If nothing else, all of the work that i have done over the past three years has indeed made me a more conscious person. I have been challenged to consider all aspects of my life without exception, plumbing the depths to find what it takes to do this kind of thing responsibly. I feel that it is irresponsible to attempt this kind of thing if you cannot manage to have your heart in it. I have had to become more conscious in every aspect of my life from my appearance and character to my table manners. Living in a house full of women i have learned without fail to put the toilet seat down after use. For someone aspiring to become more conscious this job provides an atmosphere most conducive.
However, one drawback of becoming more conscious means becoming more responsible. If you wish to be in touch with the world you live in and the realities contained therein, then you must take on those realities in yourself. If you wish to be aware then you are faced with the choice to accept and consider what you learn or to ignore it. If you choose to accept and consider it, you must take responsibility for it and do what you can to make it better. Its easy to say that you want a peaceful, loving world but if you truly want those who have very little in our society to have enough we have to be personally willing to sacrifice something. What would you give up to give the less fortunate a better life? It often happens that i fall into a certain rhythm with the children, a certain routine with which i am very comfortable and it is shortly thereafter announced in a meeting that the routine must change into a more labor-intensive routine to fit the changing needs of the child. I am frustrated because i liked the ease and comfort of the old way but the truth is that the child has needs and we need to go from playing in the yard to structured cleaning tasks and writing lessons. The world is the same way. We can be comfortable with the rhythm of our lives. We can choose not to learn about how even by our consumer-choices we are supporting inhumane business practices. Or we can choose to accept that the food in our refrigerator was bought at a good price because it was grown and harvested by humans just like us with families and children who dream like all children do, the difference being that these are being exploited in fields in Florida to pick tomatoes for Taco Bell while they can barely afford to keep their babies alive but you can still get a damn good burrito for 99 cents. I know about the exploitation and the heartbreak and the struggles because i work with the children. I know through their parents, many of whom are my age.
Because of this, i am slowly learning that i have to change the way i live. Consider that by getting good deals at Wal-Mart, you are also supporting the suffering of good people. Know that you don't have to participate in this new evolution of slavery if you make an effort to know the origin of the food you eat and the products you buy. Is it ok to put American children in hot factories to make them sew jeans for people in Malaysia? Then why is the reverse ok? If you buy coffee, look for 'fair trade' coffee and drink happily knowing that you are paying for farmers to have enough to feed their families.

All i ask is that you do not just read these blogs and think that there is anything extraordinary about me or my work. The task of building a better world falls on the shoulders of every single person and their willingness to take responsibility for the world we live in. I would beg that if you are reading this blog, that you resolve to make at least one change in your life that benefits those who need it. It doesn't matter who. You could be more conscious of your water usage or buy espresso drinks at Dunkin' Donuts because they serve only 'fair-trade' espresso. You could smile at that homeless guy you always see or give a flower to someone who has upset you.
There are things that every person can do to make a better world, i can tell you that us volunteers aren't going to be able to manage it alone.


So good night, and good luck.

Every day after Oscar, my 9-year-old boy, finishes his homework he puts on a rubber glove and goes outside with me who, carrying a little plastic baggie walks behind him as he picks up all of the trash that has collected in a day along the side of the house facing the street. The end of the house is about one house down from a corner store. This corner store, (which seems to be like most i have seen in the area/country) is run by a middle-eastern family and largely frequented by gentlemen who sell drugs and gentlemen who drink alcohol frequently. Often times, individuals will bear both of the descriptions listed above simultaneously.

In between our house and the store is a group of men that varies in number from day to day, but is comprised of certain core members who, 'run the block'. Often times to get to the house one must walk through the large crowd who will generally ignore if not politely step out of the way for you, (and by 'you', i mean me, because who i am is entirely connected to what i do and their awareness of it and if one of you were to walk through the same crowd right now i could not guarantee you the same results.)

Anyway, in the midst of all this is Oscar with his glove and i with my bag, gingerly removing the remnants of last night on the block. What we find scattered in the front gardens can provide some insight into what the neighborhood is made up of, like a social biopsy revealing secrets about the life it came from. In an average day our bag will surely have at least one flask or can whose leftover contents slosh around in the plastic grocery bag with cigarette butts, miniature zip lock bags used to dispense crack-cocaine, fast-food wrappers, church fliers, candy and candy wrappers from the school children and occasionally the odd item such as a cereal box or canister of raisins, half-eaten. On the days that, for whatever reason, Oscar cannot be there, i end up with the privilege of wearing the glove as well and have found a few treasures including a bullet shell that appeared to belong to some kind of small handgun and some intact bags of coke or heroin or something that must have been abandoned in a moment of panic or disorientation. I found something poetic about the bullet cast into the garden, a bullet being like a seed of death that can stop a family tree from growing. I saw the drugs as seeds of struggle in a society so desperate that they will peddle poisons to their own community in an attempt to rise out of it. I thought of the music that blares on every corner, glorifying both of these evils, cultivating death and struggle in youths who should be given a chance to grow and live. Ghetto is an image now, an image that i believe is meant to give power to the people it addresses. But what i see is that the ghetto is crying and terrified. The ghetto is full of mothers who want better for their children and fathers who hate themselves because they can't provide it. Its full of little girls who look for love in the wrong places and end up pregnant with babies that they can't love because they have never known love. Its full of those babies, all-grown up and devoid of Love, wondering why life seems like such a struggle. And so in conclusion to this, i ask if 'ghetto' has become fashionable, in whose image is it fashioned?

With such realities as global warming and nuclear threat, talk of the end times is on the rise. People mutter about the apocalypse and speak of the return of Christ. What did Christ bring to the world? Love. That would be a revolution. We live in an age where we watch our own human family, just across the bridge from us, starving and struggling while we casually pass them by in comfortable indifference. By our own fears we deny a better world. Its the world of a child, where everyone is a potential friend and disputes can be overcome with laughter and forgiveness. Far surpassing the Levite in the story of the good Samaritan, we pass by our own countrymen and women on the road each day and insist we have 'something more important to do'. I believe that Jesus is a' comin' back. I also believe that he comes back a little more each time you dare to Love instead of fear people.

Please pardon the infrequent postings these days, it seems as though the spaces in my life have been slowly filled with things like taking a more active interest in my spirituality and falling in Love.

Much runs through my head in a week that occurs to me as good fodder for the blog. Every day is full of little lessons and anecdotes, beautiful moments that if properly articulated could bring home the Pulitzer, though at the end of the day when i'm laying on my unmade bed staring up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of car stereos and emergency vehicle sirens i find myself at a loss to collect these moments into one coherent statement. So without further ado, here i will surrender any such ambitions and simply present some seedling thoughts which has flittered across the screen of my mind as of late.

There are certain things which i can count on with regularity in an average workday. For example, when i walk through the door into the playroom where the 2-year-olds for whom i am partially responsible are playing, i can be sure that little Laney will say something to the effect of, "Leave me alone, Derek," or "Get out of here," or "Don't look at me!" These are the terrible twos at their finest.
I can also always look forward to nap time with Fiona wherein we have a special deal that i will sing a little 'bonus' song to precede the standard, 'Hush Little Baby' (which is used to get them all the way into sleep). When we finish her story book and it comes time to decide which the bonus song will be, she invariably says, "Ummmmmmm.....ummm......uuuuuuummm..." until she feels sufficient suspense has been built around the issue so that she can say, "Old MacDonald Had a Farm".
I always know that the same guy from the halfway house is going to ask me for change while i'm walking between houses and another guy from the same place will ask me for a cigarette, (neither of which i am ever able to provide but this does not seem to deter them).

I have been noticing, even since our arrival, an increasing number of white people in this predominantly black neighborhood - mostly artistically inclined young people who appear to be moving in for the cheap rent and easy access to Berkeley, San Francisco, etc. Interestingly enough, today i found myself feeling some resent about this fact. Not that i have anything against white people. Some of my best friends are white people. In fact, my own body is a white person. However i view my position in the neighborhood as very different from the average arthouse freeloader. Myself and the organization i am with is here to help raise the people and community around us rise up out of the systems of oppression and injustice that hold them down in these conditions and hopefully raise the living standards of their own neighborhood. What happens when the white kids start to show up is that the door is held open for more well-to-do folks (often white) from other parts to come in and start buying up all the good (and relatively cheap) property and remodeling and refurbishing and redeveloping to fit their tastes. The white kids are able to do this because they are obviously not rich, and while they will be harassed they do not appear to pose such an imminent threat as their upper-class counterparts. This breaks up the social bedrock and allows those with the gold to descend. This then forces the residents who struggle to make it at current rent prices out of the area and again into another run-down location where they are left again at square-one because they are unable to build a solid social or economic foundation with all the hustling around such as this that goes on, compounded with the fact that they come from generations of strife and instability.
What i have just given is a long-winded, West-Oakland definition of gentrification. In case you couldn't glean from the subtle clues, i don't like it.

Aside from that, life is just very different out here. Today on the playground as school was letting out i saw a kindergarten teacher standing there with a can of whipped cream calling out, "Anybody want some whipped cream?" Children would come up with hands out and she would squirt little dollops into them. The kids loved it! I guess aside from licking their hands its not all that unsanitary but you would be hard-pressed to find such a scene in the finer public schools in the hills. One thing that strikes me again and again however is the sense of community that flourishes amongst the children here. Children whose parents can't afford to give them much have to resort to things like, God forbid, playing together. Its not the individualistic, each-kid gets-a-pile-of-toys-or-a-video-game-system-and-goes-off-into-his-own-little-egocentric-world-to-learn-the-modern-American-way type of scene. Its kids, running the streets, (yes, this is unsafe and can lead to all kinds of trouble but indulge my romantic waxing for the time) altogether in a world of their own, playing with sticks and stones and other tools of the imagination. If ever you spot a bag of chips in the group, the chips are property of the group and are passed from hand to hand equally. If we go to the playground with a basketball we are inevitably approached by a roving pair-or-more of boys (or girls) who offer to play or ask to borrow it. While i'm sure this way has its ups and downs, its a refreshing taste of change in a world where it seems half of us don't know our next-door-neighbor's first name.

I know it must seem like something of a sacrifice to leave the comforts of middle-class, middle America to come to the rough streets of West Oakland to do this kind of work but i must say that i truly feel that it has been by far more of a blessing than a sacrifice of any kind. Here in these dilapidated streets where the police and ambulances wont answer to calls and many of the parents are still children i find a certain simplicity and directness that has gone missing in the more well-to-do world. More than anything however, i am most struck by the vitality of the environment. Those who struggle, live, and live to the core of their beings. Walking down the streets on Sunday mornings i can hear the resounding bellows of 'Hallelujah!!!' cascading out of church doors as hearts long weary from the burdens of an unforgiving life find their expression in songs of praise and thanksgiving. I look in and see a little man hammering away at the drumset, a preacher with his arms outstretched and tears streaming down his cheeks and a congregation of my human family swaying together in the swell of deep and joyful voices. It is then that i get a glimpse of that indomitable human spirit, what Barack Obama in his book refers to as the 'Audacity of Hope' which lets me know that through all this darkness, through all this war and poverty and greed and corruption, we will not be defeated in our quest for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

On the occasion of Valentine's day, a day to remember the joys of Love, i thought i might share some lovely moments from my life as of late. There are times in this work when from behind the child you are working with, some deeper wisdom rears its coy little head, something that speaks from a place beyond yet unbeknownst to the child. Here are the examples that i can remember, plus a little story i heard.

As i was putting a little boy down for his nap just the other day we were reading his story in which the protagonist is featured throughout the book in the illustrations, sometimes hidden on the page but always somewhere to be found. This particular book appears a very San Francisco children's book, touching on themes of universality in diversity, love and understanding for all and the importance of open-mindedness. Throughout the story he would consistently search for the character and let me known when he had found him, "There he is, Derek. Oh look he's over there!" Well this went on for some time until i finally commented on his dedication to the task, at which point he said (or perhaps responded,) "God is everywhere," and before i could recover from the shock of hearing this he continued, "he's a shadow." And that was that. No follow up. No explanation. I tried a bit to ask but he had already moved on.

In another moment we were outside ogling a snail as it slunk through the garden. A circle of little heads surrounded the creature as it made its slow and slimy way along the dirt. To make things interesting i tried suggesting possible destinations for the snail. "Do you think he's going back home? Maybe he's going out to the grocery store?" At which point one little girl with a particular amount of character turned to me and said with no lack of conviction, "Noooooo!"
"Ok," i replied, "then tell me where he's going."
With a confident stroke of her finger she pointed to the very spot where the snail was and said, "Right here."

Today i was in the middle of the post-lunch chaos, a time when the children in some order are trying to find time to wash their hands and use one of the two bathrooms between the time they finish their meal and nap time. An older child was seated, awaiting his turn in the bathroom and for some reason smacked me on the hand as i went by. Not in the mood for tomfoolery, i bent down and began to lay into him a bit for his behavior. It occurred to me at one point that perhaps i should let up and had said enough, though i continued to say my piece until i was satisfied. I was stressed and needed vindication. Immediately after i was finished he casually looked down at my bracelet, the bracelet that was used as proof of payment at a spiritual retreat i attended in the fall which i still wear, and he asked, "What does your bracelet say?"
'Fill you heart with Love and express it in everything you do,' my bracelet reads.
"That's a very good question," i replied.

And the last and final story was told by Carol, my supervisor, second hand from some friends of hers. Apparently the friends had a four-year-old child and had just brought a newborn into the world. From the time the four-year old met her younger sibling she was insistent about wanting to be alone with it. She was so insistent, in fact, that it worried the parents enough to make them wary of leaving her alone with the baby. Undaunted, the child persisted until finally the parents agreed to let the child have a few moments in the room with the baby. Before this could happen however, the parents put the baby monitor right next to the crib, turned it up to full-blast and stood outside with ears pressed against the door. Shortly thereafter, through the speaker of the monitor they heard the following,
"I want you to tell me about God again - I'm forgetting."

It gives me chills even writing it.

Happy Valentines Day. Spread the Love.

For those of you who are planning a visit to West Oakland anytime soon, i thought i might provide a little vocabulary primer to acquaint you with some of the terms you might encounter along the way. For example, a 9-year old approaches you and says, "yo my stunners are baller!" he means:

A) he is good at basketball
B) he is learning about stingrays in school
C) his sunglasses are cool

give up? The answer is 'C'. 'Stunners' or 'Stunner Shades' are all the rage in hip-hop fashion. Popularized in hip hop songs and flouted by popular performers, these seemingly retro, wraparound sunglasses have made a 'stunning' comeback in pop-culture. 'Baller', meanwhile, is a term to express approval. Originally this word was used to describe an invidual who possessed exceptional skills in basketball. Eventually, the word became an adjective to describe anything exceptional. If i were to complement another's sunglasses, for example, i could simply say, "Baller Stunners, Son." The usage of the word 'son' has also become common, used between peers as a sort of tongue-in-cheek statement on status between two parties. Frequently on the street ball court, if one individual should excel over another considerably, he takes the liberty of heartily exclaiming, "That's right Son!" in the face of his erstwhile opponent.

Another important fashion detail is the 'Air Force' sneaker. 'Air Force' is a sneaker manufactured by Nike and worn by hip-hop professionals the world over. An individual who owns both Stunner shades and Air Forces automatically qualifies as 'Baller'.

One's automobile is an outstanding status symbol in this area, and a surefire mark of a high-roller is the presence of 'spinners' on his hubcaps. Spinners are a rotating addition to the caps which spin rapidly, long after the car has come to a stop. Normally these embellishments are fashioned of highly reflective stainless steel or some such material and go to great lengths to be as 'bling-bling' as possible.

'Bling-bling' is a term used to denote wealth, especially material wealth including gold, diamonds and other expensive jewelry. This term can also refer to cars, houses, watches and other luxuries. This term comes from the onomatopoeia 'bling', a sound made by the reflective shine of an object. Bling-bling can also refer to an individual's 'grill', or decorative tooth-capping often done with diamonds and gold. Also promoted by hip-hop culture, the 'grill' has taken a dental approach to the 'bling-bling' effort.

Particular to the Bay Area is 'hyphy', a term which wikipedia describes as "...dictated by more uptempo beats. An individual is said to "get hyphy" when they act or dance in an overstated and ridiculous manner," is a word which can be used to described anything of a similarly overstated manner. It also carries with it a certain sense of Bay Area pride. The local ice cream truck is called, "Hyphy Icy" and it blasts hip-hop beats with lyrics about ice cream.

If you have made it this far congratulations, because you have just completed the introductory language course for your visit to West Oakland. With these terms in mind, you will be able to communicate your basic needs and prove that you are 'baller' with minimal effort.
So put your stunner shades on, flash your grill and prepare to get hyphy.

After the time-out debacle our dynamic duo of toddlers would gather for cheese and crackers. I happily leave the pleasure of the experience to my lovely coworker and set out to prepare the pacific nap room. At some point both snack times find their conclusion (the toddler section and the '4 and up' section) and the children begin spilling out of the rooms like ball bearings on a hardwood floor, crashing and bumping against each other with adults like flippers in a pinball machine trying to guide them aright. Some children must wash their hands and go pee pee, others must be filtered into the coat room to collect their 'outside things' (galoshes, rain pants, jackets, etc.). In between these two destinations one can find a variety of other activities taking place: hopping up and down on the newly made nap-cots, crawling under tables, smacking me on the buttocks while running by in a blindingly fast bolt of toddler-lightning. "We don't hit at Sophia House!" i call out limply as the Tasmanian devil goes tearing by down the hallway.

Somehow, with a magic that i can only liken to what is commonly called, 'the magic of the theater' in which everything miraculously manages to happen with a sort of frantic grace, the children all make it outside - clean hands, rain pants, the whole show. A new addition to my schedule this year is the duty of lunch-cook for the children twice a week. While the pleasure of sharing 'outside time' with the children is one that i truly enjoy i am now most happy to have a few relatively quiet spaces in my schedule to spend cooking meatballs or chicken soup or spaghetti for 14. The meals are regimented, uniform and simple. The condiments are: ranch dressing. I have become quite accustomed to the taste of rice with avocados, tomatoes and ranch (for the aspiring vegetarian this is often all that remains at the children's lunch table).
I thought with some arrogance that perhaps i had mastered the art of speed-cooking. Having lived at Camphill where i once threw together a pizza (from scratch, crust and all) in one hour i thought i could easily field the small chips of kiddie lunches pre-planned. However, the very details have become my near downfall.

Imagine if you will: 1 hour. 3 lbs of ground beef rolled into bite-size balls and pan-fried. 4 cups of rice. i bag of 12 carrots diced and boiled, then topped with honey and butter. 3 tomatoes, 3 avocados and 1 1/2 cucumbers diced and laid beautifully out on little ceramic dishes. Also, wiping down the little dining room, setting places and washing the dishes from snack to be reused at lunch. By the time i finish up this kind of work i will gain not only character but the performance skills of a kitchen commando.

The rest of the day essentially follows the old pattern involving naps, tutoring and cleanup. I realized recently that i am in effect voluntarily flunking 3rd grade for this position, at least the homework component of it. I am now very refreshed in times tables, pluralizing words, story problems and the like. However, my relationship with Oscar is sailing along smoothly with the sort of unspoken understanding that if i only pick the most important battles he will cooperate when i do. Its very pleasant, really.

And that's how life began in 2007.

I woke up this morning in the dark, an all-too familiar experience that lets you know without question that the relief of the holiday has come to an end and you have been flung once more into the race of life. For about thirty minutes i wrestled with a sense of dread. However, as i went through my morning routine the warmth began to return. I could hear the laughter and screams of the children reverberating through my floorboards from below. By the time i had swallowed the last sweet drop of coffee most of my dread had dwindled. I descended the stairs, took a deep breath and pushed the door to the playroom open. The reception i got there was warm but not overstated. Rather than shrieking in excitement from having not seen me for two weeks, the children were primarily concerned with telling me that Martin (a former coworker who has returned for a few months to help out) was back and now there were two boy teachers!!

I proceeded to the back room where i have now been assigned and had morning circle with the two year olds. This consists of attempting to wrangle two little ones into an activity that involves standing in place, singing, listening and doing the proscribed movements. Needless to say, our first attempt was not altogether perfect. In the first few moments the children were intrigued. This was a new format for them and before they realized they were expected to do anything, they did it voluntarily and out of curiosity. However, once it became apparent that we wanted them to participate the magic quickly faded. On one hand Lila broke away from the circle, pressing her face into the carpet and pushing herself along with her back legs in a movement reminiscent of a bulldozer. On the other young Isaac was flapping his little arms and jumping 360, although at least in one place. Slowly Isaac managed to flap down to a small fidget but Lila continued to doze the carpet with her face. Sadly i saw the dreaded sidewards flit of the eyes from my fellow coworker and activity leader which said, "she needs to go," whereupon i had no choice but to hook the little one under the arms and carry her now arch-backed and protesting body from the sunny little room into an adjacent, equally sunny 'time-out' room.

There we sat together, me in a little blue chair and her on the floor screaming unholy murder. At this point i had no choice but to resort to my trusty, divert-attention-out-the-window trick. Much to my delight there was a cat walking along the fence edge in the back yard, a surefire distraction for any little one caught in the chasms of irate shrieking so deeply that even she couldn't remember what she was carrying on about. Withing minutes she was pushing her little head between me and the window, begging to see the kitty cat. Unfortunately it was too little too late. The cat's time had come and gone, but she had forgotten her fury and all was well in the time-out room again.

(to be continued)