If comprehensive #CommonSenseGunLaws were passed in 2018, it would take approximately 21-years to significantly reduce (perhaps eliminate) mass shootings at schools and 35-years to do do the same for mass shootings across the United STates.

Okay, say what you want about my math, but here it is anyway...
If in 2018, the average age of a mass school shooter is 21 and if we subtract 21-years from the current year (2018 - 21) we get the year 1997. I got that approximate age by adding the ages of shooters listed in this NY Daily News. 

If, in 2018, the average age of all mass shooters is 35, and, if we subtract 35 from the current year (2018 - 35) we get the year 1983. I got that approximate age by adding the ages of all the mass shooters listed in a Wikipedia table. 

Imagine today had we accepted our responsibility for developing comprehensive #CommonSenseGunLaws in 1949 at the time of the Camden shooting or in 1966 when the University of Texas tower shooting occurred.

Sisterhood...
See it (check).

Sisterhood...
Think it (check).

Sisterhood...
Wear it (check).

Sisterhood...
Do it (uhh, umm)...
See, what had happened was...
I heard - "when you know better, you do better."
However, I didn't realize there was
so much space between
knowing AND DOING.

​Sisterhood...
I didn't know
"doing" was like ALWAYS capitalized

​Sisterhood...
I didn't know
I had to
Experience it.
and/or

Feel it.
and/or

Share it.
and/or

Receive it.
and/or

​Believe it...
Enough to absorb enough space
For me to
Know it AND Do it.

Prodigal

This is a story
only for fathers and God.
Mothers rarely save their wealth
as after death gifts.
If some mothers hold it all till the end
they've learned this practice from men.

In the story of mothers and God,
we give all to our daughters
shingle by shingle
faith they become
women
fortified in character,
mighty and strong,
with reserves to rebuild
after meeting prodigal sons--

Nemesis for Hire

Greetings My Friend!

Feeling forlorn in a life that’s untorn?

Are your emotions flatlining?
Your food tasteless while dining?

Do you have a Dad and/or Mum?
But the relationship’s not bum?

When you talk to others, do you walk away understood?

Are you a boy or a girl or not sure in this world?

Still, you’ve never had an issue?
Never or rarely in need of tissue?

Are you wondering why you stay in one spot?
Questioning where greener grass grows while yours seems to rot?

Nemesis, my friend.
Everyone needs one.

You know, something to beat,
rage against and defeat!

Oh of your luck, to happen upon me!
A complete free agent, born to circumstance.
A nemesis connoisseur;
I‘ve experienced a slew.
And would love to be nemesis for you!

My resume - more than show and tell
it displays variety as well.

the grandeur of my flighty foes:
Religion and gender and poverty and slights
from elementary school to all sort of professional fights!
Rejections from lovers, acquaintances, colleagues children, and friends,
But my point was not to write a list with no end...

I’ve had intimate sessions with aggressions
Designed by Micro and Mac
Ask those masquerading to "know" me
But really the culprits providing the whacks!
I've lost many battles, but tend to win wars.
It’s the journey my friend,
the end always bores!

But everyone loves you, damn-it: let’s cut to the chase.
I'm a nemesis for hire.
I’ve all you need to sire
a challenging move
And get some flavorful food!

As for your lack of of ambiguity
I'll target your mum -
And develop for you
A graphic-like model, epic Shakespearian feud
You know, the kind,
Only death soothes

Title: Remembering the Future


Sitting on the deck built for an outgrown life, the sun moves over head from the east to rest its sinking westward - directly opposite you.


Its roundness spreading; its color smudging into a setting that pulls water from your eyes.


Through blurred vision - welcome the surprise sadness that comes from remembering the future.


By Mursalata

Mursalata Muhammad
her hand & pen
she'll be great but
god knows when

Mursalata Muhammad is my name
with my pen & access to various technologies I wrote the same
I wrote it in both haste and speed
& left it here for fools to read

A round, green cardboard sign hangs from a string proclaiming, “We built a proud new feeling,” the slogan of a local supermarket. It is a souvenir from one of my brother’s last jobs. In addition to being a bagger, he’s worked at a fast-food restaurant, a gas station, a garage and a textile factory. Now, in the icy clutches of the Northeastern winter, he is unemployed. He will soon be a father. He is 19 years old.

In mid-December I was at Stanford, among the palm trees and weighty chores of academe. And all I wanted to do was get out. I joined the rest of the undergrads in a chorus of excitement, singing the praises of Christmas break. No classes, no midterms, no finals . . . and no freshmen! (I’m a resident assistant.) Awesome! I was looking forward to escaping. I never gave a thought to what I was escaping to.

Once I got home to New Jersey, reality returned. My dreaded freshmen had been replaced by unemployed relatives; badgering professors had been replaced by hard-working single mothers, and cold classrooms by dilapidated bedrooms and kitchens. The room in which the “proud new feeling” sign hung contained the belongings of myself, my mom and my brother. But for these two weeks it was mine. They slept downstairs on couches.
​
Most students who travel between the universes of poverty and affluence during breaks experience similar conditions, as well as the guilt, the helplessness and, sometimes, the embarrassment associated with them. Our friends are willing to listen, but most of them are unable to imagine the pain of the impoverished lives that we see every six months. Each time I return home I feel further away from the realities of poverty in America and more ashamed that they are allowed to persist. What frightens me most is not that the American socioeconomic system permits poverty to continue, but that by participating in that system I share some of the blame.

Last year I lived in an on-campus apartment, with a (relatively) modern bathroom, kitchen and two bedrooms. Using summer earnings, I added some expensive prints, a potted palm and some other plants, making the place look like the more-than-humble abode of a New York City Yuppie. I gave dinner parties, even a soirée française.

For my roommate, a doctor’s son, this kind of life was nothing extraordinary.  But my mom was struggling to provide a life for herself and my brother. In addition to working 24-hour-a-day cases as a practical nurse, she was trying to ensure that my brother would graduate from high school and have a decent life. She knew that she had to compete for his attention with drugs and other potentially dangerous things that can look attractive to a young man when he sees no better future.

Living in my grandmother’s house this Christmas break restored all the forgotten, and the never acknowledged, guilt. I had gone to boarding school on a full scholarship since the ninth grade, so being away from poverty was not new.

But my own growing affluence has increased my distance. My friends say that I should not feel guilty: what could I do substantially for my family at this age, they ask. Even though I know that education is the right thing to do, I can’t help but feel, sometimes, that I have it too good. There is no reason that I deserve security and warmth, while my brother has to cope with potential unemployment and prejudice. I, too, encounter prejudice, but it is softened by my status as a student in an affluent and intellectual community.

More than my sense of guilt, my sense of helplessness increases each time I return home. As my success leads me further away for longer periods of time, poverty becomes harder to conceptualize and feels that much more oppressive when I visit with it. The first night of break, I lay in our bedroom, on a couch that let out into a bed that took up the whole room, except for a space heater. It was a little hard to sleep because the springs from the couch stuck through at inconvenient spots. But it would have been impossible to sleep anyway because of the groans coming from my grandmother’s room next door. Only in her early 60s, she suffers from many chronic diseases and couldn’t help but moan, then pray aloud, then moan, then pray aloud.

Not very festive: This wrenching of my heart was interrupted by the 3 a.m. entry of a relative who had been allowed to stay at the house despite rowdy behavior and threats toward the family in the past. As he came into the house, he slammed the door, and his heavy steps shook the second floor as he stomped into my grandmother’s room to take his place, at the foot of her bed. There he slept, without blankets on a bare mattress. This was the first night. Later in the vacation, a Christmas turkey and a Christmas ham were stolen from my aunt’s refrigerator on Christmas Eve. We think the thief was a relative. My mom and I decided not to exchange gifts that year because it just didn’t seem festive.

A few days after New Year’s I returned to California. The Northeast was soon hit by a blizzard. They were there, and I was here. That was the way it had to be, for now. I haven’t forgotten; the ache of knowing their suffering is always there.  It has to be kept deep down, or I can’t find the logic in studying and partying while people, my people, are being killed by poverty. Ironically, success drives me away from those I most want to help by getting an education.

Somewhere in the midst of all that misery, my family has built, within me, “a proud feeling.” As I travel between the two worlds it becomes harder to remember just how proud I should be — not just because of where I have come from and where I am going, but because of where they are. The fact that they survive in the world in which they live is something to be very proud of, indeed. It inspires within me a sense of tenacity and accomplishment that I hope every college graduate will someday possess.

Hadit not been for the Lake Michigan Credit Union (LMCU) banking program, Khayriyyah and Khyasirah may have never gotten an allowance (subject for future post). I’m not sure how Wil and I might have thought about paying our children to do anything. I’m sure the issue would have come up at some point, but the LMCU bank program brought the money issue up when the girls were in kindergarten and 2nd grade.


When we received the paperwork about the program, we immediately signed the girls up for savings accounts.  Participating in the banking program meant the girls needed money. We weren’t going to just give them “free” money – that would send a crippling message because we wanted them to learn how to working for AND saving money, right?

NOTE: Never, ever, give your children “free, no strings-attached, unearned money” if you want to leave, become self-sufficient, and potentially be a source you can borrow from at reasonable rates. Check out this resource: Get Kids to Save

Okay, so, the LMCU bank program led us into the realm of allowance earlier than we expected, which was just fine. While I don’t remember what they earned, I’m confident it matched their 5 and 7-year-old skills.

About the LMCU program:

• This was a freaking 360-degree wonderful everyone wins idea!
• Their bank was housed at Endeavor Elementary school. All the banking jobs were held by 5th graders, who were trained to run their school’s LMCU “branch”.
• I believe, the bank opened once a month during the school day.
• Students were given time to go the bank, where they could open accounts and make deposits – I think they could only deposit (this is good).



10% Rule: Save TEN percent ALL money that crosses your palm – this includes

• Allowance (we matched)
• Birthdays
• Graduation money (high school and on
• Paycheck (when they got their first job)
  

Well, I wish I could end this post by writing that our girls still have all their saved money, but I can’t because they spent it. They didn’t spend it all at once  - but over time with thoughtful reflection. Sure, I wish we would have done more with their savings like invest some of it (investment: subject for future post).

However, the point of the LMCU banking program was to build a sense of thoughtful habits about money. I'm happy to say both girls have developed a good level of conscious thought about money.

Unfortunately, the LMCU banking project ended a long time ago. When the branch at school ended, the girls took their checks (yes, we only gave them checks) to the real branch. You are missing a special sight if you never see you child walk up to a teller and hand over their check for a deposit.

No, you don’t NEED the bank “branch” at your child’s school – but the educational benefits are hard articulate.

With or without a program like the one Lake Michigan Credit support, Wil and I suggest you start a saving account for your children and pay them with checks (yes, they are going out of style but while they’re still available, order and use them for this purpose).


This is Aylan Kurdi. He never lost his humanity. To know his name helps you remember yours.

What you do next determines your current level of bravery...

1. I'm ready to practice humanity

2. I'm fine with remembering it on photographic occasion

Human Literacy is the process of learning and practicing how to be human while learning and relearning how to recognize the humanity of others. The process of becoming literate of humanity makes it impossible to negate anyone's humanity without the expectation of dire consequences (my working definition).

Practicing human literacy is exhausting. If you're barely tired, there is more for you to do.

It's nice to welcome refugees...

1. One hundred children orphaned by the Syrian civil war could find a home in Uruguayan President José "Pepe" Mujica's summer retreat, "a mansion and riverfront estate surrounded by rolling pastures," according to Yahoo News. That would be a welcome sight for any of the hundreds of thousands of refugees displaced by Syria's political turmoil. 

2. One of Egypt's richest men has declared he is seeking to solve the ongoing Syrian refugee crisis by purchasing a Greek or Italian island and building a settlement there for hundreds of thousands of refugees.

Welcome them here WHILE addressing the reasons sending them fleeing.