An Open List to Musicians and Fans

Open List to Acquaintances Who are Fans:

1. Music affects your brain. Be mindful of that. If you listen to a musician who negatively affects your mood frequently, give yourself a break. 
2. Musicians perform in a style that best suits them personally. Live performances are not going to sound like recorded performances. You are not Simon Cowell, so do not voice disapproval loudly. 
3. Musicians are people just like you and me. Do not expect them to be demi-gods capable of meeting all of your emotional needs. Do not stalk them. You will be publicly humiliated by the subsequent arrest. I will not post your bail.  Hint: The same is true of any public figure.
4. For the love of all that is holy, do not throw your undergarments on stage in a live performance. That's nasty. In the same vein, do not physically grab a musician. You will be seen as a mentally ill deviant and promptly removed from the concert. 
5. In a perfect world, fans are fans of the music and appreciative of the musician. If you are following a musician for any other reason, I will question your motives and so should you. He or she is sexy is not a musical reason--sorry. Note: You are not going to be suddenly invited backstage for a private session, nor will this musician invite you home. Come back to reality!
6. Attend a concert prepared to listen and appreciate, applaud and shout approval. Do not treat a concert like a Bacchanalian festival. If allowed, imbibe responsibly, please. Designate a driver before you leave home. You will not be allowed to bask in the ambiance of the concert venue after the concert ends. 
7. Thank musicians with a letter or a note on their websites. Even better, purchase their music. People who pirate music are thieves. I will not speak to you again if you do this, and I am not above tattling on you. 

Open List to Musicians:

1. If I am listening to your performance, it's because something you produced resonated with my spirit and emotions in much the same way as Chopin has done. My reality allows for this pleasure.  I will be grateful to you for your work, but you are not the center of my world. 
2. Use language in clever ways, and please perfect your diction. Otherwise, I am tempted to write my own rendition of what I think you are singing and post it on YouTube. 
3. Please show up to live performances ready to work. Keep your voice in good shape so that you can perform well. If you don't know how to do this, hire a vocal coach. 
4. If you insist on making a video to help sell the song, use common sense. Use visuals as a means to help relay the song's message. Hint: Stripping down to your boots and mounting a wrecking ball has been debunked as an effective visual.
5. Truly fantastic music performed well stands on its own merit, so don't incorporate shock tactics to get my attention.  I don't give a flying thunder what you look like without your shirt or in clothing so tight you look like you may explode. Layers of makeup and other items that deform your humanity make me afraid of you and for you. Hint: Dressing in cow meat has been done. I don't have words for that.
6. At concerts, I will not be one of the little girls screaming for your attention. I don't want to tear the hair out of your head, and I don't want to take you to bed.  An autograph is nice, but not essential to life.  Sane fans take this stance. 
7. Please keep your websites updated.  If I want to write you (because I will not stalk you), I will write to your business address or on a public forum that invites such communication. 

A Good Samaritan in Alabama

Preparing my son, Tim,  for college has been an exciting, sometimes exhausting, process that has included driving to Troy University twice: once  for a music scholarship audition and second for an academic/leadership interview that included a day of seminars. On the second trip, I detoured to my mother's house so she could accompany us to Troy. We planned a beautiful outing: in the car, Mama and I would simply enjoy each other's company remembering Tim's childhood and anticipating a grand future.  Once in Troy, we would drop Timothy off at the student center, and then she and I could look around the bookstore, enjoy a Starbucks coffee, and eat lunch at a notorious Chinese restaurant in town.

The day began early. Tim's activities started at 8:30 a.m., so we left Mama's house at 4:30 a.m. I chuckled at Tim, dressed in his suit, wincing at the thought of  wearing a tie all day. Mom asked, "Are you sure you don't want to take my car?" I told her no because I didn't want to put mileage on her new vehicle. I soon regretted that decision.
   
The wet, cold February morning chilled me to the bone, as we say in the south. When I saw Mama shiver, I adjusted the heat dial, and then discovered that the heat wasn't working. By the time we stopped for breakfast, the inside of my car felt colder than it was outside. Confused, I contemplated calling my husband to ask him what could be causing the problem, but I decided not to wake him so early. When we finished eating, we resumed our trek to Troy hoping for the best.

Just outside Camden, Alabama (about two hours away from Troy), my car's engine started running hot. In fact, the gauge read as high as it could. I could hear my husband's voice in my head. "If the car ever does that, pull off to the side of the road and call me." Mama reiterated this directive, so as soon as we could, we pulled over. While Mama called my dad, I walked to the back of the car and prayed very simply, "Help us, Lord. I have to get this boy to his interview."  My son, ever the calm problem solver, stood beside the car, almost thinking aloud. We had only been there for a matter of minutes when a man in a white truck, Kenny Massengale, pulled over to check on us.

Mama told him who we were and where we were headed. As it turns out, he and Mama were raised in the same part of Alabama and graduated from the same high school, a little more than twenty years apart. He introduced himself, and he and Mama compared notes about people they both knew. As they talked, Kenny removed the radiator cap. A thick, gray substance had risen to the top of the radiator, which Kenny confirmed shouldn't be there.  He  retrieved two water bottles from his lunch box and poured them into the radiator. I had a bottle of water in the car, so he added that. That was enough to get the car to a gas station, but the engine was still running hot.

What Kenny said next still shocks me each time I think about it: "Well, what you have to do is take my truck to Troy. I know a man who can look at the car while you're there, and you can pick it up on the way back." Probably noting my facial expression, he continued,  "I would trust him with my cars."  To say that the whole situation felt surreal doesn't give it justice. I had met this man less than an hour before, and he is loaning me his vehicle for a two hour trip to Troy and a two hour trip back? Who does that? "We know too many of the same people," he explained.

I left my keys in the ignition at the garage he suggested, and we then drove Kenny to his home. As we exchanged phone numbers, I marveled at how trusting he was of us. While Mama drove (I was too chicken),  I looked closely at the truck--a beautiful vehicle worth a great deal more than my five-year old Camry, but I most appreciated  that the radio station was set on a classical music station, which calmed me. When I finally called my husband, his reaction was similar to what mine had been. He simply asked, "He did WHAT?" followed by "You're kidding me."

Tim called his contact at Troy to explain that he would be late. They were very kind, and when we finally arrived, I chuckled at how much Tim enjoyed the attention of the young ladies who were "so glad"  he made it.  Mama and I went to Starbucks, shopped in the bookstore, and enjoyed our Chinese buffet lunch. After Tim's interview, we headed back, still awestruck at Kenny's kindness.

The event reminded me of the "Good Samaritan" bible story. Although I have been the recipient of good deeds and kind acts before, this was different. First, Kenny didn't know who we were when he stopped. He saw two women and a suit-clad young man on the side of the road and consciously made a decision to stop. He had had just finished a shift at his work, so he must have been tired.  Second, the "people" connection between Kenny and my mother was predicated on the character of many people I have never met. I saw first-hand the trickle down effect of treating folks well whenever possible. Finally, the event marked the beginning of my son's collegiate career. My hope is that he will always remember it, and choose to be grateful.

I uttered a small prayer on a quiet stretch of Alabama road, and God answered immediately by sending Kenny. My family has a new friend.  As for me, my faith has been deepened, my trust stretched, and my hope anchored more firmly.

The Time Before Fear

These are the symptoms: waking up on the hour, every hour, all night; a dull headache that follows a bout of sobbing; swollen eyelids and burning eyes; loss of appetite; inability to focus; neglect of self; longing for life as is was two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, no one had accused my son of anything. His accuser "loved" him.

The cruel ugliness of it all troubled me, holding me hostage and extorting my time and attention away from who and what mattered most. When I saw the thing in truth, I stared the monstrosity in the face, shivering with a sense that evil waited to attack my son's wellness, to steal  any hope of a  future with goodness and happiness. I was tempted to succumb to the demands to pay off the accuser. "It is in your best interest," she said.

Yesterday, my colleagues noted the weary shifting of my feet as I tried to carry on with my life. They walked by my classroom several times to make sure that I was at least able to auto-pilot my way through the business of work. But the threat never left my thoughts, looming above me and consuming the air.

I dashed home from work leaving tasks undone. I had to get there. Home was where I remembered the time before fear. I could cook dinner, iron shirts, read my books, and make silly jokes like any other day. Yet home also became my strategic headquarters, where friends and family, appalled and heartsick for me, checked in to listen to me rant about the tragedy of it all. And home is where the doctor was called, the teachers informed, and the lawyer consulted.

The only solace I found was in my faith.  I found freedom in raw honesty when voicing my complaint and fears to God. Late last night, my mothering heart reached back for better times, and I knew God was present as I remembered the moment my son was born and the promise of each milestone since that day. I relived his accomplishments and mentally caressed his medals and certificates.

Scriptures leaped into my thoughts. Grasping each one, I spoke the words aloud, which calmed me. The memories shifted to conversations with my son.  Smiles, laughter, even serious expressions gave me a fresh appreciation for every second of time we have spent together. None of the accolades mattered now. All of the big events I have enjoyed over the years became secondary.  I didn't care about success; I was praying  for his very life. I'm not alone.  Did not Rachel, even from heaven, weep for her Joseph? How did Mary bear the Roman cross?

I fell asleep semi-peacefully, determined to square off again when I awoke. God help me, that's what mothers do.

Mama's place. Washington County, AL

Beyond the Lecture

Bits of Advice Given to Students

1. Read at least as much as you eat; write at least as much as you read.

2. You must grapple with new information in order to understand it and learn it.

    Often, that means the same thing as hard work. 

3. When preparing for a test, close your book/notebook. If you cannot explain the

    concepts in your own words, you do not know it yet. 

4. You will become what you think about, so disagree with negative self-talk. You are

    capable. 

5. Connect new content material to your world. For example, biology became much

    more important to me after my children were born.

6.  Do not settle for “good enough” in any area of your life, including academics.

7. Never choose to be ignorant.  Ask questions.

8. If grades were given away, your degree would be worthless.  Trust me on this, you

    don’t really want that.

9. Unforgiveness will rot your drive by creating emotional blind spots.  Forgive

    others, and while you are at it, forgive yourself.

10.  Forsake cruelty, especially in its most acceptable forms.

11/11/11: Popular Questions Students Ask Me

I teach adult learners ranging in age from 18 to  late 60s.. The following questions almost always come up on the first day of the quarter during introductions. I have included my answers to entertain you.

1.  Are you married with kids?
A. Yes. I've been married for  25 years to the same man; we have two kids, a daughter and a son. I adore all of them.

2. Are you qualified to teach us?
A. Yes. At the bachelor's level, I majored in Music and English. I earned a Master's degree in English Education. I have been teaching variously-aged humans longer than some of you have been alive. Granted, some of you began high school the year I was born.

3. How many books do you own?
A. The last count was around 3,000. No, I'm not making that up. Ask my kids. I also own a kindle, and I am growing that library as well.

4. Are you published?
A. No. I have spent most of my time building my career in education and raising my kids. I do, however, write almost every day. I blog, too.

5. Is this English class hard?
A. No. Stone is hard. Brick is hard. English is simply unlearned. Since you are capable of learning new skills, with time and effort, you can master English. You will improve your skills during this quarter.

6. Did you vote for President Obama?
A. No comment. I don't reveal my political views to students because I don't want to isolate one who may disagree. The same goes for my religion.

7. Would you send your children to this school?
A. Yes. In fact, my daughter is a graduate.

8. How old are you?
A. Somewhere after wild and crazy, but before rocking in a chair.

9. Do you give extra credit?
A. Never. If you give your best effort and complete all the assignments, you should have plenty of grades to endure a bad day, so to speak.

10. Do you read every assignment? Including the journals?
A. Yes. If I require you to write it, you can count on me reading it: each essay, each paragraph, each sentence, each word, each syllable gets its day on stage.

11. Were you always a straight A student?
A. No. I made As in music classes. I was an average student in grade school.  I made a C in English Comp I, and I failed College Algebra 3 times before finally passing it.  I didn't make straight As until I returned to college as an adult learner. I did it, and so can you.

Book Talk: Finding the Real Jesus

    It would be great if believers could just boldly ask, "Will the real Jesus please step forward?"  With so many Christian groups and organizations presenting Jesus differently, how can anyone know who is telling the truth?

     Perhaps the strongest deception occurs when folks accept as true only what feels good, a Jesus who  rescues them from sin, loves them unconditionally, and hangs out in case they need a parking space close to the market. This is a Jesus they can be comfortable with at any given happy moment, but who will fail them miserably when sorrow comes.

     This imaginary Jesus, in all his forms, is what Matthew Mikalatos addresses in his book Imaginary Jesus. Far from the true Lord, this creature is a product of  misinformed, sometimes desperate, imaginations created to satisfy spiritual conscience and inevitably, spiritual dilemmas. It's how we answer why to the questions with no humanly sensible answers.

    Using humor and pieces of personal testimony, Mr. Mikalatos caused me to laugh out loud and rush back from classes so I could find out what antics happened next. I love the way he depicted the real Jesus as a person who cares deeply for humanity, and as a knowable, reachable, omniscient Lord.  Having found this book after the incomprehensible death of one of my students, the book brought me comfort and renewed interest in Christian growth.

    I highly recommend Imaginary Jesus as a means of discussion about defining vs finding Jesus and the roles Christians mistakenly assign Him vs who He really is according to Scripture. Support this author, and help spread this important message.