You are what you eat

When I think back on family traditions that center around food I am reminded of holidays growing up.  Thanksgiving and Christmas were big food holidays in my home.  I remember my mom being up at the crack of dawn starting to prepare the stuffing for the turkey, it seemed to take hours to prepare as she made it from scratch.  I loved to help make the stuffing as I got to mix with my hands,  it was warm from the sautéed onions and celery, yet the hard bread chunks hurt my hands a bit, I can still smell the aroma mmm, yum.  My mom would be in the kitchen all day cooking, baking, and cleaning.

When it was time to eat the various bowls and trays of stuffing, cranberry sauce, potatoes, gravy, devilled eggs and my favorites the chocolate pudding pie and éclairs, were carted out to the table, and then it was devoured in mere moments and we were left with full bellies and yet another mess to clean up.

The week that followed consisted of turkey sandwiches and reheated potatoes and such for dinner; she always made enough to feed the army even when it was just the 3 of us.

For most of November and December my mother spent her time baking and making holiday treats.  She made cookies, fudge, chocolate covered pretzels as well as peanut butter and coconut balls dipped in chocolate.  There was always some kind of treat around to nibble on.  It was quite the ordeal to help with this and at times felt more like a chore than a pleasurable experience.

Now that I have my own family we have traditions that we have made.  We have ham instead of turkey and the preparation takes just a few hours not the whole day. I make the traditional éclair’s as they are my husband’s favorite desert and from time to time I make the holiday treats that were around growing up.

One tradition that I really love is weekends in my house.  Most Saturday or Sunday mornings you will find my husband in the kitchen busy preparing a breakfast feast, consisting of Potatoes, bacon, sausage, eggs and because he is the best daddy, chocolate chip pancakes too.  These family breakfasts are something the whole family looks forward to and we would rather have this meal than a breakfast out any day!

I think the best part about any of these traditions is that it brings the family together.  You are all in one place together and having good times creating memories that will last a life time.

Foster parenting is a community

Foster parenting is a community

My husband and I have belonged to this community for almost 3 yrs now and while at times it is very challenging, complicated, saddening and hurtful, it can also be joyful, loving and fulfilling.  I am very happy that we are a part of this community.

We have gained many friends, who have become an extended family thru this community. The community that we belong to is a very special one, we consist of a small group of families working together, inside the larger population of foster care.  

We come together to meet the needs of children whose life’s have been disrupted most often times by outside forces they have no control over. We all have a common bond that we want to see these children succeed in life and find a place where they feel that they belong and are loved.

For a lot of these kids, we provide the only source of stability and consistency in their life’s, and we all work together to maintain that for them.

What holds us together is the support we give each other daily. Regardless if it is a message on face book, a phone call or even just a thought about one another, we know that in our small community group we can always count on one another.  I can pick up the phone a reach out to any of the other parents in my group day or night and they are there for me, as I am for them.

We are challenged all the time by the same outside forces that put these children in our care to begin with. We encounter challenges from the biological parents who have lost the ability to parent their child and no longer provide the daily care and may not agree with the rules in our homes.  We face battles with the courts to do what is in the best interest of the children we care for. We struggle to care for the kids and hold the group together while the state continues to cut our funding year after year.  

Thru all the trials tribulations we face, battles won or battles lost, I really enjoy being a part of this Community.  Having the opportunity to help children in need whether that is for a day or a few years is a great feeling. Knowing that you have been there for someone in their time of darkness and hopefully allowed them to see there is light at the end of the tunnel is a wonderful feeling and I hope to remain a member of this community for many years to come.

Identity markers

There are many identity markers, language, clothing, physical characteristics, and religion to name a few. 

One of the first things I tend to notice is physical appearance.  We are all different and that is what makes this world a beautiful place. In Lucy Grealy’s essay “Masks” she is always trying to hide her face with mask, so that no one can see the mask below. 

“I put on a plastic witch mask and went out with Teresa. I walked down the street suddenly bold and free: No one could see my face”.  I feel that in her attempt to hide a physical difference from others, Lucy was actually hiding a huge piece of her identity. 

In a way we all wear masks, our mask is what allow us to show and share emotions with one another, give smiles and warm welcomes to friends and family.  Lucy was trying to hide a piece of her she did not like, and in the process hid a whole lot more.

Next for me would be the language we speak. I believe that everyone should be able to speak the language they choose, so long as, when we need to communicate, we can do so effectively.  In “How to tame a wild tongue” by Gloria Anzaldua is told by others that her language is not acceptable to them and she will need to conform to their ways to be accepted.  “I remember being sent to the corner of the classroom for “talking back” to the Anglo teacher when all I was trying to do was tell her how to pronounce my name. “If you want to be American, speak American”.  What comes to mind when I read that passage is what exactly is “American”, we are such a diverse melting pot in America that one persons view of American may not be another’s.

Lastly being able to accept yourself for who you are and not letting anyone else tell you what you are or how you should act or dress. This is best displayed in Queen Latifah’s essay “Who you callin a Bitch?” There are some very powerful statements “I don’t have to accept somebody else’s moniker for me. I define who I am” and “all things start inside your soul and work outward, Thoughts are powerful words are powerful”.  Perhaps if Lucy Grealy would have accepted her face as beautiful and held that high she would have had another identity, if you do not love yourself no one else can either.

While our identities are made up of many bits and pieces the most important part is being true to yourself, so that the outside world can get a clear picture of your identity.

Leave my roots alone

In the essay “How to Tame a Wild Tongue” Gloria Anzaldua begins  “We’re going to have to control that tongue” and then “The dentist is cleaning out my roots.” Anzaldua is speaking of being at the dentist, but these statements are not simply about her dental visit, they hold much a deeper meaning in her life. For a good portion of her childhood Anzaldua was told that she needs to speak American, though those are not her roots.

In a paragraph on page (78) Anzaldua write “All Chicano students were required to take two speech classes. There purpose: to get rid of our accents.” I can not imagine going to school and being told, you must take this class to get rid of your accent. I challenge that with a question. What is wrong with having an accent, and why must we all be groomed or required to be the same? Whether you are from Mexico, Canada, or Alabama you may have an accent and what is so wrong with that? Would we really want everyone to sound the exact same? What kind of a dull and boring world that would be!

 

Anzaldua takes us to a time in school when her “Anglo” teacher scolds her for speaking Spanish, “If you want to be American, speak “American” If you don’t like it, go back to Mexico where you belong”. With so many different cultures and such a vast array of languages, variations, and dialects what exactly is “American” Who decided that what the teacher deemed to be “American”, really is?  Who’s to say Anzaldua wanted to be “American”.  Just because we find ourselves in a particular place does not mean we want to conform to the ways of that culture. Is this not America, home of the free?  to me, free means, free to be me, be who I was born as, and speak the language that I am comfortable with.

 

On page (79) Anzaldua writes “Chicano Spanish sprang out of the Chicanos’ need to identify ourselves as a distinct people. We needed a language, with which we could communicate with ourselves, a secret language”. A secret language, the same can be said about twins, often when they are young they create their own language, that only each other can understand. Do we try to correct or censure them? What is it that makes us so quick to judge someone from another cultural background, yet we do not have the same reaction to someone from the same background as us, when they are a little different?

 

Language is so very important to our individual identities, and we should be able to communicate with one another and understand easily but that is not always the case. Even in America we have what I would consider dialects, words such as, potato and tomato can be said with emphasis on different parts of the word, is one way wrong and one right, or are those differences what makes each of us unique.

 

CJ Tillotson

High school

Common themes in both essays are the gathering of like students referred to by White as “Tribes” and Grealy as “Cliques”. While each author gave them different titles they are essentially the same thing. Groups of students who all fit the same mold gathered together, unwilling to let anyone of another shape join their group.

They both shared the feeling of loneliness from being excluded and feeling alienated because they did not posses the right clothes to fit in, or share the same views of the world in another “Tribe” and sadness because you do not fit, as you look different. 

 

Finally White and Grealy both use the lunch room as a human punch bowl, will you sink or swim, fit in or be rejected, and will you ultimately eat at a table with others or off on your own. Your social status in that lunchroom can have an impact on the rest of your life.

 

As I read these two essays, I was brought back to high school; I had lot of little flashes and replayed quite a few scenarios in my mind, of things that happened along the way. 

I was not part of the popular tribe; I was too studious for them. I did not fit the mold for the preppies either; I was not into sports, cheer or any of that. I recall snickers and laughter simply because my parents shopped at K mart and all the cool kids got their clothes at the Gap. Don’t get me wrong I had friends and I found my place; I fit with the music junkies in the band. Marching band was my family, we may not have always gotten along or all agreed on everything but we were in a sense our own “Tribe” and we loved it.

Whats in your wallet

If you were to look inside my wallet you would find a few things to tell you about me.

The first thing you might notice is a hotel key card from our recent family vacation to Hawaii (I know, I should have turned that in) but it is a nice reminder of all the fun times when I open up my wallet.

Next you would find my debit cards and both for credit unions. You may ask why does this person have more than one account?  Could they be for different purposes, is one no good anymore, the initial assumption would be correct.  Next you would find my Safeway club card, so logically you would think I am an frequent visitor of Safeway, however that is not the case, Winco just opened by my house so that is my store of choice.

As you explore the side pouches you would find some receipts from various stores, Nordstrom’s, Lowes, Target, Jamba juice and Sporty’s beef and brew.  Nordstrom’s was a one time purchase. The others tell of the places that I most frequent.

Dig deeper you will find my drivers license.  You will find that I am going to be 32 next Monday 04/11. I am 5’4” and have brown hair and hazel eyes. You will see that it is an enhanced driver’s license.  No I do not travel to Canada a lot but if I wanted to go this would make it a lot easier.

You would find an unchecked lotto ticket, 2 passes to the Comcast ice rink, my daughters eye glass prescription card and my PIMA alumni card and window cling that I still have not applied to my car window.

The contents of my wallet tell a little about me.  I do not keep a lot in my wallet, just what I need if I run out real quick.  More of a story can be gathered by examining the contents that surround my wallet in my purse.

If you took out the picture holder and examined the contents you would find not pictures but, my Foster parent license, 2 First aid and CPR cards one for Healthcare Providers and one for anyone. Costco card so perhaps I have a big family and that would be correct there are 6 of us and 2 dogs which would explain the pet perks cards for Petco and Petsmart. Medical insurance cards as well as library, and zoo membership.

Lastly you would find my name tag and lanyard from PIMA, which displays my pin telling you that I am a Medical Assistant. You would also notice 5 gold stars, those are very special to me as they signify I went the entire program without missing a single day of class or externship, I am the only one in my class that accomplished that. 

While my wallet and purse tell you a lot about me, it is only bits and pieces of me, it take more that looking at items to see who I am and what matters most to me.

My Name challenges

My name is Carnell Justina Tillotson, over the years I have never once met another Carnell.  Oh they are out there though.  I have been told that it is used in the south mainly by African American males, I have also heard of a few football players with the name Carnell.

When my parents choose my name they apparently had no information about that. My name was derived from a combination of my parent’s names. My mother Carla and my father Lynell, my middle name Justina, was my great grandmother’s name.

I work in a call center and have for about the last 10 yrs and I get lots of comments on my name, people ask me is that your first name? They say Carmel, Cornell like the college; I get Carla a lot and also Barbara (I really do not understand how they hear that from Carnell). Majority of the time if I am communicating thru email they assume I am a male and address me as Mr. Carnell Tillotson.

 The most outrageous thing that has been said to me was by a customer who called on the phone.  I said thank you for calling… my name is Carnell how can I help you, I hear in response, your name is Carnell…  but you do not sound black; I was really shocked by that one.

All my life people have had a hard time remembering my name, I have to repeat it, or spell it and after I had my kids and got involved in team sports and team mom and such I was still having the problem of people not remembering, so I made it simple just call me CJ. So now most of my friends call me CJ and anytime I meet someone new it is CJ. 

At work I am still Carnell and when I deal with the state for our foster kids I am Carnell.  I see myself facing the same challenges as Firoozeh Dumas by using 2 names it can get very confusing for people who know you by one and then hear the other.   I intend to resolve this issue with a legal name change to CJ in the near future as I never really liked my name anyway!