEY DO OR THEY DON'T SAY…) NOTHING!

[By the way, she actually read that whole part about pausing to me. I told you she was nuts.]

He was a person determined to be absolutely selfish, self-serving, and a legend in his own mind. He taught me what not to look for in a partner and how not to be treated by anyone. And he also gave me the gift of saying that I was his greatest accomplishment.
To the other kids J.R. may have floating around the District, some who may surface at this funeral today, I offer this comfort: If you did not know him, don't be sad. He didn't really know himself, so he had nothing to offer you but shitty street clichés and shameless excuses. You didn't miss anything, so you don't have the daunting task of trying to forget that train wreck. Make new paths for yourselves; he left no footsteps worth following. If anyone is mad at anything I've said it's because he fooled you into believing he was better than he was. But remember, he's dead because he didn't even believe that himself."

I was speechless. Was she serious? Didn't know, so I asked.

"Dead ass…"was her response. She was direct. Aggressive. Attractive because she was different.

"When did he die?"

She smiled. "What's your name?"

"I'm afraid to tell you…honestly."

"It's okay. You're probably not interesting or important enough for me to remember…'honestly' back at ya."Still smiling. "But my father ain't dead yet, obnoxious stranger. Thanks for listening."

And she got up and walked away. Like it was nothing. I watched her behind sway from left to right. Not bad.

Gone from my life as quickly and awkwardly as she came in. But she left something behind that made me begin to understand that everything really does happen for a reason. Back then, though, I didn't have a clue why…

I think this is going somewhere...stay tuned...if anyone is even tuned in the first place...

. (Prounounced "End...")

When it begins, I can't help feeling finished. I suddenly remember my age. Ponder my marital and parental status. I'm an emotional little girl on the inside; an undeniable woman on the outside. There is no lady in sight.

I remember Adam. Wonder if he doesn't love me because of this...if he feels more sinful because my body is out of order but looks operational and enticing. I want to cry, but the Eve in me is strong...and knows the truth.

So I sleep instead, contorting my body throughout the night to relax the pain I'm too exhausted to address. My mind flashes scenes of life many moons ago and tries to predict many moons ahead. When I wake up, I'm still in the middle of my own mess. I pull myself up and attempt to wash it all away. It only works temporarily before the flood returns, the pain crashing through me like tidal waves, yielding only temporarily to pharmaceuticals.

When it goes, I am relieved. I eat and sleep better. My purse is lighter and often smaller. Eve has disappeared, I'm left to deal with me, her distant ancestor, shaking strange fruit from our family tree. My caverns don't swell and flood. They are dark and empty. I am bit sad for it. Like it or not, it was the only reminder of my femininity, which dwells deep in my heart, but is held captive by my pride. And when it never returns, I know I will struggle with what it means to have an impact on the world if I have not made a significant dent in those prison bars.

It makes me eloquent when others deem it a curse. It is what could have been, thrown away so I can live healthily. It is the first half of an "us" that isn't likely...

Scenes from Black History Month 2011

2/23/11: CVS Pharmacy in Prosperous Southern PG County

I run in to pick up a prescription that has been ready for at least three days (I have learned this is the way to make sure I can pick up presription refills before I need them in illustrious PG County). I step up to the empty counter and give my name and birthdate to the pharmacist. She rifles through the prescriptions in the section of my last name as she discusses a co-worker's personal business ALOUD! There are about 6 pharnacists, all Black, all behind the counter, all discussing this woman's business, all loud, and all in front of the customer. Then the exchange:

She: What's your last name?

Me: Bruce. B-R-U...

She walks away before I finish to go search another area, still talking about non-pharmacuetical matters. Once she finds it about 5 minutes later, she yells at me (literally), "Why ain't you tell me it was a big bag?"

Me: (Shaking my head and laughing) "I had no idea." She also did not have a clue.

The Analysis: We really don't understand code-switching. There are just some things we can't do at work. Yes, because we are Black. This exchange was embarrassing and unnecessary. It's no wonder so many people found the Cosby Show unrealistic. How can we be expected to be respectable doctors when we can't be respectable when we're only dressed like doctors?

2/24/11: Lil Ceasar's in Illustrious Central PG County

I go in to pick up an order of Crazy Bread. Three Black young men are in line in front of me. The exchange:

Boy 1: "Where you bout to go, son?"

Boy 2: (Note he looks about 16 years old) "I'm goin to the hospital to see my son." Then he pulls out a flip phone like he had important business to do.

Boy 1: "Okay. My bad...Baby daddy."

Boy 3 looks at his pizza. The manager, who is white, and I, who am not, look at all three of them with the same face.

The Analysis: I guess if he is a teenager in 2011 with a flip phone, he probably does have issues with condoms...(just kidding). Seriously, if this keeps happening there will be no men to raise our boys. There will be boys, creating and copying caricatures of what other generations used to know. Think about it.

Blaring Detail Throughout the Month

Prince George's County's salary differences for the people at the top of the school board (furthest away from contact with the students) and those at the bottom (the teachers...who are in closest contact with the students) are appalling. It's obviously not a non-profit organization for everyone...so I quit this month. Seriously... 

2/24/11: A Bowling Alley (enough said...)

After a young man tells me he was  in a line at a shoe store at 7:00 AM for a pair of $190 shoes (and he shows me a picture of the shoes he couldnt wait to put into his phone), he questions (in a mocking, "you-just-can't-do-what-other-Black-folks-do. Can-you?" tone) where I do my grocery shopping because he sees a receipt from my purse that doesn't say Giant, Safeway, or Shoppers Food Warehouse.

The Analysis: We are always going to have issues with our health if we are more concerned about our choice of shoes than our choice of food sources. We should take a field trip outside our comfort zones. Visit grocery stores in other communities. See what other kinds of fresh foods are out there. Stand in line for that! Pay $190 for that! Take a picture of that for Facebook! Sorry...I'm just sick of the self-imposed limitations.

Final Thoughts: I once gave my class a writing prompt/discussion topic: Do we still need a Black history month? The responses were not surprising. Most said no; most were Black. The truth is I agree with them for many reasons, the most important of which is that the only history that sticks with us is the immediate one. Immediately, we need to get it together. Now, I would never expect perfection in the ideal sense, but perfection in the realistic sense should be a goal. Perfection is really the process of reaching for it, knowing that you will always fall tragically short, but understanding that it's all about the reach and not the grasp. We should do better. Yes, because we're Black. We deserve better because we are capable. We need better so we can begin to write history. President Obama is not our Superman, nor the second coming of MLK, Malcolm X, or Jesus Christ. He isn't "The Dream." He is the reach, and when he's done, we will have no choice but to grow our own arms...a little bit each day in little ways.

Be easy good people... 

The "Ms. Bruce" I Was..

This  is the first gift
I received from a student
in either 2002 or 2003.
His name was Farzad Aleem.
Even though he failed the class,
he still respected me...
and I appreciated that.

A policy in my former school system states that teachers who teach classes that meet everyday input four grades a week, while teachers who teach classes that meet every other day input two grades per week. It was expressed to our English department that these grades be meaningful and one of them be an assessment. Well...I could not meet said expectations. Here is my rationale and the actual letter I sent to the Assisstant Principal in charge of the English Department. I guess I was lucky that no further action was taken...?
: - )

Dear {Edited because no one cares anymore},

Honestly, I was not going to respond to the professional responsibility form. I teach Research and College Summit, two electives in the English department. I take my classes very seriously, jumping at the opportunity to teach them new things in innovative ways. To that end, my classes did not have two grades per week because of the curricula and teaching methods I choose to employ to reach my students. I’m not trying to be insubordinate; I’m trying to give my students a healthy dose of reality. I want my students to be lifelong learners who feel high school is more than just HSAs and unnecessary hassles. It’s not that I think grades don’t have anything to do with the real world; I don’t have a problem with students being rated on their achievement. I just think making sure they have a chance to master concepts (instead of merely memorizing and regurgitating them for a fair grade) is far more important.

The Research class introduces many new concepts to the students, and I often take time to address concerns and discuss practical examples in class. My Research classes will have 11 or 12 grades at the end of the quarter, which I think is acceptable for about eight weeks of work at the level I expect it to be completed. I have devised a new system that will give you the data you desire for the 3rd and 4th quarters without compromising the integrity of the class.

College Summit is a sore subject for me, however. I have repeatedly told my students that I am preparing them for college. In college, they will not be given complimentary grades for warm-ups or book work. In fact, they may only receive four or five grades for an entire semester. That being said, I conduct College Summit as an advisory, trying to fortify my students with all the skills they need to be young adults. I try to address all the issues that other classes don’t. I honestly do not feel it is necessary to grade everything (every discussion, every time someone cries, every time expresses that they don’t want to live, which has happened at least three times already this year) just like all the academic classes must. My class is about personal growth, not necessarily academic gain. I assess my students; I do not want that to be misunderstood. I am more concerned, however, that they communicate with their parents, receive honest information about the choices they have for postsecondary education, and make healthy decisions than I am with them having two grades a week. All I can say is that 3rd and 4th quarters will be different. I will give you what you want. The 2nd quarter College Summit grade books will be submitted with seven grades, however, because I will not “pad” the grades to meet the policy. The students who always work hard have grades to show their work, and many have progressed and stepped up to the challenge of doing work that matters with a level of excellence. Whether I had six grades or 16 grades, the students who are going to work always do so.
If you would like a copy of the curriculum I use for Research class, any of the PowerPoints I send my students to help them with understanding writing skills, or a copy of the book they use as a reference, I would be happy to supply them. If you would also like to discuss how I use the Navigator as a part of the College Summit class, I would be open to a meeting with you and/or {edited because, once again, nobody cares}.

Sincerely,

Tyauna Bruce

The "YUA-YAU" Conundrum



I HAVE BEEN SPELL-CHECKED!!

I can only imagine the anxiety people feel when they have to spell my name...all by themselves. Oh, how the beads of sweat must swell immediately upon realizing that there are far too many "wrong" letters in my name for its proper pronunciation. "Is it 'T-y-u-a-n-a' or 'T-y-a-u-n-a'?" Let's see if we can talk the problem through.

Okay...we all understand the "T," but why the "y"? "T-i" would have produced the sound necessary to comprise the first syllable of my name. Other words and names employ this method. "Tiara," for example, has such a nice ring to it (and I'm talking about a crown not a little girl's name). And everyone knows how to pronounce it. Then theres the "u"? Why is it even there? The "a" can (seemingly) stand alone to get the job done. The rest of the name is understandable ("n-a," as in "banana"), but to outsiders my mother used six letters (two of which seem unnescessary) to accomplish a goal that five could have done better.

WELL, PEOPLE...ONCE AND FOR ALL...MY NAME HAS VALUE AND A UNIQUELY AMERICAN FLAVOR ABOUT IT. No one ever said the English language is for the weak. America is full of situational changes and, as a result, so is English. Why find fault because of obvious literacy gaps? : -) Let's learn something new! Let's start!

Argument 1: "Tyauna" could have just as easily been "Tiana." That's true. I would have had no complaints about pronunciation because "t-i" makes people think of "tiara," and "t-y" makes people think of "Tyrone." Well...here's an English lesson for all the skeptics. "T-y" is more often pronounced like "tiara" than "t-i" ever is in the dictionary. Most of the time "t-i" is pronounced like "Tyrone."

Consider "tire," "tie," "tiny," "titanium," "tiger," and "tight," just to name a few. Now...it's not like you don't see words like "tyrant," "type," and "tycoon," but you also see words like "party, " "liberty," and "city." If you can accept and pronounce those words, why not "TYAUNA" ?

Argument 2: When letters fall in different positions of a word, different rules apply. Because the letters "t-y" are placed at the end of the word, there are different rules at play than when they are placed at the beginning. LET'S EXAMINE ENGLISH RULES. Well...as a word part, "t-i" undergoes pronunciation and positional changes that are automatically accepted, but still don't necessarily make sense. At the end of a word, "t-i" is pronouced "sh," as in "shun." Think about it. "Lotion." "Nation." "Action." Hell...even "pronunciation." My name creates a new rule for the letter combination "t-y." I know what you're thinking...I'm bending the rules to fit my own purposes. Well...you didn't say that to "TYRONE"! If "t-i" at the end can make a different sound when at the beginning, then all "rules" are negotioable. (Read it twice and figure that one out later! : - )

To settle this matter, I offer this solution. Learn my name and embrace it. I'll even help you. Here goes:

LiberTY + AUNt + A = TYAUNA.

The "YUA-YAU" conundrum is solved. It could be worse. In order to achieve precise pronuciation, my mother could have spelled my name TEEAWNUH to avoid all confusion. If she had done that, however, she would have been supporting me for the rest of her life because there is no way I would have been able to get a job. (Laughing out loudly...but not really...)