See Ya, 2023!

Today I drove my partner's very fast car down the 101 from Pepperdine back into the city. The sky was hazy-cloudy-gray, and the ocean stretched out to the horizon. The sun was falling toward the sea and the whole world shimmered like it had been dipped in silver. 

2023 has been a year, but I'm trying to let go of judgement. I don't know if 2023 is was better or worse than the one before. It feels like we've had a streak of rough ones, but I do know the year is almost over, and a new one is about to begin. 

Last year started with letting go my position with the Women Who Submit blog. The Breathe and Push column and the numerous writers who submitted helped me grow as a writer and editor. What a wonderful opportunity to serve this creative community for so long. The unexpected gift of letting go, was seeing how Thea Pueschell took the reins in that space and filling it with beautiful intersections. 

January also took our family into Little Tokyo to the Japanese American National Museum where we visited and stamped the Ireicho. I wrote about the experience for High Country News who commissioned beautiful artwork to accompany my essay. It was a powerful experience, and I urge all to look back at the names of their ancestors and take time to honor them. 

At the end of February, I joined the Altadena poet laureate, Carla Sameth, for a poetry reading. My first in-person reading as a poet! 

In March, I made my way to Seattle where AWP was being held. I didn't go to the conference, but helped host a Women Who Submit celebration. We heard from powerful voices in our WWS community and opened the call for submissions for TRANSFORMATION, the next WWS anthology. 

I published a couple of poems with The Rising Phoenix Review: "Cat's Cradle" which Rising Phoenix later nominated for Best of the Net, "Pronunciation Guide for my Mother" and a short story, "Birdless Dawn," with Literary Mama. My story, "All That Can Wait," was selected for Made in LA's fifth book, Vantage Points. 

A few weeks later, on the ides of March, UTLA members found ourselves back on the picket line as part of the SEIU solidarity strike. SEIU won big on the other end, as did UTLA a few weeks later. We celebrated birthdays, attended and coached so many soccer, basketball, baseball, and softball games that we lost count and our minds. We graduated a fifth grader who moved on to start middle school. 

I attended book launches and readings, read some amazing books, wrote a haiku poem on most days, and started reading and studying tarot.

Books you should read: 

Xochitl Julisa Bermejo's Incantation, a spellbinding poetry collection that honors, grapples, and loves this complicated world. 

School Trip a graphic novel by Jerry Craft, which helped my and my students travel to France and re-examine humor and our identities as Americans. 

Rodeo Queen, Tisha Reichle Aguilera's Breaking Pattern, and be transported into the world of competitive rodeo with Adriana and her family and friends. 

Ruth Ozeki's The Book of Form and Emptiness which beautifully gives voice to The Book, Benny, and all the voices he hears. 

2023 was a year that was both hard and fast, so in 2024, the year I'll turn 50, I'm setting an intention for a slower, softer year. The beauty of tonight's silver sunset filled me with gratitude. As the vast ugliness of the world rears its head with wars and vitriol, I hope some shimmer of beauty sneaks up on you in these last moments of the year. Happy New Year. 

What's Up With Dress Codes?

I thought I was going to write another back-to-school essay about the start of this school year. I was going to praise the new supplies, the shiny floors, the fresh faces, and my anticipation of another group of students. But then the week started, and I didn't make make it to the page to write. Now things have shifted. 

Kiara started middle school on Monday. This could be a whole post, but I've been processing it for over a year in therapy, so I'm good. 

I thought of her all day, and after school, I raced to pick her up. She had a great first day. She had friends in her classes. She felt comfortable on campus, and even though her lunch got stepped on and still hadn't gotten a locker, she was happy.

As we drove to pick up her brother at her old elementary school, however, she made a confession. "I was out of dress code today." 

I looked over at her denim skirt and olive green t-shirt with the words, "Open Heart, Open Mind" above where a pocket might have been. She did not look like she was out of dress code. My girl follows rules and doesn't like to get in trouble. But, according to the sixth grade orientation, and the staff member who advised her at lunch: her jean skirt was too short, hanging a FULL INCH above her fingertips when her hands hung unnaturally at her sides. 

"So, what do I wear tomorrow?" she asked, visibly concerned. 

For her first six years of school, Kiara has worn shorts, skirts, or leggings. Her elementary school didn't care how long or short, how baggy or tight. But now, as she enters the hormone-charged space that is middle school, with all of these rapidly changing adolescent bodies sharing space, suddenly how much of her legs, her stomach, or her shoulders is showing has become an issue. 

We picked up Gabe and continued to consider what Kiara might wear. Gabe grew instantly concerned in the back seat. "What will they say about what I wear when I go there?"

"You'll be fine." I quipped. "Your t-shirt and shorts aren't going to bother anyone."

And that should be my daughters' experience as well. Kiara, and all of our students should be able to wear what they feel comfortable wearing to school. They shouldn't be worried about what school staff will say about their clothes or bodies.

I haven't always been on track with this. Years of teaching middle school and hearing girls question my enforcement of our school's uniform policy showed me where I was wrong. Being the parent of a daughter has solidified my learning and readied me for this work. 

Our schools should not be implementing dress codes. For those clutching at their pearls at seeing bare thighs, shoulders, and midriffs, for those thinking dress codes to help our girls understand "appropriate" attire, these policies are ultimately about the male gaze. These policies sexualize and objectify our girls and young women. And in addition to these "too tight, too short" aspects of dress codes targeting mostly girls, there are also the too-baggy, too-saggy pants policies and earrings-can't-be-hoops-larger-than-a-quarter polities that target our Black and Brown students. 

I've thought about complying, about ordering longer shorts and telling my girl to just go along with it. But our girls will be taught to comply with systems for the rest of their lives, and this policy is wrong. We are going to fight it. Let's get rid of dress codes and free our teachers and administrators from enforcing sexist and racist dress codes. Let's model not talking about kids' bodies at school and body-shaming should not come from our schools. 

Kiara's first-day-of-school shirt urged "Open Heart, Open Mind." I hope her school will soon approach all students with this same attitude. Let's promote a body-positive culture so don't have to give my girl this affirmation on the drive home. "There's nothing wrong with you. There is something wrong with the policy."

For the Class of 2023

I didn't realize until this morning, a week after these students had walked the stage and the year had come to a close, that although this speech had been passed on to students, I never shared it here. So, here it is, my honoring of this year's students. Click here for previous culmination addresses. 

To the Class of 2023

Do you remember that moment? Sometime this past winter, we discussed spring and graduation, but it was strange. You were not very excited about it, as if none of you could imagine graduation, what you might wear, or who would be there to cheer you across the stage, all of those mixed emotions that come with seeing your classmates dressed up, and smiling mixed with a little sadness and nostalgia as you move on from these hallways, these teachers, these friends. 

That was when I realized, you, this class of 2023 had never graduated. You all were fifth graders in 2020 when the world shut down when the end of fifth grade was stolen from you. There were no celebrations, no last days of elementary to mark all you had learned and accomplished. But that was three years ago now, and since then we’ve been working hard and adjusting to being back. 

I’ve tried to help, to bring grace and forgiveness and understanding to whatever you all came back with. But I realized, I am still hurting. I haven’t been angry, but so many have been, and even if we feel like we’re okay, many of us have been caught in the path of someone else’s destruction. 

So, I became cautious. I was teaching in the same room, same books, same poems, but I was on watch. Was that comment mean? Was he gaslighting me? Was she being sweet, or fake? I was stuck in my head, and I took things personally. I was hurting. 

In her song, “Anti-Hero,” Taylor Swift says, “It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me.” I played this song back in November when we were writing novels. My novel this year was about a girl who lied, but it wasn’t until recently, that I realized I was the liar. I had been trying to convince all of you to choose kindness, choose love, invest in relationships, but I was scared to do the same. I guarded my heart. I kept my distance. 

And yet, and you showed me brilliance. You shared your lives, your stories, your experiences and slowly, cautiously, you cracked my heart back open. You reminded me that I get out of teaching what I put into it, that what I give in my relationships with each of you, make this work rewarding; fulfilling. 

French philosopher Albert Camus says, “Real generosity toward the future lies in giving all to the present.” Thank you, Class of 2023, for being so generous to me, for reminding me to be present each day. For this past school year, you have been my present. You have taught me to be here, where my feet are, and that is what gives this work meaning: the relationships we build as people, as a class, as a school, as a community. Thank you for reading and writing and learning with me. Thank you for all you have taught me. Taylor also says, “One day I’ll watch as you’re leaving, and life will lose all its meaning” but that’s where Taylor might not be right. Life has meaning. Right here, right now, where our feet are, on this graduation day. You made it. We made it, and life has the meaning we chose to make of it. 

Thank you.