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December 2005
School attack on friend has teen wondering ‘what if …’
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
She blames herself. Even though she probably could have done little to prevent it.
Still, Ashley Favors, a freshman at Meadowcreek High School, feels some responsibility for what happened to a friend Dec. 6.
That night, the Meadowcreek Mustangs hosted the Grayson Rams. Meadowcreek won, 86-46. Ashley was there, playing with the marching band. Trevor Sanford wasn’t in the band, but the sophomore sat nearby.
“He was sitting on the ground talking to me about this job and something he was planning on doing with his life,” Ashley told me via e-mail.
After the game, Trevor walked Ashley to the band room so she could change. She asked him to wait for her outside. He said OK but with a preface.
“He said that he had to hurry and get home so that his parents wouldn’t get worried,” she said.
Ashley eventually emerged. Trevor had split. She thought he had hopped on his new bike and sped home.
He hadn’t.
Campus police and school officials say Trevor was attacked by two fellow students sometime between 9:30 and 10:30 that night.
They say Darron D. Dalton, 16, struck Trevor in the face while Corrddaro B. Thomas, 18, restrained the victim. Trevor was knocked cold. The attackers high-tailed it. Apparently they forgot about one thing: Campus surveillance cameras. The incident was caught on tape.
The suspects have been charged with felony aggravated battery, and they may be prosecuted as adults. Why they chose Trevor is unclear.
Trevor’s left eye socket was shattered in two places. Doctors say it will heal. Trevor, though, will be in rehab for some time to strengthen his cognitive abilities.
Today should be a good day. He checked out of Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta at Scottish Rite on Friday.
“Thank you, Jesus,” wrote his dad, Tim Sanford, in the Badie Blog. “Maybe we can have some kind of Christmas.”
Let’s hope so.
Sadly, though, this tale is ripe. There are the 45 days of rehab that await Trevor. His attackers must face a judge as well as a school tribunal.
And Ashley has a bad case of the what-ifs.
What if she hadn’t asked Trevor to wait for her?
What if it had not taken her so long to change?
“If only I didn’t have him wait so long on me, none of this would have happened,” she told me. ” I didn’t even get to tell him bye or anything. I can’t sleep. I just feel as if this is somewhat my fault.”
It’s easy for her to feel that way, to beat herself up. It’s noble of her to assume blame for the actions of two knuckleheads. When you care about someone, you tend to do that.
But is it necessary? Nah. And if Trevor is the young man I’ve been told he is, I bet he’d concur.
Ashley asked me to pass on a message.
“Tell him I said, ‘hello,’ and that I miss him very much.”
Consider it done.
Your 2006 Predictions
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Hi there. I made my measly two predictions for 2006. Now, I want to hear your predictions. Know what, though? I want something with substance. Something concrete. Something that shows me you put a little bit of thought into it. Something that’s the complete opposite of what “Granny” posted — that Norcross will change it’s name to ‘Little Mexico’. Cute, but not exactly what I’m looking for. So have at it. And if you know where Therese Amos can land a job, give her a holla’. I listed her contact information at the bottom of today’s column. Finally, check out my column on Sunday. I am in the process of interviewing the student who was with Trevor Sanford prior to his attack at Meadowcreek High on Dec. 6. She feels terrible about the incident, though she had absolutely nothing to do with it and probably couldn’t have prevented it, anyway. Take care. I’m out. PEACE.
After Katrina: ‘I just want a job’
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
She loves her Saints and the team’s home city.
New Orleans is Therese Amos’s home, too. Rather, it used to be her home. You know the story.
Katrina hit. Hundreds perished due to flooded levees and thousands more wound up homeless and jobless.
Like Amos.
She found her way to Atlanta, where kind-hearted people lent a hand. She stayed in a hotel for a while but was long gone before the FEMA deadline. She found a house to rent off Beaver Ruin Road. Her sister, Ronica Sammons, and Sammons’ daughter, Sierra Neal, live with her.
Ronica is studying to be a medical assistant. Sierra has enrolled in Minor Elementary School.
And Amos, well, she’s looking for work.
Before Katrina,she’d been a seven-year employee at the New Orleans sanitation department. She worked in the transfer station booth, operating the truck scales, serving as cashier, taking advantage of rich opportunities for overtime.
“I worked six days, 12 hours a day,” the 39-year-old single woman told me. “This has about destroyed me. This took my whole life, and I’ll never get it back. It will never be the same.”
Rebecca P. Thomson was assigned by Perimeter Presbyterian Church to assist Amos. By the time she and her hubby came calling, Amos had resettled. Thomson did assist with one thing, though: a resume and cover letter.
“Katrina changed everything for me,” Amos wrote in her application letter. “One minute, I could say that everything I owned was truly mine. I lived on my own, paid my rent and bills on time, and could sometimes help others. I had savings. I never took a handout from any body, just like my dad.
“Now, Ican say that every single thing I have is a handout. People here in Georgia have been so generous. I have lots of nice things — nicer than before. But nothing feels familiar. Ithink getting back to work will make me feel more at home here.”
There are others, I’m sure, but here’s one Katrina evacuee who doesn’t act entitled. She accepted the initial $2,000 FEMA disbursement. And kind-hearted folk in metro Atlanta chipped in with items to help her resettle. For that, she is thankful.
But when it comes to salvaging her life, to moving forward, she’s not looking for a hand-out. Just a hand up. She wants to work. To feel something that’s familiar again.
Three times she’s returned to the Crescent City. She tried to report to her old job, but it didn’t exist. She’s seen what’s left of the house she rented. At least part of it.
“I can’t bear to go upstairs,” she told me. “When you walk in, your feet sink in mud and water. Black mold and mildew looks like it’s growing in there.”
Amos cries often. Migraines come and go.
“I think I’m cracking up,” she said. “I just want a job.”
Any takers?
LOOKING FOR WORK
Therese Amos’s most recent job has been in city sanitation, but her resume shows she’s worked in stone masonry as well as a concession-stand cook at the Superdome.
You can reach her by phone, 504-218-3374 or 770-931-3632, or by email.
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Badie’s 2006 Predictions
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
OK, I’ve put it off long enough. Here are my predictions for Gwinnett County in 2006. I’ve only made two, and they deal with good things. Positive things. No drama. You don’t have to predict that. We know that’s going to happen. As for good news, my gut feelings tell me that:
- Gwinnett will finally get a homeless shelter - one for entire families, not just women and children. Bobigene Pack has been working on this for a year now. Her nonprofit, Love in Action Outreach Ministries, Inc., just needs to secure the money to buy a facility. She’s been close before. 2006 will be her year.
- Once again, students at Lilburn Middle School will make “adequate yearly progress” on standardized tests. They’ve been working hard. Principal James Rayford and staff run a Saturday program to give kids extra help. Let’s wish them the best because if the majority of the students perform well, the school will be taken off that dreaded “needs improvement list.”
People do care, but will Trevor get an apology?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Trevor, people care.
Natasha Gubash of Loganville stands ready to open her purse.
“I’m sure their medical bills will be large,” she wrote to me via e-mail. “Please let me know how I can help.”
And Mike Bradford of Lilburn, wants to tutor you — for free.
“I don’t know if I will be a good enough tutor to help Trevor, but I will gladly try my best,” the private instructor said in an e-mail. “Please let his family know that there are people out here who care for them, and who will do whatever they can to help.”
Gubash and Bradford are two people who felt compelled to respond after reading about Trevor Sanford in Sunday’s column. The 15-year-old boy was attacked by two students Dec. 6 after a basketball game at Meadowcreek High.
Campus police say Darron D. Dalton, 16, struck Trevor in the face while Corddaro B. Thomas, 18, restrained the victim. They’ve been charged with one count each of aggravated battery, a felony, and may be tried as adults. They also will be disciplined at the school.
As for Trevor, well, he’s on the mend at Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta at Scottish Rite. Progressing well, too. An MRI conducted late last week found no leakage or lesions on the brain. On Sunday, father and son watched a football game together.
But Trevor’s not out of the woods. Not by a long shot. A neuropsychologist looked him over on Monday. And rehab will be a way of life for weeks to come.
“The MRI came out good,” Tim Sanford, his father, told me. “Now we have to worry about his cognitive skills.”
Trevor’s scheduled release date is Friday. The family has been told that he’ll have to undergo outpatient rehabilitative therapy for at least 45 days. Sticker shock set in when Sanford found out the cost of outpatient services.
“I just learned today that the rehabilitation is going to cost $1,000 a day,” said Sanford, owner of a small cleaning business that he’s pretty much neglected since his son’s tragedy. “Insurance will take care of some of the cost but not all of it.”
So on Monday, after hearing about kind-hearted people like Bradford and Gubash, Sanford set up an account at Washington Mutual Bank to collect donations. All proceeds will benefit Trevor.
“We are truly blessed,” he told me.
Through all the tears and worry about Trevor’s recovery, Sanford sees one thing crystal clear. His youngest son has spent his last days at Meadowcreek High.
“Home schooling,” he told me last week. “We’ve already let school officials know that other arrangements will have to be made. I want him to have a better opportunity for an education.”
Bradford, the tutor who offered his services for free, understands.
“I don’t think it would be good for him to return to Meadowcreek,” he said.
Sanford said he’s long forgiven his boy’s attackers. “I prayed for them,” he said.
Now he wants to meet them.
“For some reason I have it in my head that somebody — either them or someone from their family — is going to come by the hospital and apologize, or something,” he said. “I just got that feeling that that is going to happen.”
Late Monday, he was still waiting.
Parents’ ‘whys’ need answers
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
At first, he didn’t know his Mom and Dad.
Uncle Ron was a stranger, too.
Trevor Q. Sanford has gotten better at recognizing family, but he’s still not quite all there.
“When you talk to him, you still see that look in his eyes,” said Tim Sanford, his father. “My son is 15 years old, and he’s got to relearn things he learned when he was 2 or 3.”
We’re at Children’s Health Care of Atlanta at Scottish Rite, in the parents’ lounge, down the hall from room No. 418, which is Trevor’s. He’s in the brain trauma unit. He’s been there since Dec. 9. Before that, he spent four days at Gwinnett Medical Center.
His left eye socket is fractured, his vision blurry. He’s having to relearn things. To walk unassisted. To say his ABCs and recite colors. To remember the good times, like his first plane trip to Plano, Texas, to visit Uncle Ron.
All because of a random act of violence.
On Dec. 6, the Meadowcreek Mustangs played the Grayson Rams. Trevor, a sophomore, had ridden his new bike to the Meadowcreek campus. After the basketball game, he hung out to talk to some girls. A security camera caught what transpired between 8:30 and 9:30 p.m. that night. School officials told Trevor’s father what it shows:
Trevor walks out of the gymnasium. A student grabs him and restrains him from behind. Another student punches Trevor — it’s unclear how many times — in the face. Knocks him cold. The attackers scat. His bike disappears. School officials try unsuccessfully to revive Trevor with smelling salts. Paramedics eventually transport him to Gwinnett Medical Center.
According to a campus police report, Darron D. Dalton, 16, struck Trevor in the face, while Corrddaro B. Thomas, 18, restrained the victim. Like Trevor, they attend Meadowcreek High. They’ve been charged with one count each of aggravated battery and may be tried as adults, school officials said.
Maybe his attackers will wise up and realize something — that actions can carry grave consequences. That, in this case, their victim may never be the same. That they need to control their emotions, jealousies or whatever bugs them without resorting to violence. In this case, cowardly violence.
Remember Jonathan Miller?
In 1998, the Cherokee County teen was convicted of felony murder in the death of 13-year-old Josh Belluardo. When Miller was 15, he hit Belluardo in the back of the head during in a school bus fight. Miller got a life sentence.
Trevor’s father said his son didn’t know his attackers.
“This wasn’t a fight,” said Sanford, who runs a cleaning service. “It was a mugging. I guess the major question I have is, ‘Why?’ “
And details, well, they’re hard to dig up. Try getting information from the Gwinnett County School system. It’s like pulling teeth.
The recurring comment from the school district spokeswoman has been that gangs played no role in the attack. I wasn’t allowed to talk to Rolando Jiminez, the campus police officer who handled the incident. The principal didn’t return my call.
“The investigation is still ongoing and we are still working to determine the reason for the attack,” an e-mail from the spokeswoman stated. “However, there is nothing to indicate that it was gang-related.”
Good.
But that makes no difference to Tim and LeVette Sanford. It’s their son who had to take an MRI on Thursday. He’s the one who has to undergo speech and occupational therapy.
Trevor’s dad is a burly man who’s coached football in the Meadowcreek school cluster.
“I’m scared,” he told me.
“And my wife, she’s very angry. Trevor didn’t know who I was for three or four hours, and for seven or eight hours, he didn’t even know his mother. He’s had a good life. I don’t want him to not be able to remember the last 13 or 14 years of it. He’s been reduced back to the age of a 3- or 4-year-old.”
In better days, Trevor sang in the choir at Friendship Baptist Church in Duluth. He assisted with the youth ministry. He holds a fifth-degree red belt in karate. I am told he’s kind and courteous — character traits you’d want your children to have.
“Nowadays, I think it’s hard to have a kid who’s ‘soft,’ and by soft I mean respectful,” said Ron Sanford, Trevor’s uncle, who flew in from Texas, on Wednesday. “Trevor is just a nice kid.
“Every kid should have a chance at three squares a day and a good family structure. Unfortunately, these things don’t always happen. It makes for an unfortunate situation, not just for my nephew, but for any kid who has to go through this pain.”
On Thursday, Trevor and other patients on his floor did a little window shopping at Lenox Mall. It was their therapeutic outing.
“Today was fantastic,” Sanford told me later that night. “It was almost like he was back.”
Almost.
Learn to eat to live, not other way around
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
She excuses herself, and comes back with a gray, two-piece pants suit.
Three years ago, it barely fit Martina Desgouttes. Now, the size-16 outfit doesn’t fit at all. If she were to put it on, she’d look silly. Like a clown.
Martina Desgouttes used to weigh 200 pounds. Now she’s down to 125 and wears a size 4.
The suit’s her souvenir. It’s also a reminder of an unhealthy lifestyle, a time when she overate and didn’t exercise. When she could barely walk up the stairs in her Duluth home. When her blood pressure boiled and her cholesterol skyrocketed. When nearly everything ached.
“As you can see, the pants had been fully extended,” she told me Wednesday as we sat at the kitchen table. “And trust me, the jacket was so tight I couldn’t button it. Unbelievable.”
It’s that time of the year again. Many of us will resolve to get fit in 2006. Gwinnett gyms will be bombarded with dozens of newbies waiting their turn on the StairMasters and free weights.
Old habits die hard. Stick-to-itiveness falls victim.
Desgouttes’s been there. In January 2003, she pledged to do whatever necessary to change her lifestyle. She made the promise, then put it off. “There are a lot of goodies left over after Christmas,” the 51-year-old Jamaican told me.
“Waiting until Jan. 11 to start would give me enough time to finish all the sweets and breads. I’m not that crazy about sweets, but I love bread, especially garlic bread with garlic butter.”
A month later, Desgouttes was chowing down on some curried chicken and rice. Suddenly, her throat tightened. She had difficulty breathing. Her brow dripped with sweat. Relatives wanted to call the paramedics, but Desgouttes talked them out of it.
She knew what was going on. She’d stopped taking a medication for acid reflux.
“That was my turning point,” she told me. “I prayed and said, ‘Lord, whatever I need to do, I will.’ It wasn’t just about losing the weight. It was about wanting to live.”
So Desgouttes adopted an organic diet. Out with the sugar. In with the cactus honey powder. She stopped eating poultry and steak. She started using soy products.
Today, she’s a new person. More energetic and happier. She exercises twice a week — water aerobics. She can walk up the stairs without huffing and puffing.
The about-face has led to a new profession for the former information technology expert. One purpose of her nonprofit, Miracle Production Ministries, Inc., is to raise health awareness. She’s written a book, “How I Ate My Way to Good Health,” that includes her story, recipes, and a journal to track progress.
And she wants your New Year’s resolution to last a lifetime, not just a few months.
“I’ve become an advocate, pretty much, for getting the word out to people to think about what they put in their systems,” Desgouttes said. “When it comes to food, we put almost anything in our bodies.”
On Jan. 28, Desgouttes is hosting a conference — You Have the Power — from 7:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. at the Metropolitan Club in Alpharetta. Healthy eating is the topic.
Desgouttes will talk about how changing her diet saved her life.
And may save yours.
Emulate Pryor: Ban the N-word
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
No more comments will be posted on this subject. Go “debate” it somewhere else, and I use the word debate lightly, given the junk some of you (Richard, Fedup) and a few others have resorted to posting.
Too bad. But when you start making attacks and becoming unglued, it’s time to shut the door.
I thought you all would be better than that, and most of you were, but obviously, some of you didn’t want to have a true discussion. You wanted to be nasty. Call names.
I can take nastiness. I took plenty of it in an e-mail from a reader in L.A. I can dish it out, too, but a public forum isn’t the place to do it. It serves no purpose, either.
I would like to say one thing though: Some of you should read columns in my archive. You’ll get a better picture of who I am, and my consistent thought processes as it relates to matters of color and race. (Richard, you know what I’m talking about. I sent you via e-mail my William Bennett columns.)
As for now, I, and this blog, are finished with discussion of the n-word. Bye.
The column that started it all:
The players gathered outside the bathhouse before every Friday night football game.
Almost every time they did, somebody would pull out an eight-track tape player and plop in Richard Pryor.
It always elicited laughter at Gaston High School in Gadsden, Ala. It took the boys’ minds off the game. They relaxed. Pryor’s comedy could do that to you.
“Nothing was said between us when the N-word was spoken,” said Tommy Woodsmall, a land surveyor for a Duluth firm. “Usually there was so much laughing going on, it didn’t seem to be a problem. I believe that, because it was Pryor doing the speaking, no one was going to be offended in our group. We knew what was coming.”
They knew. Just like me and my friends. After a late night stocking the local Piggly Wiggly, somebody would roll down the car windows and pop in a cassette. “Richard Pryor: Live on the Sunset Strip” was a favorite.
We laughed till we cried. Then laughed some more.
The N-word flew out of Pryor’s mouth. His comedic timing, rhythm and stage prowess allowed him to make the racial epithet poetic — almost. And it seemed so innocent.
Like Woodsmall and his teammates, my friends and I, blacks and whites, glossed it over. We’d get a little uneasy sometimes when we heard the word, but uneasiness quickly turned to knee-slapping laughter. We were too young, too small-town, too something, to comprehend Pryor’s self-inflicted hatred.
Nowadays, vulgar comedians, following in footsteps they can never fill, repeatedly use the word. It’s almost their entire act. Rap artists rhyme with it. It’s their standard repertoire.
It’s also flat-out wrong.
You can’t raise up and scream racism when a white person uses the word, then applaud and accept blacks when they do likewise. You can’t justify it. Stop trying.
Even Pryor, who died Saturday of a heart attack, eventually admitted he was wrong. It took a trip to Africa in 1979 for him to realize the error of his ways. He swore he would never use the N-word in his stand-up comedy routine again.
I knew that Woodsmall, a white guy, was a big Pryor fan. The topic came up one day over lunch at the Rexall Diner in Duluth. I contacted him Monday after learning of Pryor’s death.
“There are things he said that me and my brother say to each other to this day,” he told me via e-mail Monday. “Things like, ‘Ask Raymond,’ and ‘Gimme a dolla!’ “
But the Woodsmall family avoids some Pryorisms.
“I have three sons, and I truly believe that they have never used the N-word in their lives, and I am proud of that fact,” he told me.”If we as parents stand up and teach our children how degrading and misused this word is, the result might get Webster to actually delete it from the dictionary.
“I’d love to see it!”
Me too.
Changes should make ‘06 King Day more inclusive
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Everybody’s invited.
Robbie S. Moore wants that understood.
Her group, the United Ebony Society of Gwinnett County, is spreading the word about the 2006 King Day Celebration, which takes place Jan. 16. The march, from the Historic Courthouse in downtown Lawrenceville to Central Gwinnett High School, begins at 10 a.m. At the school, a guest speaker will reflect on the man, his life and his dream.
The news release reached me via e-mail. It asks that AJC Gwinnett News run information about the celebration in our calendar listing as many times as possible. Organizers want to prevent a repeat of what happened last time.
Remember?
Last Jan. 18, I wrote about the lack of white attendance at the United Ebony Society’s celebration as well as one held at Shiloh High. I wondered why. Dozens of readers responded. Some of you said you viewed the recognition of King as a “black holiday.” Others said you’d attended programs in the past and failed to see a purpose. And a few said that you simply didn’t feel welcome.
Few, though, were as blunt as Paul Smith, a reader from Buford.
“The King Day rhetoric from some of your leaders is very much anti-white,” he wrote. “African-American leadership will take the platforms of America during King Week to blast our president, the “white leadership” and “white establishment” of America. Many in the black community use this time of media attention not to uphold the honor and integrity of Dr. King, but to stress some social agenda (abortion rights, gay marriage) that will alienate many Anglos.
“I would like to hear more speeches and see more activities relating to the true vision of Dr. King. The vision and belief where he stated: ‘A man should not be judged by the color of his skin, but by the content of his character.’ Until this happens, you will witness the King Holiday as a black holiday.”
Apparently what Smith and others said resonated with Moore and her troops. Changes have been made. Changes to better publicize the event, give it purpose and make it all-inclusive.
“This isn’t a black thing,” Moore, the society’s president, told me. “It’s a community thing.
“We are definitely inviting everybody in Gwinnett County to participate. We are trying to encourage as much openness, participation and unity as we can. We’re trying so hard to get information out and get people involved from the community.”
The theme of this year’s celebration is “Keeping the Dream Alive Through Caring and Giving.” Those who attend are asked to bring canned goods to donate to the cupboards of Gwinnett’s cooperative ministries.
“Helping poor people was the kind of thing King did,” Moore said. “We want as many people from churches and schools to participate as possible.”
I know how holidays can be. Many of us would prefer to do absolutely zilch. Nothing wrong with that.
But I received e-mails and calls from people from different racial backgrounds who promised that they’d get off the couch for King Day 2006. Especially if changes to the program were made.
Well, the United Ebony Society has done its part. Let’s turn out and see what it has dreamt up.
Maybe we’ll learn something.
Aunt Judy sending packages full of love to nephew in Iraq
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Matt’s her only nephew.
And her daughters consider him a brother.
“When Jennifer and Jillian were growing up, one of their favorite things to do was go to Birmingham [to visit Matt],” Judy Wilkes of Lilburn told me. “They adore him.”
Aunt Judy was standing in line behind me Wednesday morning at the post office off Britt Road. I was mailing off an order for a Christmas gift via priority mail. She was shipping two packages.
“I’m back again,” she told the clerk, laughing, as she approached the counter.
Back again.
What could be so important?
Turns out, it’s family.
The books, magazines and cookies are for Matt Reeves, a second lieutenant in the Marines. He’s in Iraq, overseeing 71 men near the Syrian border. Their role is top secret. Matt’s family doesn’t even know.
“He’s very focused, but the area he’s in is very dangerous,” Wilkes said. “I worry about his safety.”
He’s an only child, born 23 years ago to Rhonda and Wayne Reeves. His new bride, Danielle, lives on a military base near San Diego with two dogs — Riley and Ani.
Poor Riley.
He hasn’t adjusted to Matt’s absence. He gets excited when he sees other Marines at Camp Pendleton. He thinks his master is back.
“Danielle had to put him on medication for depression,” said Wilkes, an administrative assistant for Bradshaw, Pope & Franklin, an accounting firm in Norcross. “He’s having a tough time.”
So are friends, parents, grandparents, cousins and Aunt Judy. They cope.
Their love gets wrapped, taped, boxed and shipped. It’s expressed through packages of CDs, DVDs, socks and Ramen noodles. Some items are just for Matt, others to share with his men.
Like the Claxton fruitcakes. Wilkes’ employer paid for three boxes of them — one for every soldier. The South Georgia company that makes them paid shipping costs.
“I wrote Matt and told him they were on the way,” Wilkes said. “I wanted him to know that there’s enough for all of the men, just in case one box arrived before the others did.”
In her office, Wilkes flips through a folder of postal receipts for items she’s mailed since September. The combined weight of the packages totals nearly 300 pounds. That doesn’t take into account what his parents have shipped over.
“My brother, Wayne, and Rhonda really miss him,” Wilkes said. “And Matt loves them to death. He’s a loving, caring individual. Full of integrity.”
One day, Rhonda Reeves asked her son why he joined the Marines.
“Mom, everyone owes this to their country,” he told her.
And in return, we owe the soldiers something.
“Just support them,” Wilkes said.
“Knowing that someone cares means a whole bunch. Whenever we see a soldier in uniform, we should stop and thank them for what they are doing, whether you’re in agreement with why they are there or not.”
Thanks, Matt.
• Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875 or e-mail: rbadie@ajc.com.
Adults, not students should be in control
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Imagine a public high school where students wear khakis, collared shirts and knee-length skirts.
School uniforms: It’s what’s being proposed at South Gwinnett High. Clothes would have to be size-appropriate and one of four colors: beige, tan, navy or white. Exceptions would be made for religious apparel.
South Gwinnett school officials are looking for answers because dress-code violations are on the uptick.
Last year, the school had 62 dress-code violations during the first quarter. This year, 303 violations have occurred in the same amount of time. Time spent dealing with (super, not relaxed) baggy jeans and camis are hurting instruction. The school administrators say something needs to be done.
You see a lot of young men (and older ones, too) wearing those extra-long T-shirts and baggy jeans. Jeans so big they have to pull them up every three or four seconds. Guys, trust me on this one — you look like something, but it’s not necessarily cool.
And the young ladies, well, less apparently is more. Off-the-shoulder blouses. Over-exposed midriffs. Too grown. Too soon.
So my gut reaction is to applaud the idea of school uniforms. It’s hard not to. Parents would save money. And at least anecdotally, the behavior of students and their work might be enhanced, though research shows results are mixed. What a student wears will never replace good teaching.
But you know, the merits of school uniforms wouldn’t have to be debated if two things happened: Parents got tough; school officials grew a backbone.
On campus, those in charge should send a strong, superclear message from Day One. Anything we deem risque or unfit won’t be tolerated. Then, they should dare — yeah, I said dare — kids to defy them.
Rules serve a purpose. When young people are on campus to learn, they should adhere. Individuality and freedom of expression should take a back seat to conformity and order. And we keep forgetting something. School-age students aren’t grown, and they won’t be for years.
I suspect that school officials aren’t particularly tough on dress-code violations because their higher-ups don’t back them up. And there’s probably a fear of civil liberty lawsuits and negative reaction from some parents. Why else would the South Gwinnett principal say it’ll take 80 percent of parents to support the change for him to move forward?
I doubt if 80 percent of the parents even know what their kids wear. If they do, they apparently aren’t too concerned, or consider this a fight not worth picking. But it must be. Why else would South Gwinnett consider a change and other local schools be so jazzed to see what transpires?
In an AJC Gwinnett News article published Monday, one parent said that teenagers are too old to be forced to wear a uniform. OK, but can’t we dictate with a little more authority that they wear something more apropos? At least at school?
After all, Mom and Dad pay the bills that keep the lights on and food on the table. They, in most cases, buy the clothes, too.
What is there to discuss?
Sadly, Mandisa is not alone. So, what do we do about it?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mandisa, my dear, you’re not alone.
If you ever thought you were, let it go, girl.
Lots of people feel, have felt, or are highly familiar with your story. They empathized and sympathized with it all too well. Which is sad in itself.
On Thursday, I wrote about Mandisa Surpris, a 15-year-old black girl who excels in all she does at Parkview High. The focus on academic achievement has made her an outcast among some of her peers. Some of the black kids at the Lilburn school question her “blackness” and say she “acts white.”
By late Thursday, Mandisa’s story had generated nearly 500 postings on ajc. com. Another 400 readers posted in-depth comments on the Badie Blog. And I’ve lost count of personal e-mails and telephone calls.
Out of all of those responses, only a handful (to put the number at five would be generous) tried to discredit me, blame Mandisa or pooh-pooh the topic. They’re in denial. Let’s not worry about them. We have to keep the Mandisas of the world focused, and get the kids who ridicule students like her thinking right.
In the column, I laid heavy blame on the parents for their kids’ crippling behavior and overall attitude toward high achievers. Many readers agreed, and some expressed interest in finding ways to combat this destructive way of thinking.
“Is it possible for our churches to take a more active role in providing parental support through classes that help parents become more effective?” one reader wrote. “For those of us who volunteer with youth, are there programs to help us become better and more effective mentors?”
Good questions. I don’t have the answers, and if you do, let me know. I’ll share the information. For now, though, I have to reiterate that change starts with Mom and Dad.
They must find a way to drill home the fact that academic excellence doesn’t translate to acting white, and that dumbing down doesn’t mean you’re “keeping it real” as a black person. They need to teach the richness and beauty of black culture while rooting out misunderstandings, myths and flat-out lunacy.
Black culture isn’t about wearing urban gear, speaking poorly, acting slovenly and disrespecting the Mandisas of the world. And young blacks are the big losers if they think those things define our culture. We are not that.
None of this is easy. And as so many readers pointed out, the very parents who need to read Mandisa’s story probably won’t. Maybe we have to do what one reader, a third-generation college-educated black female, suggested: Start a pass-it-on torch.
Every Sunday, she and a relative stress the importance of education in sessions where young people learn new vocabulary words and work on math. Her church does likewise.
“If those of us who have ‘made it’ learn to pass it on, maybe in 100 years or so, the world would be a different place,” she wrote. “Realize, however, that many of their parents weren’t taught these things, and that it will also need to be instilled in them.”
This is just one way to tackle the problem. If you have other ideas, please share them.
There are lots of us out there who don’t want this self-fulfilling prophecy of failure passed on to the next generation.
Stop the lunacy.
Rick Badie’s column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Contact him at 770-263-3875; or e-mail: rbadie@ajc.com.
What is so ‘un-black’ about being intelligent?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mandisa likes Abercrombie & Fitch, not FUBU.
She speaks proper English, not Ebonics.
She takes honor classes and belongs to the Beta Club and National Arts Honors Society at Parkview High. She plays the violin and has danced and sung in area productions of “The Nutcracker” and “My Fair Lady.”
Mandisa Surpris, a 15-year-old sophomore, is all this.
And she’s black.
Some of the other black students don’t know what to make of her. The way she dresses, the way she talks, the grades she earns. She’s an anomaly. To them, she’s more white than black. They’ve even told her so to her face.
“It’s the most ignorant statement I’ve ever heard,” Mandisa told me. “A lot of black students have the ability, but they think that being smart isn’t cool. So they hide it.”
She can talk about her experience now because she knows how to deal with it. That hasn’t always been the case.
Last year, the comments, slights and snubs took a toll. Mondays, the start of the school week, were especially tough. She’d complain of pain in her limbs. Mom and Dad took her to several doctors. Tests were taken and exams were given. Nothing.
Then, a doctor at Emory University wondered if her illness wasn’t psychosomatic. Something, he said, must be going on in Mandisa’s life that’s making her body ache. It was a breakthrough.
Mandisa, crying, had a heart-to-heart with Mom and Dad. She told them how some – not all — black students treated her as an oddity because she didn’t succumb to their idiotic and destructive views of the black diaspora. My words, not hers.
“It was painful,” said Renald Surpris, her father. “Some black kids don’t have the education and understanding to accept people for who they are, not what they look like.”
I know what some of you are thinking. Here Rick goes again. Writing about race. Stirring up trouble. Critics say it all the time. I don’t care. I write about racial issues carefully and selectively, and sometimes, when I’m ticked off.
Like now.
My people, my people. Some of you disturb me. There’s something terribly wrong when black students — even one — at Parkview or any other Gwinnett campus criticize, ridicule and question the “blackness” of someone like Mandisa simply because she wants to excel.
It’s even sadder in this case because Parkview High is no ghetto school. Its student population doesn’t hail from lower-income apartment complexes and subdivisions. At Parkview, the parents and students consider their school the crème de la crème of public schools, the clientele upper-crust perhaps and at the very least middle-class.
So I blame parents. You black parents.
It’s your fault if your children think academic achievement is uncool, anti-black and pro-white. It’s your fault if your offspring are so enthralled with the so-called thug life that they devalue education, hard work and dedication.
And you’re especially to blame if your child’s sense of black culture means that you have to think and act a certain way, and that to do otherwise means you’re acting like whitey.
It’s your fault. And you’re crippling your kids.
Mandisa wants to pursue acting or a career in the fashion industry. She plans to attend college in New York, her birthplace. I’m sure she’ll be fine.
It’s the kids who ridicule her that I worry about. When they succumb to this crippling ignorance, we all lose. We’ll have fewer doctors, teachers, artists and more. Fewer people to be proud of.
- (Badie note: Wow. The comments keep coming regarding “Miss Mandisa” and her experiences at Parkview High. They have overloaded my blog, so much so that we are going to stop accepting comments on this particular subject - at least for a little while. Look for Sunday’s column, though: I plan to write a follow-up piece on what obviously is a rich topic. Thanks again for taking the time to post your thoughts, experiences and insight. Have a great weekend. Be safe. PEACE.)
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