His Sneakers, My Dreams 21 years later & Still Nothing Has Changed but the Cost

I first wrote this article in 1990 while I was an intern reporter in high school. It has been featured in the books Things Get Hectic and The Struggle To Be Strong as well as YCteen Magazine formerly known as New Youth Connections.


I am republishing it here on a blog I have not updated in awhile as I felt compelled to share an incident that has never left my mind or heart after all these years. It was because of this article http://www.nj.com/news/index.ssf/2011/12/release_of_air_jordans_sneaker.html

It has me curious, as what are the creator and superstar namesake of whom these sneakers are named for thinking about what happened. I wonder too, are they going to respond? It's the least that they could do just do it for Sam.



His Sneakers, My Dreams

By Suzanne Joblonski

My Criminal Justice class last spring was really boring. I was always tired because it was my last class of the day. When the teacher talked about the difference between first and second degree murder, I would drift into dreamland.

I would imagine what my future might be like, think of another idea for a story or poem, or of what my boyfriend and I would be doing that weekend.

Sometimes, I would stare at the sneakers of the guy who sat next to me. He had two pairs-one black, one white. Ballys, I think. I always wondered where he'd been in them, the kinds of places he went.

I'll call him Sam. He was the first person I spoke to on the first day of class. When class was over, I noticed he had forgotten his umbrella underneath his chair and I told him. He thanked me and smiled.

I Only Spoke To Him Once

That was the only time I ever really spoke to Sam, even though I sat next to him five days a week. I also remember he and another girl in class were always annoying one another, and the teacher used to joke that they'd end up getting married.

At the beginning of the term, the teacher asked us to talk about ourselves and our future plans. Most of us had some kind of long-term plan. One girl wanted to be a lawyer, another a social worker, and one of the guys wanted to be a cop. Right after graduation, Sam said he was going to go into the military. After that he wanted to become a corrections officer.

Last May (I remember it as if it were five minutes ago), I was sitting in my auto shop class. The teacher looked really upset and somebody asked him what was the matter. He told us that one of his students had been shot and killed over the weekend. He mentioned the name, which sounded familiar to me. Wasn't that the guy who sat next to me in my Criminal Justice class? The only way I could be sure was to see if he was sitting in his usual seat that afternoon. He was always there and always on time.

His Seat Was Empty

When I went to class, the seat was empty and everyone had tears in their eyes. My teacher broke the news to us: Sam was the student killed over the weekend.

It was over something stupid-I think he stepped on someone's sneakers and they got into an argument. He was killed just two weeks after we learned about the different charges for murder.

I don't usually cry a lot, but this time I did. I cried because he was a teenager and I was a teenager. My tears were for the loss of one of our own. It was as bad as if he were a member of my own family.

I am really scared that this won't be the last time this will happen to someone I know. It's been happening every day to my peers around the city. Teenagers are losing friends over stupid things-dirty looks, clothes, jealousy, and revenge.

I have one message for Sam's killers and for teenagers around New York City. Even if it looks hopeless, we are our world's future. Maybe if you plan ahead, you too can have something to look forward to. I know Sam did and so do I.

copyright Youth Communication-New York Center, Inc.
http://www.ycteenmag.org

ANANSE NTONTAN

"spider's web"

symbol of wisdom, creativity and the complexities of life

An adjective I use to describe myself is creative. When I was younger, I began writing poetry that was spurred months after my seventh grade English teacher introduced on this genre. I clearly remember the topic: love. At that time the only love I knew was my love for the New York Mets. Needless to say, I did not hand in that assignment but before the end of the term, I did write a poem entitled Love Is Like. I showed it to Miss Kalt who remarked how impressed she was particularly with the line:

Love is like a sidewalk

Some treasure it, others walk all over it.

Through the years, I continued writing poetry as I was inspired by what my eyes witnessed and heart felt. There were poems that were dedicated to the homeless who accompanied me on train rides, about a catcher for Major League Baseball, experiences of being a mother of a baby who is now 15 years old as well as remembrance to my other son (who did not live past three and a half months) wondering what his firsts would be, and finally a plea for someone to help her escape a life of repeated rapes by the man she called her husband. It was my hope that one day, these poems would be discovered after I physically left this universe and they would be published. They weren't at least for now.

However, I did have writings published while I was in high school. I had participated and interned for New Youth Connections, a paper written for and by youth. It was here, I emerged from the shyness that semi-paralyzed me as a youngster in Canarsie. I had the chance to travel independently around the five boroughs of New York, ask questions of people that I probably would have never had the guts to do so before, and cultivate my interests in curiosity and research. The result were nine published articles, including one that appeared in two books.

When I got married and became a mother, the writing waned. There was probably much on my mind that I could write about but I was more concerned with survival. I became the sole bread winner at the suggestion but more like the force of a husband who would not work and provide for his family. There were so many excuses of why he wouldn't, which I later learned is just a part of his character. He grew up in a family dependent on public assistance. Something, I was determined not to let happen for my own children. They deserved better and opportunities but also needed to know "nothing is free in life."

Something, I learned early and never had a chance to practice growing up much less married. The years of 19-28 were oppressive in so many ways. I lost my identity at a time where it should have been cultivated. I could not finish college when he observed I was thriving and educated on ways of living--without the abuse. In other words, without him. The hardest was not being allowed to be the mother I envisioned my role as one would be. Eventually, I was given a diagnosis of depression and post traumatic stress disorder--it's effects still linger today. If there isn't some kind of chaos, I am bored out of my mind. However, I am getting better and learning how to manage these symptoms now that I have much more peace in my life.

This new found peace and freedom has been a blessing for this restless soul. I am tapping into my creative side again. Not only am I writing more, but turning ordinary objects into art that decorate my apartment. For instance, I turned my butterfly earrings collection are now hanging above a window sill garden I created, prepare at least two meals a week that I make up as I go along, and manipulating the many photos I have taken into collages, bookmarks, and wall art.

Freedom allows one to do many things they wish and yearn to do. Some remain anonymous, while others become famous. I think I am somewhere in the middle. I do wish for my legacy to live forever but that may be hard to achieve as there are so many people of greatness in this world and sure many more to follow.

Change: Yes You Can

I am not fond of politics. Heck, I didn't even cast my first vote until years after it was legal for me to do so. This is probably why members of my immediate family made snide comments on my acceptance to an invitation to join the thousands who who were in Washington, DC on January 20, 2009. His/herstory is made everyday but rarely does one have an opportunity to be a part of it firsthand. How could I say no? Even though, it meant boarding a bus a midnight, sleep not guaranteed, and wintery day I was going to be a part of something great.

For the most part, that election year I paid close attention to what was being said and promised by each of the candidates. Mostly because, I was angry, bothered about the previous administration's tactics and could not accept another four years of (excuse me for saying) B.S. Others figured I would support Hilary Clinton,mostly because she and I resembled each other in gender and race however, I did not. Partly, because we already had her husband in power and I was sold on the "change" Obama promised.

In my 37 years, I have lived through many different experiences that changed me for the better as well as the worse. As you, the reader, reads through my posts you will learn what they are, as I have nothing to hide. In fact, I share my story for therapeutic purposes but also to help others know that they are not alone in a world filled with billions. If it can help just one person, then I fulfilled my mission. Much like a politician, I am in it for myself but just not to reap the millions in dollars or accolades that come with the power.

I will admit since I witnessed the oath of presidency, I haven't paid much attention to him since as I said earlier, I am not interested in politics. Soon after, I made a list of what kind of change I wanted to incorporate in my own life and how I would go about it. For starters, it would to be (finally) graduate college despite previous failed attempts, but did that May. Also on that list was to travel by bus with my son around the country to baseball stadiums. That summer, we visited Chicago, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Boston and Washington, D.C. And finally, figure out a way to get out of a romantic relationship that was tearing me down but more of that in a future post. This, was the challenging of the three.

In the last six months of 2010, I plotted and embarked on even more changes that took resourcefulness, endless energy and courage. I did leave that relationship as well as family members behind who were unaccepting of the changes I would soon make. I left the only place I have ever know for another I hardly and still getting to know. What I found, finally feels like the home I have always wanted. Little by little, as I am become acclimated to this place as I am shedding the years of the good and bad of New York. As crazy as it sounds, I also resigned from a job I once loved passionately when I realized that if I were committed to making changes this had to be on the list too. Fortunately, I am still able to remain in touch with some folks who have touched my lives in very meaningful ways.

People Need People

Yesterday my patience and tolerance level was tested once again while I was enroute to meet my son for our weekly therapy session. I had already waited more than a half hour in the cold, for the second bus I needed to complete the trip. It finally arrived, it was packed but fortunate enough to get a seat. Then my phone alerted me to a call. It was my son's school wondering where his pick up was-transportation previously scheduled days and just confirmed hours before I left the confines of my warm apartment. I had learned the company who was contracted cancelled. Yet neither they or the reservation company failed to notify me or the school to say so. Normally, an incident like this would automatically raise my adrenaline but maybe the fact I was cold, on a bus full of strangers or I was just plain tired to fight it I let it go for the moment. Then I got off the bus and waited another half hour in the cold to return back home $5.00 poorer to where my son would be waiting without anyway in the house as he did not have his keys.

As I stood at the icy bus stop, I then made a series of phone calls, asked questions then lodged my complaints against both entities. Now you're wondering what's going to be done about it? Probably not much, but a long time ago, I learned how oppression rears it's ugly head even in one's family. Having a child with a disability, is an already trying experience but if you're (like myself) a woman without a lot of means you're almost forced to enter a world full of bureacracy when seeking services. If I had stayed quiet, (or in another words did not learn the craft of advocacy) I am almost certain life would be much simpler accepting everything at face value. However, I did not because there's a reason why services for people with disabilities, disenfranchised folks and marginalized people exisit because they are needed--and it creates jobs for others. Getting and keeping them sometimes is all about knowhow as well as one's very means of survival. It's people such as myself, and those before me such as today's honorees, Rosa Parks, James Miller Baxter, Jr., Dr. Winona Lipman, The Pullman Porters and countless others who make sure one takes a stand against and does something about these injustices. And as I have been inspired to do, is create programs that fill the void. But first, I need to come up with a plan. Donations of time and resources will be generously accepted.

Happy Hanukkah

The spirit of Hanukkah season is approaching (http://www.chabad.org/holidays/chanukah/default_cdo/jewish/Hanukkah.htm). I have no real connection to religious holidays with the exception of when I was a child who questioned the existence of religion and being admonished for it by Sister Virginia. However I did find delight counting the Menorahs that radiated the windowsills in Canarsie on many cold December nights. Heck two of our closest family friends were Jewish who celebrated Christmas by having annual Trim A Tree parties. Their Festival of Lights consisted of the reds, blues, greens, yellows that twinkled and glowed on Christmas trees that were enormous and elaborately decorated compared to ours. To this day, a puny artificial tree sits in my living room during the Christmas season. (Note to self—put up tree sometime before December 25^th)

The other day I was perusing the Queens Library website (www.queenslibrary.org) taking note of the events calendar as a way to plan and partake in the few days I have off at the end of this month. There is a whole array of free activities for people of all ages throughout the borough of Queens. Now that Jimmy Van Bramer, Chief External Affairs Officer of the Queens Library (http://www.jimmyvanbramer.com) has been elected to the City Council representing the 26^th District I am sure library funding wont fall short as it usually does during votes on the city’s fiscal spending. One caught my eye at the Central Branch located in Jamaica that is served by many Queens’s bus routes and three subway lines including the Long Island Railroad. For directions: (www.hopstop.com). The Sunday Concerts @ Central is now in it’s 24^th year where they present free concerts featuring World Music from September-July. It begins at 3:00 p.m. but I recommend you arrive by 2:30 to ensure a prime seat as the auditorium fills fast though from every angle there is a good view. December 6^th’s show featured The David Glukh Klezmer Ensemble (http://www.glukh.com/klezmer.php) five guys from four boroughs represented their Jewish heritage during an awesome show. Some of the songs they played such as If I Were A Rich Man were familiar to me as they were to members of the audience that was a sampling of the cultural diversity Queens rightly claims as the most diverse community in the nation.[1] I was moved on how each of the instruments (the violin, bass, bongos, flutes, trumpet and accordion) replicated the sounds of humans crying, laughing, and singing. I could see dancers dancing joyfully at a wedding and feel the sadness in another. For further reading on klemzer music visit http://worldmusic.about.com/od/europeanjudaica/p/Klezmer.htm

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[1] http://www.queensbp.org/

To My Little One You May Be Gone But Not Forgotten

Imagine only visiting someone you love and miss only four times since they left you. You don't visit often for many reasons (rather excuses) but mostly because it's hard. Hard emotionally. When you do go all you remember is the section. The grave number and row are forgotten. Or was it never accepted? So you call the office at least four times since getting off the bus that was the last 45 minutes of a previous two hour commute to get the information. The person answering must think and ask herself after the second time why doesn't she just write it down? The same thought crossed your mind too. You see and approach a grounds worker who ultimately makes the fifth and final call to the same office. Now you have the information you need. It begins to sink in. Hawk's buried between what looks like two on his left, one underneath him, and the other on his right. The one on the right, shares a birthday with him only forty years earlier. Nothing tells you he's there only your vague memory and what the cemetery's office personnel is telling you. Not doubting them, you begin to cry. Cry because 12 years have passed. There is still nothing immortalizing his name or his paternal great grandmother who passed three years earlier. Divorce is a funny thing and how it divides families. Ultimately the children involved are punished. In this case, your son is being punished by being ignored and forgotten because what his paternal grandmother thinks it was her ex-daughter-in-law's fault that she had to leave a marriage. A marriage that was harming her surviving grandson on so many levels. When the daughter-in-law moved on it was because she needed to make clean break. Leave the toxicity that was poisoning her soul, mind, and spirit. The very parts of her that were damaged when you left us before you turned three months old. You may be gone but know you are not forgotten at least not by me or your older brother. I am glad that we went to visit you today even though it took awhile to find you when we first arrived. We agreed to come more often, maybe once a month. Maybe I will be able to find a creative way of marking your site so visitors who come by know someone special resides there.