Top Ten: Friday Afternoon Hair Salon Shenanigans

Well. Happy Saturday, good people. It's a beautiful morning here in Atlanta. And guess what? I got my hair done yesterday and man, oh man was the beauty shop hopping. Good times, I tell you. All of the girlfriends seemed to be there and the topics were all over the place.

Matter of fact, I wrote a little top ten about it. Like to hear it? Here it go!

This morning I proudly bring you:

THE TOP TEN DISCUSSIONS PARTICIPATED IN OR OVERHEARD IN THE HAIR SALON YESTERDAY.

#10   Halle Berry is Pregnant.

 

Client in chair:   "Girrrrrrl, Halle Berry is pregnant!"

Me: "Really?"

Client in chair:  "Yup. I just saw it on a tweet from TMZ." 

Client getting weave:  "Damn. Halle's ass will find her a fine looking dude to get knocked up by, won't she?"

All:  exaggerated head nods

Stylist:  "I thought he got beat up?"

Me:  "Who?"

Stylist: "That dude she's with now. Didn't her first baby-daddy beat him up?"

Client under dryer:  "Uh uh. I think he beat up the baby-daddy." 

Client in chair: "Yeah, girl. He jacked that dude up." Pulls up picture on Google images.

All:  "Daaaaaamn."

Client getting weave:  "Either way, what's that got to do with her being pregnant by him?"

Stylist:  "He could've gotten kicked in his junk which would make him NOT THE FATHER!!!"

*laughter*

#9   --   Kim Kardashian is pregnant.

Stylist:  "What about your girl, Kim Kardashian and her pregnancy?"

Client in chair:  "What the what! Why she got to wear all those tight clothes? She look like a pack of biscuits, don't she?"

*laughter*

Client in chair:  "If I was her, I wouldn't even bring a spoon anywhere near my mouth. 'Cause you know what happen when you put a spoon next to a pack of biscuits."

All:  "POOF!"

*laughter*

#8  --   Rutgers basketball.

Client under dryer:  "That dude from Rutgers resigned."

Client just hanging out:  "The basketball coach?"

Client under dryer:  "I think so."

Stylist:  "No, he got fired. I think it was their athletic director that resigned."

Client just hanging out:  "Was this the guy who said the womens' basketball team had nappy hair?"

All:  "NOOO!"

*laughter*

Stylist:  "No, this is the coach who was throwing basketballs at players and got caught on tape wilding out on everybody."

Client just hanging out:  "Oh, my bad. But didn't somebody say something about nappy hair with the Rutgers womens' hoop squad?"

Me:  "Ha ha ha, yeah I think that was Rutgers. But that was that radio guy, Don Imus. He's back on the radio, too."

Client under dryer:  "Maaaaan, real talk? When I used to play basketball in high school, my hair was NAP-PY."

*laughter*

Stylist:  "Yeah, but I don't think you wanted anybody saying so on the radio."

Me:  "Let's not forget that he said 'nappy-headed hoes.' Not just nappy-headed."

Client under dryer:  "Whaaaat? Aaww hells no. "

Me: "Yup."

Client under dryer:  "He went too far. I needed my hair done back then but I definitely wasn't a ho."

*laughter*



(Just rewatched this Don Imus clip and realized how not funny it was, though. Sheeesh.)


 #7  -- Cravings

Client under dryer:  "Is the peach cobbler dude coming over here today?"

Stylist:  "He hasn't been by here in a while."

Client under dryer:  "What about the sandwich dude?"

Stylist:  "Not sure."

Client under dryer:  "Is the sushi spot open?"

Stylist:  "Not until five."

Client in chair:  "Damn, heifer. Are you pregnant?"

*laughter*


#6  --  Justi-fied.

 Me:  (looking in People magazine) "Good heavens. I love me some Justin Timberlake."

Client in chair:  "Yeah, girl. I know I'm married but he could get it right here, right now in this chair."

Me:  "In that chair?"

Client in chair: "In this chair right here."

Me:  "Wow."

#5  --  Follow up.

Client just hanging out:  "Hey, Kim! What's up with your ankle?"

Me:  "Mostly better, but still kind of 'flicted. But they did x-ray me today and it showed that my stress fracture is healing."

Client just hanging out:  "Awww damn. So you still can't run yet?"

Me:  "They said about two more weeks."

Client just hanging out:  "Damn."

Client under dryer:  "Oh well. At least your hair will look good."

Me:  "True."

*finger snaps all over salon*


#4  --  Easter Passover

Me:  "How was everybody's Easter?"

All:  "Good."

Client:  "But I didn't go to church, though."

Me: "What? You always go to church! Why not?"

Client:  "Too many CME church-goers on that day."

Stylist:  "What's that?"

Client:  "Christmas, Mother's Day and Easter."


#3  Speaking of which. . .

Client just arriving:  "Hey y'all!"

All:  "Hey, girl!"

Client under dryer: (after lifting hood to give a hug)  "Girl, you look good! Did you lose weight?"

Me:  "Yeah, you look awesome!"

Client just arriving:  "Girl, I always look good after the lenten season. Those 40 days without treats get a sister foine." (foine = fine, fine = hot.)

Client under dryer:  "Dang. Let me know what I need to give up next year. I want to look like you."

Stylist:  "I kind of think that isn't the point of lent, but it could just be me."

*laughter*


#2  -- More Halle

Client under dryer:  "Isn't Halle Berry like 50? How is she pregnant?"

Stylist:  "She's actually 46."

Client under dryer:  "I wish somebody would come and tell me I was pregnant at 46."

Client getting weave:  "That's 'cause you already have kids and they're grown."

Client under dryer:  "I would be catatonic. Y'all would have to put me in a straight jacket."

Me:  "She's a young 46, though."

Client under dryer:  "She's 46."

Client getting a weave:  "One of my friends got pregnant at 44."

Client under dryer:  "She tripped!"

Client getting a weave:  "She was happy. She got married late."

Client just hanging out:  "I guess she could get her tubes tied and her hip replaced at the same time, though."

*laughter*

Me:  "That's cold."


Client under dryer:  "Bet her first baby-daddy is doing the Jerry Springer dance right about now!"

*laughter*



#1  -- Keeping it real.

Client under dryer:  "Kim, is this fattening what I'm eating? I'm starving."

Me:  "Uhhh? Kind of."

Client just hanging out:  "Kind of? B@#% please!  That's horrible what you're eating. Just know that your ass is getting bigger with every bite."

Client under dryer:  "Shut up! You ain't the doctor, hater! Kim, is it really that bad if the portion isn't so big?"

Me:  "Um. . .actually? Uhh, yeah. Pretty much."

Client hanging out:  "What, what?" (then does a Jerry Springer show move for emphasis

*more laughter*

And just think--that was only ten of the ten thousand things that got talked about yesterday. . .  ha ha ha ha. . . .Man. I love that place. So glad y'all could hang out there with me. What's up with y'all today?

***

Happy Saturday.

Thanks to you.

My elementary school, Inglewood, California.

She had a burning desire to go far,
And she had lively hopes 
of reaching every star
One day she'd leave this place,
But never forget her people's face
And when she found her dreams,
She'd come back and proclaim:
 

Baby, you will rise
Limit is the skies
Don't you let nobody fill 
your head up with their lies
Baby, you will rise
Never compromise
Milk and honey's waitin' for you 

on the other side
 
You will rise....

~ Amel Larrieux with Sweetback

_____________________________________

 It's amazing how great of an impact people and experiences can have on who we become. Good or bad, huge or teensie-weensie, these moments that we have with others become building blocks of who we are.

My parents, of course, were careful to cherish us growing up. As a little girl, my father looked at me lovingly and treated me that way, too. My mother would let me sneak into her bed long after I was a toddler and every, single time I did, she'd wrap her arm around me, kiss the top of my pony tail, and snuggle me against her warm body. She would read my homemade books and ooh and ahh at my elementary school art creations.

And all of that helped shape me. But you know? Now that I'm older and with kids of my own, I know that it wasn't just my folks. It wasn't.

Today, I'm reflecting on a few of the people who helped to build me up in my early years. I'm thinking about how grateful I am that they were such judicious stewards of their time with me and I'm recognizing how great of an impact they had on who I am now.

The last time I was home, I got the chance to see a few of those people--particularly the ones who taught me in my neighborhood public schools. With so much bad press about education in this country (and locally), what better time than to shine a light on some good people who I think got some things right? It's also "Teacher Appreciation Week" at the boys' school so I kind of have appreciating teachers on the brain. . . .

Yeah.

Matter o' fact. . .I wrote a little post about it. Like to hear it? Here it go!


First, her:

This is Mrs. Schieldge. She was my back-to-back kindergarten and first grade teacher way back in 1975 - 77. What I remember the most about her is that she told me repeatedly that I was smart and special and talented. She encouraged me to write a story in first grade that my mother helped me type up and put into a special folder. It felt like a masterpiece.

"You are such a bright and special girl," she told me. And she told me this often.

Even though I was only five or six years old, I remember her saying that to me. I can see me coloring at my desk and giving my very best effort. I keep those words in my pocket to this day and do my best to believe them.

I appreciate Mrs. Schieldge. And you know? I was not at the "it" school by any stretch of the imagination. This was an inner city public school where just about everyone there looked like me and not her. But this woman built her entire career in that very school and never left.

She made a difference in my life. She did.

So did this lady:

This is Ms. Osborne. (She was the first person I met who was a "Ms," which always made her seem extremely cool.)  Ms. Osborne was my fifth grade teacher when I first started at the magnet school in our district. I was nervous and scared and unsure about a lot of things. But once I got into Ms. Osborne's class, that didn't last long.

Nope.

Ms. Osborne opened my eyes to a world of poetry, literary classics and so much more. With her, I read books like "The Hobbit" and "Lord of the Rings" and even "The Odyssey." Ms. Osborne taught me about haiku and onomatopoeia. She published a little book of poetry each year and I still remember how proud I felt when I saw my work printed in a bound book.

Haiku by Kimberly Draper, 5th grade:

The clouds are pretty

Cotton candy in the sky

a beautiful cloud

Even if it wasn't so great, it doesn't matter. That's the exact poem that was printed in that book and let me tell you how I know: Because it was a pivotal experience. People remember things that shape them.

I appreciate Ms. Osborne for opening this world to me and helping me find my place in it. She made me feel like I belonged there.


And then, there's this guy:

Mr. Evans.

Sigh. Good ol' Mr. Evans.

Can I first just go on the record and say that middle school sucked? For me, of all of the times I had in my education--medical school included--no transition was harder for me than that one I made to middle school. Socially, academically, and just period. Middle school sucked.

Yeah, I said it.

For me, it was the first time that I ever really had to fully manage myself. No one was nudging me or coaching me to do my work or get it in on time. My pretty drawings and poetry weren't enough in middle school. There was more to do, more to learn and more responsibility. Which, for me, was rough.

Mr. Evans held my feet to the fire. He took no prisoners and pushed me to figure out how to sit my butt down and do my work. He was a firm, yet fair, git'r done or git'a zero kind of dude. There was no favoritism or passes with him. And honestly, that was hard for me. I had trouble getting things completed and often felt overwhelmed. But eventually, with his help, I got better at time management. I figured out what I needed to do as a learner, which was sort of different than some of my friends. I learned that I was a procrastinator, but that this was okay--as long as I figured out when I had to get on my job and get crack-a-lacking.

And when I didn't? There was no charming my way out of the big, fat 'C' that Mr. Evans would place in that top right hand corner without batting a lash.

"You were capable of an 'A', " he said, "but you just didn't make up your mind to work for it."

Damn.

I appreciate Mr. Evans because he taught me how to do my work. He taught me study habits and the importance of making up my mind to work to my potential. And he also showed me that there were consequences for mediocre efforts.

I am convinced that were it not for him, I would never have done as well in college or medical school as I did. His lessons took me far beyond middle school. His influence changed my life.

Lastly.

My middle school, Los Angeles, California

 Mrs. McNeal.

I wish I had a photo of her, but I don't. Mrs. McNeal unfortunately passed away from leukemia several years ago. But that doesn't mean that I don't remember everything about her just like it was yesterday. From her short salt and pepper hair cut, to her strict rules, to her liberal use of red ink all over our work--I remember it all.

Aaaaah, Mrs. McNeal. She was my eighth grade language arts teacher. And man, oh man, was she tough. I owe this blog, in part, to her. She was the person who really, really pushed me to write. She would write things like:

"Flesh this out more." Which meant that there was more in me to write.

"Don't be lazy!"  Which meant I was choosing easy words as a way out.

"Less is more!" Which meant that I had chosen too much.

Then there were the McNeal abbreviations:

"FRAG!"   (for fragment.)

"GRAMM!" (for grammatical errors.)

"AWK!" (for awkward wording.)

"DISJ!"  (for disjointed things that didn't fit the story.)

"REV!"  (which meant I needed to write it all over again.)


Mrs. McNeal taught me about literary license. She told me that it was okay to sometimes use quirky grammatical choices for informal story telling because sometimes it could give emphasis. She'd show me examples in literature and helped me to know when it was and wasn't appropriate. Mrs. McNeal helped me to learn to love writing. And to feel like I had to.

I cried when my mom told me she was sick. I cried again when she passed away. Writing about her even today makes my eyes sting a bit. But you know? I feel like I honor her every single time I write on this blog or anywhere else. Which means that she is very much alive.

Yes, she is.

My mother is a retired teacher. I know for certain that someone, somewhere is feeling these same feelings about her. And I love that. Did you know? Deanna was an educator, too. She taught middle school in some of the toughest schools in Atlanta and when someone asked her why she didn't just go somewhere easier, do you know what she said? She said:

"If I don't stay here and teach them, who will?"

Knowing the impact that she surely had on so many children warms my heart. Because it means that beyond even her family and friends, like Mrs. McNeal on this blog, she, too, will live on in ways that even I can't imagine.

Lord knows I would've never imagined all of this back in eighth grade. 

And yes. It stinks that there are also some teachers who haven't been so mindful of their influence on kids and who, just maybe, were sleeping on the job. But you know what? There are a whole, whole, whole lot of educators out there who leave it all on the field, man. Who get up and tell kindergartners that they are bright and special. Who open worlds of Greek mythology and iambic pentameters to young fifth graders. Who crack the most well-meaning whips on sixth graders and push them to achieve their full potential in ways that work best for them. And of course, the ones who pull out their red felt-tipped pens and graffiti the cursive written essays of fledgling eighth grade writers.

Yes, they still exist. I know they do because they are meeting me for parent-teacher conferences and helping me with building up my own children right now.

So, yeah. Shout out to the educators who have been serious about their role in the village of raising up children. Shout out to Mrs. Schieldge and Ms. Osborne and Mr. Evans and Mrs. McNeal. Shout out to Mrs. Draper and Miss Draper, too. And you know? Shout out to Mrs. Reed and Coach Bashor and Mr. Benefield and all of the people I know right NOW who remind me that teachers who care are not a thing of the past.

No way, no how.


You know what?  No matter what the newspapers tell you, all is not lost. It's not, it isn't, it ain't.*


*You can thank Mrs. McNeal for that (appropriately placed) FRAG! and that GRAMM! used for emphasis in this informal piece of writing.

***
Happy Teacher Appreciation Week. (At least, at my kids' school.)

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . Amel Larrieux with Sweetback singing "You will rise."


P.S  OMG! I just remembered that for a brief spell, Deanna had a blog. Turns out that she never took it down. . .and that made me sooo happy! She wrote about a few of her funny encounters as a middle school teacher in inner city Atlanta -- and through the humor, you can feel the love she had for those kids. Go visit her posts here.  Among her many other gifts, she had a beautiful gift for writing, too. What a joy to hear her authentic voice through her writing today. And you know what? There's another teacher somewhere to thank for that.

Random morning haiku.

I like who I am

Got loving eyes of my own

that say, "You're enough."

Life isn't perfect

but it's more sunshine than rain

and more joy than pain

***

Happy Thursday.

April 3, 1998 - April 3, 2013.

 

Deanna officially became a "Delta girl" on April 3, 1998.  Today would have been her 15th anniversary in the sorority. Wait -- technically, it still is her anniversary, isn't it? 

JoLai, our younger sister, wrote a beautiful post in her honor today. She covered it perfectly, so I'll let her writing do the talking. For anyone who is a bit (okay COMPLETELY) confused by the whole adult sorority/fraternity thing with African-Americans, this post and this post should help clarify some of that for you. (Plus they were two of Deanna's favorite posts.) Oh yeah--they will also let you know that the Deltas and the Omegas are the best. (Wink, wink!)

Happy 15th Deltaversary, Pookie! We know you're setting it off in heaven!

***

Happy Wednesday. And don't forget to read JoLai's post! :)