32 Candles
By Ernessa T. Carter
I’ve been hearing about this book since I started blogging a year ago. Ernessa T. Carter blogs over at FierceandNerdy, has a beautiful little girl and has been featured on Honeysmoke.
I should point out that somewhere along my reading journey, I became a staunch fan of nonfiction and didn’t bother much with buying fiction. (Hey, I’m a journalist.) This year, though, I have rediscovered fiction. It seems there are tons of authors who are now writing about the time when I grew up or are writing about subjects I experienced as a child or young adult.
32 Candles, for example, is about Davie, an ugly duckling of sorts. I was one of those. Davie grows up in Mississippi. I know a thing or two about the Deep South. Davie falls helplessly in love with a football player. Check. Long story short, Davie is picked on in school, runs away, reinvents herself and bumps into her old crush, who falls in love with her. But will their high school past untie their bond?
I don’t know. I am still reading the book. I’ll post an update when I finish. In the meantime, check it out.
Handprints at Kip Fulbeck's Mixed Kids exhibit at the Japanese American National Museum in Los Angeles.
Where is the best place to raise biracial and multiracial children? My answer: anywhere and everywhere.
A few weeks ago, I posted some numbers about a study conducted by the Pew Research Center on interracial marriages. I chose a handful of figures I found interesting. What struck me about the stats was that interracial marriages and the attitudes about them are changing in every corner of the country, in cities large and small, in the Deep South, the Midwest, as well as on the coasts.
The experience of raising biracial and multiracial children is different in every community, depending on who is living there. Some are more accepting than others. The truth is, this nation is moving toward a day when there will be so many children of so many different races and ethnicities that what we now call race simply won’t matter. That is the day the question above and others like it will become irrelevant.
This may be an uncomfortable reality for those who have benefitted from the divisive ways we have identified ourselves. I, for one, look forward to that day and hope I see it in my lifetime.
Oprah made a huge mistake — at least her people did. I, the great and not-so-mighty Honeysmoke, was rejected for a reality show on the Oprah Winfrey Network, or OWN.
It is Oprah’s loss. She will never know how wonderful my Real Parenting talk show would have been or how much I would have connected with viewers as its host. And worst of all, she will not meet Simone and Nadia.
I, like countless others who flocked from every corner of the country, awoke before dawn and dressed for a job interview. I stood in line and chatted with the competition. I was confused most of the time, trying to figure out why the line was moving, how many people had showed up, and when I’d get the coveted bracelet. No bracelet, no audition. Oh, how I wanted that bracelet.
I had gone to the audition at 5 a.m. and prepared to stand in line for hours. I carried bananas, grapes, bottled water, a lawn chair and an umbrella. As the line inched closer to the white tent, I realized I wouldn’t need any of it.
At 6 a.m., the line made a huge leap forward. The interviews started at 7 a.m. Finally, a nice guy wearing an orange T-shirt strapped a white bracelet on my wrist. I was number 747. My big moment would occur between 10 a.m. and 11 a.m. with the 49 other people in my group, or so I thought.
Many hopefuls learned their audition time and retreated to other places. I had no place to go and took a seat in my lawn chair. About 15 minutes later, a man wearing an orange T-shirt asked whether I and others had completed our applications. Oh, yes we had. “Get in line,” he said. But we are in the 700 group. “I don’t care. Get in line.”
It was showtime. I folded up my chair and stood in line. I glossed my lips, changed from my frumpy everyday shoes into my strappy sandals and pulled on my purple jacket. Yes, purple. I happen to like that color and it looks good on me, thank you very much.
The folks in the orange T-shirts counted groups of 16 and herded us into a tent. We all took a seat and waited for the instructions.
All applications must be signed, the casting coordinator began. If you uploaded a video, write that in the top corner of your application. Don’t bother telling me how energetic you are. That’s a given. Don’t bother giving me your credentials. If I want to hear about them, I will call you back. Don’t talk to me about the segments on your show. I just want to hear about your idea for a show. When it’s your turn, stand up and give me your application. You each have 30 seconds to tell me your name and talk about your show. Applaud each person after she speaks. Got it? Good.
Ut-oh. I had given a lot of thought to the segments on my show. It sure would have been nice to know the casting coordinator didn’t want to hear about those, like, three weeks ago. I tried to regroup, as the audition began. The first person talked about a holistic healing show and the casting coordinator wrote something on her application. Contestant Three’s show was about senior moments. She said she had forgotten to sign her application, which held up the process. Then she started talking about her credentials, and the casting coordinator cut her short. Better follow the rules. I watched the casting coordinator, and she didn’t write anything on Contestant Three’s application.
Everyone else followed the rules. There was a newsy show, an uplifting show, a fashion show. There was a teen show and a few shows that I couldn’t figure out what they were really about. Then there was the dad who wanted to do a show about single fathers and a mother wanted to do a show about single mothers.
I was one of the last in my group to talk. I handed the lady my application and launched into my pitch.
“I am here to represent real parents!” What? Who said that? That wasn’t how I rehearsed my spiel. I quickly back tracked, gave my name, city, state, and rattled off what I had planned to say.
I tripped on some of my words. Am I telling about the show or a segment of the show? I recovered and quickly ended my pitch. The casting coordinator looked uninterested. It didn’t appear she had written anything on my application. Darn.
The casting coordinator told us she would call us back as late as 11 p.m. if she wanted to hear more. My phone didn’t ring. The next morning I was on Oprah.com when Simone walked into the room.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m looking at Oprah’s site,” I told her.
Simone sat still for a moment and then brought me back to reality.
“Who’s Oprah?”
My Daddy has money, too.
Nadia, after her maternal grandfather showed her his collection of silver coins.
Children grow up so fast and spend a considerable amount of time away from their parents. During the school year, Simone’s preschool teachers wrote a few sentences about each day. The notes paint a picture of what Simone was like in 2009-2010. I can’t believe she will be in kindergarten in just two months.
Here are some of the updates I like. It will be fun to share them with Simone when she is much older.
Simone likes to make a train out of the chairs and take trips.
Simone can follow four-part directions.
Simone helped someone clean up a mess the other child made without being asked.
Simone has been very helpful with the children who just moved up. She is excited to have more girls in the room.
Simone often reminds her classmates of the class rules.
Simone was so happy her grandmother got to see her school and room.
Simone enjoyed playing in the leaves on the playground today.
Simone has been enjoying building in the block center. She built a throne today out of waffle blocks.
Simone was so proud she could write an “e” today. We had been showing her. I think she didn’t want to mess it up. Apparently, all it took was Daddy showing her.
Simone engages in group and solitary play.
Simone was excited about the new sand in the sandbox. She called it glitter snow.
Simone is eager to find out what is on the agenda each day.
Simone can sequence events in a story.
