Category — life

By the time you read this, I’ll be more than halfway to the neighborhood from which my mother originates in Santo Domingo, DR. In said neighborhood, as in many neighborhoods, the impression us “Dominican-Americans” give off is that indeed we have more money than them, we are more well-off, and that we have greater access to said resources than do the people there. In many ways, it’s true. Most of the people born in the US hate to admit it, but as much as we want to be part of those people, we’ll never actually be them. We can play with them, socialize with them, knock back a couple with them, but the natives can smell it on us much the way other animals can sniff intruders. My presence is no more welcome here than any other tourist. I’m just more well-connected and am related by blood, a little difference, but I recognize it. (Thoughts like these make me wonder whether the movement to acclimate African-Americans or other people from the African Diaspora back into Africa would actually work on a mass scale. I’m still up in the air about that.)

Anyways, the one commonality I do see with my hood and the hood in Santo Domingo is the gentrification. Most of my avid readers know how I feel about it, thus there’s no need to rehash. But let’s dissect this for a bit. 4 years ago, when I came to visit Santo Domingo, the airport was painted in an earthy light brown, and a tipico (merengue) band played while we walked from the airplane to the baggage claim. Images of this country sprawled all along the way with little stores that made us feel like we, too, were Dominican citizens. Even the bell signaling the movement of the conveyor belts was replaced with a little merengue in the spirit of the country. Yes, I fully admit: too many bags got lost in the baggage claim, and the droves of men harassing begging us to let them drive us to our neighborhood was over the top. But when you walk out of baggage claim, the droves of people waiting at the edges of the walkway made you feel proud of your heritage, with whole blocks coming out to meet their distant relatives.

Nowadays, I’m not sure what to make of the changes. The government’s done a good job of renovating the airport, and as many New Yorkers can attest to, the department of tourism has definitely stepped up their efforts to promote the “good life” here. The walls are painted an off-white, with messages about the country along the walls in English, Spanish, and French (notice the order). The messages on the loudspeakers come in those same languages in that order. My bags didn’t get “lost” or delayed, but something was … missing. Was it the band, whose non-existence was palpable? Was it the multicultural crowd I ran into? I’m not sure yet, but …

I do know that Burger King infiltrated the skyline here, among other corporations. I do know that poor people who’ve never seen any European countries have been forced to learn 7 languages. I also know that when I arrive at the barrio, I’ll be confused at the lack of electricity when only a few hours before, I was at a resort that never ran out of electricity, much less plumbing, running water, and clean clothes. I would still like to gather more evidence of this new country that I thought was Dominican Republic, but if my own neighborhood is any indication, the so-called development and progress of this nation will be heavily reliant on how much stratification between the rich and the poor occur, and how far we can push poor people before they have to move to unfamiliar territory …

jose, who needed to get this in before he went out tonight …

p.s. - I just took a shower, and the water smells similar to what I think the Krusty Krab might smell like … if I could smell underwater.

If there is a will, there is a blog.

Mi gente, bienvenidos desde La Republica Dominicana! It’s a sunny day outside, about 30% chance of rain. Some cloudy skies, winds blowing in the NW direction. I’m sitting here in shorts and a tank top (something I don’t usually do) and relaxing. it’s been OK so far. Interesting how even when family members ask us to relax, their most natural behaviors prevent us from doing so (and by us, I mean my younger brother and I). We’ve been to 2 separate resorts in the past 24 hours, and will probably move some more through this 16-day excursion.

A few notes of interest:

Dominicans applauding on the airplane after a good landing into Santo Domingo: it never gets old.

I can still swim. Even while slightly inebriated. Thumbs up for me.

I finally caught Ratatouille last night. Aplauso!

In the middle of watching Shrek 2 and Ratatouille, they showed this music video by Akon feat. Snoop Dogg and Tego Calderon for “I Wanna Fuck Love You.” Honest to G_d, it made me squeamish, especially with kids around. Wouldn’t want my daughter to get the impression that wearing those booty shorts all in public like that is appropriate in every venue.

Last night, my brother and I went to this “dance hall” they have set up for the guests in this resort. We both looked at each other, with Presidentes in hand, and said, “We really miss our girlfriends.”

I can still call and recieve text messages from here, but no names come up when I get texted back. Weird.

Twitter has really taught me how to keep my notes short.

Feel free to let me know how all of you are doing. Google Reader is acting funny.

Lastly, my middle finger really is swollen! Curses! My first and second mosquito bites came right on the same finger, so the base of my left middle finger looks like it got hammered. One of these fingers is not like the others …

jose, who honest to goodness has some of his best written work to date up in my brain somewhere …

I gotta say, I love the responses to the Howl. I’m in shock (SHOCK!) that people have attached themselves to this so readily. I was ready to post the product I’ve had since Wednesday, but in the last 2 days, I’ve had 5 new (and awesome) howlers. Guess I’ll wait just a little bit longer. At least until tonight.

If anyone else wants to join the fanfare, click here.

jose, who saw the best minds of a generation in this here blog, commenting, writing, pouring the hearts out …

p.s. I’m alright now. It’s just been bittersweet really.

Some of you may be wondering why in the world I’d miss my Tuesday deadline for my end-of-the-year reflection. In general, I should be thoroughly excited that tomorrow’s the last day of the most challenging year I’ve had to date. I’m headed for a trip to the Dominican Republic on Saturday, and I have the first of many very important meetings with a cabal of eduwriters. And of course, I’m a few steps close to certification, and starting to develop a 5-year plan that includes a doctorate and … other things I can’t mention right here just yet.

But yesterday, after coming back home, I felt another one of those premonitions, this time in my stomach. I called my mother because I felt her call from afar even though she was nowhere near me. It turns out that my mother was in the ER. So off I went, the third such visit in the last 2 weeks. I have yet to get a break from all this calamity and misfortune. Even after everything turned out OK, I almost lost my bearings for a bit, barely able to see the California Rolls and Pad See Ew I had for dinner near the hospital.

Turns out she’s fine. No, really.

With so many blogs focusing on solely the teaching aspect of teaching, which is well within their right, it feels weird getting this personal. Yet, it’s also why my name’s on this thing; I’ve decided I’m going to get more personal, hoping I’ll ping a few people who’ll ping me back.

I think the Howl project has tapped almost everyone I’d like it to. Post will be up tomorrow. In the meantime, take it easy. I’m sure I will.

jose, who still wants to do a reflection, but that might have to wait …

This isn’t for the weak at heart. If you can’t read more than 2-3 curses, stop here. I’m not angry, just going back to the basics. RIP George Carlin …

As a teacher, June has really tests my motherfuckin’ patience.

It’s bad enough we have all the so-called “important” state tests in the middle of the year rather than at the end, you know, like most summative tests should be taking. No, instead we’re stuck with January, March, and Hell on Earth. Most NYC teachers are stuck in this purgatory where we have 3 days until the end of the year … and the shit sucks. Nonetheless, it’s important to maintain your composure.

That’s why, when teachers like me encounter situations in school, we have no idea how to respond. If I had tenure, or if I didn’t give a shit about what projects I got coming up, or whether anyone in a position to tell suggest what I should do was reading this (I seeeee you), maybe I’d let a few filthy words slip through the cracks. Yet, I’m forced to mentally substitute, knowing it’s the difference between me keeping my job and some kid crying that I verbally abused them.

For example, I had this one kid who got caught today unstrapping his pants and making masturbation motions to any random girl that’ll let him, and he’ll say some freaky shit thinking some teacher wouldn’t catch him. Finally, someone decided to castrate him indefinitely, but the first time I encountered it, this is how it went:

I Thought: “Just because you’re part of the fuckin’ gifted program doesn’t mean you’re blessed, son. Put your dick away!”
I Said: “You know that’s inappropriate, young man. Please pick up your pants!”

See? Maybe I should be saying what I think! Then again, if they wanted my opinion, they wouldn’t actually give me a multiple-choice survey or tell me suggest things I should write (it’s all in the wording), but short and long-answer surveys with a few extra pieces of looseleaf. For example, someone told me to send parents down to help fill out some form in some crazy combination of Spanish and English. I’m still trying to crack the code to what she’s talking about. This is how it went:

Thought: “Do your fuckin’ job and this would have never happened! You took a shit on the kids and you expect me to smile and shit? Fuck that! Get on your shit, ’cause I’m on mine!”
Said: “OK, we’ll see how this goes.”

Oh man. And let me tell you, it’s not just the students or the administration doing this, because in my school, for the most part, I got love for everyone … but there are just some people that make love hard to come by. I personally won’t give a fuck about some of these people if I didn’t have to work with them. I got a fellow teacher who always looks at me skeptically, who seems to have a problem looking at the ground with her nose so high, and has the nerve to tell me,

“Listen, you can’t be so serious all the time. Kids need love, and care, and being so serious all the time really does them a lot of harm. The kids love me, and it really comes down to making the kids love and respect you, and with that attitude, you’re never going to do that. Not like that, no.”

Thought: “Lady, what the fuck are you talking about? Have you ever seen me in a classroom? And if you did, were you actually checking out my ass or really observing how I run this shit? Yes, I’m serious, but we have some serious fun! We learn, early and often, sorta like how you complain! Last I looked, from an informal survey, I asked the kids how much they liked you, and they kept changing the subject to me! When I tell them to get back to your class, I gotta restrain them from coming back to my classroom! Yes, me! I’m the teacher they like! So either I’m doing my job and then some or it’s backwards day and I’m the prissy one that walks around like a spider crawled up my ass! You choose!”
Said: “HA! OK, you got it!”

But the professionalism and courtesy I show in my line of work is unprecedented for someone who once cursed out everybody including himself after the 2004 election. And most of my friends and family don’t curse anymore, like they’re just too grown up to curse as much. I wonder if maybe just letting out a little curse or two in a classroom (not necessarily in front of the kids, but bare with me) will be more cathartic than any of the other mantras and axioms can provide us. Or maybe I just need to remember I have 3 more days ’til I can get back to cursing like this. What a relief!

jose, who will now write a speech to the holders of the future of these United States … muhahahaha …

The long awaited funeral is today.

Howl: The Jose Vilson version extended to Thursday. More people want in. If you do, just click and follow.

Finally resolved my certification issues, and I got my diploma last week. This roller coaster of emotions has to come to a stop soon, and that will be in …

Dominican Republic. Yeah, my fam’s going on vacation there from Saturday until next month. Hope it’s fun.

No worries, even with limited Internet access, if you know anything about me, you know I’ll have communication with the mainland.

I recently blogged on Xanga. Nothing too serious. Just to let people know I was still alive and reading their posts. Someone wrote a little something about bloggers who left, reminiscent of “Where Are They Now?” Made me feel really old school. Then I hop on a subtle track like Biz Markie or Slick Rick in Jay-Z’s “Girls, Girls, Girls” or Big Daddy Kane in Busta Rhymes’ “Don’t Touch Me (remix)“. Or some other grandiose feature that we wouldn’t expect. Man, I love hip-hop references.

My long-awaited school year reflection comes this Tuesday. If you know how I write reflections, then you know what I’m up to.

I finally figured it out while eating lunch with Andy one day: Spongebob Squarepants is intentionally written to mock our own intelligence. It’s supposed to be as stupid as possible, and it keeps even the smartest of us watching because of its utter absurdity. That’s why I’m watching now.

I respect most of the bloggers I read consistently, but there are 3 ways you can lose me as a reader:

1) Don’t give props to the person you got a story / idea from.
2) Write a 20-paragraph post, but be neither informative nor relevant.
3) Diss the Yankees.
3) Act like a child when the situation calls for you to act like an adult.

I have blogs in my G-Reader that often disagree with my vision for education, politics, etc., which is fine, because it’s good natured debate. For people to unequivocally take on the behavior of children makes me question their motives in general.

jose, who has a nice handful of you doing the meme, but definitely wants a good 10 more …

p.s. - Check the sidebar. I finally added a means of people contacting me as they please. Let’s make things happen.

Juneteenth: for many African-Americans in this country, this is the true day to celebrate the emancipation of slavery. Though the Emancipation Proclamation came out late September of 1862, it really didn’t free the slaves per se. From what I’ve read, slaves in the North were still beholden to their slave-owners, and it didn’t have much of an effect on the slaves of the day anyways. Juneteenth celebrates Texas’ (and eventually most of the union’s states) enforcement of the abolition of slavery.

When I think about that, I think back to an original post I wrote about the Holocaust and the Maa’fa, and the various (and disparate) opinions on whether these tragedies could even be compared to each other. I also thought about the systematic implications it meant for the groups that it primarily affected negatively. And lastly, believe it or not, I thought about baseball, and the argument that Curt Flood brought up when he filed a lawsuit against Major League Baseball.

See, Curt Flood was a pivotal figure in MLB, and the one man everyone points to when they look at baseball’s free agent market today. In 1969, he was almost traded away from the St. Louis Cardinals to the Philadelphia Phillies, an offer he didn’t feel like accepting. Actually, he stated that not only was he going to look at the Phillies’ “offer,” but look at what other teams have to offer for his services as well, thus setting the language for what we consider as free agency this day. He strongly compared the reserve clause, which made sure the team that first gave you an offer to play baseball kept you in their stable forever even after your contract has ended, to slavery, which in this country kept getting more technical as slaves became more creative with their rebellion.

His eventual loss of the lawsuit to MLB forced the baseball players to bond together and fight the reserve clause, thus opening the era for free agency. Fast-forward to today, and baseball players enjoy 6 digit salaries at minimum. The highest paid player in any major professional sport happens to be a Dominican man who makes close to $300 million, not including endorsements, hedge funds, and other investments. Alex Rodriguez has got it made.

But while that Dominican man’s making that kind of money, there are whole blocks in Washington Heights, a predominantly Dominican neighborhood, whose combined salary doesn’t even match what he gets a year. Tons of poor Latinos can only wish to have his success, luck, and fortunes. We all know this. What we often don’t ask ourselves is, if A-Rod’s making that type of money, imagine how much money the people paying him make. I mean, whatever the baseball player’s making, it’s got to be a small percentage of what the boss makes off his image and his and the other players’ play.

To this day, we still blame other workers for whatever change the next boss makes. People still get mad at teachers for having pensions, tenure, and summer vacations, but never ask why they’ve never demanded that of their own bosses. We still look at immigrants, illegal or otherwise, and blame them for taking all the jobs when many of those jobs are still available in abundance (this, I’ll definitely get into sooner than later). We still talk about unions who strike as inconveniencing us when they’re really fighting the unfair wages that most of us decry privately when we think about the price of gas, milk, and rice.

So on this Juneteenth, I can’t really say slavery is over except by law and overtly. We’re not in chains (though interestingly, the number of jails almost went up exponentially when slavery was over, and the number of jails is predicated on how many kids fail the 4th grade statewide tests). We do have a lot more opportunities than our predecessors have. And the mere candidacy of Barack Obama would not have been possible without the fight that so many others of all different backgrounds fought for. Yet, people still have a slave-like mentality in that they would prefer to blame the others instead of looking at what their getting compared to the bosses.

I’m certainly not saying that A-Rod’s not making waaaaaaay more than the average worker, but maybe we should realize that the opportunity he recieved came from the work others before him did to protest their bosses.

jose, who wonders if people are really going to think deeper about their relationship with their own bosses …

p.s. - Special shout-out to Carmen D. for your reminder of my prompt to the AfroSpear …

Hey former student,

I just wanted to say that it was great seeing you today. You’ve grown so big. Your shoulders are bigger, and you’re a little reminiscent of your mom. Your vocabulary’s grown a lot, and I already have a sense of how you’ll sound when you become a young lady. I always knew you had it in you. I’m not surprised that you ran and screamed my name in the middle of Harlem just to say to me since you’ve always liked me as a teacher, but I’m surprised to have even seen you since I had just thought about you and the rest of the students in my very first class at our school.

With all that’s happened to me recently, from the visit to the ER for my heart problem to my cousin’s death, I reminisced about some of the last few events over the past week. In particular, I started to focus on the 8th graders vs. Staff basketball game (we won), and the recent prom. Then I remember how you were the prom queen, and how so many of my kids were there, so well dressed and so impressive.

Then, I reminisced back to when you were 7th graders, my first homeroom. You were the only class who’s ever thrown me a birthday party, and a surprise one at that. Your class is the only class I felt like getting gifts for as a whole. Your class is the only class I cried for because I was so proud of you all. I could talk to all of you about anything, especially the news, and many of you appreciated those words of wisdom. I developed great relationships with almost all of the parents in your class, and almost felt like that second father, or even the father that some of your classmates never had. I could be everything in front of you all, and still feel like what I said would resonate in your minds.

Even during our rough spots, I never felt anything short of love from the majority of you. Now, it seems that the students I teach have become less appreciative of the teachers who care for them. At least on the surface. In two years, after I’ve been their math teacher for 3 years, I wonder if they’ll make me as proud as you have. I wonder if, when I go to their proms, I’ll have secret moments when I wish I was still sitting next to you reminding you to multiply the variable with all the inside terms, reminding you why you can’t calculate the slope the way you did, or pumping my fist in excitement over you knowing that there is a relationship between multiplying two variables with each other and finding the area of a square.

And seeing you today kinda makes me miss that feeling of pride. I know I still see some of you, strolling by 52 with parents or not-that-significant others. Sometimes, I even get to catch you on my Teacher MySpace, seeing you throw up deuces like you’re that cool. Even if most of you don’t end up remembering me decades from now, I’m still grateful to have had the opportunity to not only teach you, but hopefully inspiring you to become better people and not just students. You all weren’t always the perfect class, but I still miss you all …

mr. v

So remember how I told you all that I felt something funny before my cousin died? My girlfriend thinks I’m just very perceptive in general, and really, I think I’m most certainly interconnected with the rest of the world and have a higher sense of ESP than most of my other friends do. Nonetheless, that tightness ended up being what I’ll call a heart squeeze for now. By my unscientific findings, I think it came from some of the stress I’ve been feeling as well at work. Something could have happened in my sleep …

Friday passes, and then the weekend passes, and even though I’m right at the ER I’d visit today, I couldn’t do a damn thing because of the events of the time. I’m having a hard time even getting near the subject. Anyways, today, I felt it once more, and while exercise yesterday and some breathing exercises today really helped the situation, I still felt, er, feel a bit of weirdness in my heart. I told my people at the school, and took the day off for me. I’m never worried about whether or not I’ll be doc’ed or anything of that nature.

I broke out the iPod and started listening to “El Niagara en Bicicleta,” by Juan Luis Guerra, a song about the singer’s memorable visit to the hospital and his contemplations over whether he or any of his compatriots can get good medical coverage in those conditions. I suppose when the people at ER found out I had heart problems, they rushed me through the process, taking an ETG, my blood pressure, and my temperature in what felt like a couple of minutes. Frankly, at some point, the only thing I was worried about was taking those MediTrack stickie pads off me without crying Bloody Mary.

Seeing all those people there, and seeing who actually cared when all this happened over the last week makes me happy at the people I’ve chosen to prioritize in my life. It’s easier to look at a breach in communication as some sort of rejection, but if I stick to the definitions I’ve set for friendship, then it’s harder to harbor any sort of resentment. I’m truly humbled by the tons of replies I got yesterday over my cousin’s death, and it’s given my already fortified coat of armor a nice little gleam, as it’s been scuffed and dinged a little over the last couple of months.

So I’m rollin’, rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ …

jose, who wants to give that Ginsberg Project one more week …

There I go, quoting another rapper again. I consider myself a rap fan by most standards, but today especially, I recognize the power of their words. When Jay-Z speaks of the “genesis of a nemesis” when telling of the birth of a drug dealer, when 2Pac speaks of hopelessness throughout most of his records, and when Joe Budden points out this blog’s title, discussing just how hard it is out there for people who don’t see a way out, I hear it and have been exposed to it for decades. Yesterday was the first day, though, that a foregone conclusion of the street soldier / thug lifestyle hit this close to home.

My cousin Richard was a young, handsome, charismatic man who frankly got caught up in the life. I don’t want to put all of his business out there, but over the last 10 years, he’s spent more time in the clink than out of it, and in some ways, it hurt. It’s family that’s in there. He was the first guy who made me a Yankees fan before 96, teaching me about Don Mattingly, Bernie Williams, Paul O’Neill, and Jim Leyritz. He made it cool. He was always winning the sports trophies at the local Boys’ Club, and he always had the hottest girl in the class. He had a drive and a way of selling himself that made you an instant believer. And of course, he always had the latest rap mixtape in his crib.

But I also know of the fights we got into in our youth, the trouble he constantly got into, the secrets he told me that shook me for almost a week, his 2 daughters by different mothers that he loved but he couldn’t always keep up with, and the habits that he got caught up in were hazardous for his mental and physical health. Despite the disappointment I felt about how his life turned out, seeing his cadaver yesterday reminds me why I do what I do. He had just gotten out of jail, but like so many of our troubled youth, he predicted his own death, and in timely fashion.

I’m loath to call him a rat, a piece of shit, or a worthless vagabond, terms that have been used for him. That was my cousin. I knew something was wrong with him when I felt my heart tighten up the night before. He’s one of the primary reasons I do more than just worry if my kids are scoring high on their state tests. In the position I’m in, I find myself conscious of the effect I have on some of my own children, especially when I already see some of them turning into my cousin. When your life expectancy is “any day now,” investing in your own life is really about the short term.

And the rain yesterday washed over us like a baptism, carrying his soul to a place where he doesn’t have to worry about these Earthly things …

RIP my cousin Rich …

jose, who has no idea how he’s getting into school tomorrow like this …