This Post Has No Title IV

Bek's comment on my last post reminded me of something I had apparently blocked out that happened on Sunday afternoon (the day before what happened on Monday afternoon... believe me, I could have this whole blog be devoted to stories like these, but I don't necessarily want all these details to be remembered, and more importantly-- I don't want anyone to get the idea that we allow this stuff to take up any significant bulk of space in our life. We choose to focus on the positive for lots of really important reasons. So this little 'series' of stories is just that-- a little series-- and I refuse to let these things bog us, or our blog, down. Having said that, I'm on a roll here... so here goes with another little story from the day before yesterday).

We were at Lowe's to buy birdseed and light bulbs and a couple of other things. Our trips to Lowe's with the boys always involve their required stop in the lawnmower(summer)/snowblower(winter) section. It just so happens that Lowe's was in the midst of their seasonal products turnover so K & O hit the jackpot-- lawnmowers and snowblowers AND a bunch of big strong male Lowe's employees driving those lift-machine-things back-and-forth from the stockroom to the lawnmower/snowblower area to bring out deck furniture and grills and other heavy stuff like that! K & O were in Lowe's Heaven. They were both "riding" together on one riding lawnmower, sharing the seat, watching the action. From time to time the lift-machine-things would be away in the stockroom for a few minutes in a row and K & O would jump off their lawnmower to look down the aisle for it to come back. As soon as they'd see it they'd run like crazy to jump back onto their lawnmower-seat-safety-zone to watch the guys unload the heavy stuff. Braydon and I were about 3 feet from the lawnmower. We knew they were loving this, and we were in no rush, so we were letting them play it out. I was exhausted (remember, I'm 5 months pregnant!), so I was sitting down on a pile of wood (there was nowhere else to sit!) right next to the lawnmower. Braydon was standing right next to me. We were watching the boys, we were smiling that cheesy-parental-smiley-smile in our joy in watching their joy, and from time to time we were laughing at them (like when they'd make their super loud crazy engine sounds pretending to "START THE MOTOR!!!"). Strangely enough for a Sunday afternoon, we had virtually the entire store to ourselves. Nobody was around but us four. And the Lowe's worker guys were all getting a big kick out of playing lift-machine-thing-driver-Superstars to K & O. Suddenly, out of nowhere a white woman appears. She's clearly a customer. She's been shopping in some nearby aisle but is now walking toward us with a very concerned look on her face. I notice her right away. I can see she's looking at the boys, then she's looking right at me (we're making eye contact). She looks at the boys, then at me again. She does this a couple more times as she's walking toward us. She walks right up to Owen and says, "Little boy, are you lost?" He looks up at her confused. She says it again, "Little boy, are you lost???" He doesn't respond. He has a dazed look on his face. He turns to look up at me. I speak up as quickly as I can, looking over his head to the lady, "He's with us!" She looks at me (for about the fifth time) and says, "I thought he was lost." "No," I said, "he's our's, he's with us." What I wish she had said was, "Oh, I am so sorry!!!" If she had I would have said, "No problem." But instead she said, "Oh, I just saw him here and was worried he might be lost!" She turned and walked away and I let her walk off with the awkward silence.

This Post Has No Title III

for prior posts in this vein click here

Over the past week or so Braydon and I have had a series of encounters with overt racism. Of course we encounter various forms of racism regularly. Nevertheless, that doesn't make it easy. It is horrifying. Racism has always been something that has horrified me. But it takes on a new level of horror when you're raising black children. I remember talking about this once with a black friend of mine. He told me that racism had always been the dark side of life for him, but when he became a father racism was suddenly in "all caps" (racism became RACISM). Not being black myself, I surely don't even know the half of it. But I'll go out on a limb and say that as a mother, racism is no longer racism... it is RACISM. It screams out at me. It shakes me at the core. It sends me into that crazed-hyper-protective-mother-bear-mode that makes it hard to sleep at night. I hate it. "How can I protect them?" I keep asking myself. And the answer just pounds back every time, slamming me into its wall: "I can't protect them." It feels like an inescapable disease that I can't keep at bay from my babies' tiny lungs -- no matter what I do, they will breathe that air, that sickness will flow in, I cannot keep them from catching it. I think of that After School Special I saw in 4th grade-- 'The Boy in the Bubble.' Surely there is some sort of hygienic protective place where I could hide them so they don't have to be exposed to this? But no, there is not. No such place exists. So, here we are. Trying to live our lives amidst this. We do our best to cope, to let it roll off us whenever possible, to get up and keep going. The looks and stares and inappropriate questions/comments/statements are manageable. But when you take a few heavy hits right in a row, it is hard to not feel weighted down by it.

This Post Has No Title II

For "This Post Has No Title I" click here.

This weekend we were in Sam's Club stocking up for the summer. For those of you who are unfamiliar, Sam's Club is a large bulk warehouse store similar to Costco, BJs, etc. We recently got a membership to Sam's Club (it just happens to be the closest to us of those kind of stores). One thing I really like about going to this particular Sam's Club is that it is extraordinarily racially and socio-economically diverse. Anyway-- when we arrived we split up so that we could get in and out faster. I took Owen and one cart, and Braydon took Kyle and another cart. We each set off with our lists, and agreed to meet up in 30 minutes. Just as the 30 minutes ran up, and we were heading to the spot where we were to meet up with Braydon and Kyle, Owen suddenly said "Mommy, I need to go poopie on the potty!" Like any other parent fully in the throws of potty training would, I quickly parked our cart in an isle, grabbed my boy, and ran as fast as I possibly could through the huge gigantic store to find the potty. We made it in time and Owen was -- of course -- very, very proud. He said, "I need to tell Papi!!!" I said, "Yes!" And as we left the bathroom, he started excitedly running down the main center isle back to where we were to meet up. I was walking quickly following about 5-10 feet behind him. Like I said, this store is very diverse. Literally in that one walk down that center isle I consciously noted that every major racial/ethnic group in the U.S.A. was represented. As we approached about halfway down that main isle I noticed a group of five middle-age black women walking with one cart together. They seemed jovial and I was thinking that I'd bet my life that they were shopping for a graduation party of some sort. I watched as all five of them noticed Owen and then stopped their chatter to stare at him. I then watched as one of the women -- a very dark skinned black woman in a beautiful dress -- moved into Owen's path and put her hands out to physically stop him in his tracks. Stunned, Owen stopped and looked up at the woman. I was standing right behind him now. The woman looked all around (including right at me -- we even made eye contact), and then said to Owen, "Little boy, where is your mommy?" He was stunned and confused, just looking blank-faced up at her. Louder she said, "Little boy, where is your MOMMY???" The other four women stood staring down at Owen. Several people all around heard it, stopped their shopping and their conversations, and started watching. The moment seemed to be in slow motion for me. I vividly remember my boy turning his head around and looking up at me with a confused and stunned look in his eyes. I vividly remember the five black women all scanning the store in every direction. I vividly remember other shoppers silently staring. "Right here," I said as confidently and self-assuredly as I could muster. "I am his mother and I am right here." The woman took her hands off of Owen and I gently touched his head. All five of the women just stood there staring at me with blank looks. For Owen's sake I repeated it again, as calmly as possible, and with a smile on my face I looked the women in the eye, and as everyone -- including my son -- stared at me: "I am his mother and I am right here."

This Post Has No Title

The building next door to my office is Grace Hall -- a beatiful historic old gymnasium which has been converted into a combination Student Center and modern sports/events venue. One of the things that Kyle and Owen love to do whenever they're on campus is to go into Grace Hall and explore. They love to explore the charming dimly lit hallways, and peek out the ancient tall windows, and ride up and down in the elevators. We'll often run into students mingling about, or shooting hoops, or practicing volleyball, and the boys (and the students) get a big kick out of spontaneously interacting with each other. The boys also love to go inside the main center of the building and climb up and down the bleachers. We do this often. It has become a little ritual for Kyle and Owen every time we're leaving "Mama's Office" to head home. Students have often told me that they "love it when the twins come to Grace Hall!" They are fun to watch as they explore and climb.

Yesterday afternoon I had the boys on campus with me. Of course we had to go into Grace Hall before we got in the car to go home. The boys were doing what they always do -- exploring and climbing up and down the bleachers. I noticed a middle-aged white woman in a Lehigh Athletics uniform watching us through a window. Then I saw her enter the big room where we were, and she started to approach me. Here is what transpired:

Woman (W): Who are these children?
Heather (H): What?!?
W: Are they with you?
H: Yes.
W: You're watching them?
H: What do you mean?
W: Are you watching them?
H: Like, am I watching them climb? Or, like, am I watching them? [as in babysitting]
W: You know what I mean. Are you watching them? [as in babysitting] Are they with you?
H: Yes, they are with me.
W: Who are they to you?
H: Excuse me?
W: Who are they to you?
H: They are my children. They are my sons.
W: Oh. [long awkward pause] Well, who are you? Do you work here?
H: Yes. I am a professor here.
W: Oh.
H: Is there a problem?
W: I, um, um, I don't want anything to happen to those children.
H: What do you mean?
W: I wouldn't want to see them get hurt.
H: Well, neither would I! I'm their mother!!?! They're perfectly fine.
W: Well, the building is officially closed.
H: My office is right next door. I know the building is not officially closed. I know the building is open.

[The woman then walked off.]