Unbreakable's Open Salon Blog

Laying Down the Gloves

Fri, 11 May 2012 18:05:19 -0400

I grew up in a household that was angry. Angry all the time, and then angry some more. Happy was not a term that was bandied about freely in my childhood. But, by golly, those folks of mine sure did like to argue. My parents had honed arguing to a fine art and they weren't shy about letting any one of those multitude of disagreements spill over into a full-blown fight - what we here in Texas like to refer to as a "knock-down, drag-out."

I remember a time my mother threw a suitcase at my father. Seriously - a suitcase. Who throws a suitcase? My mother, that's who. Maybe she had exhausted all the more acceptable articles at her disposal - the ashtrays, vases, glasses, knick-knacks. I don't really remember, but I do remember that hard shelled, god-awful blue-green suitcase sailing through the air and landing... I can't be sure here, as my memory goes a bit foggy in bits and pieces, but I'm fairly certain that suitcase/missile landed on the wall behind my father. I know he didn't just stand there and let it hit him, so the wall is a safe bet.

But, I digress. Back to that angry household; the one with all the blowups, bickering and outright brawls. One would think that having lived through all that acrimony and turmoil, I would run at the first faint whiff of a disagreement, let alone a full-blown argument. Yes, one would think.

It has taken me all of fifty-four years to come to the realization that I am not obliged to attend every argument to which I am invited; and I get invited to a lot of arguments. More than my fair share, I think. Some time during the last year, I had a revelation of sorts regarding my presence at dustups, debates, disputes and disagreements.

My presence IS NOT required. As they say, 'I have no dog in this fight,' and even if I did, I still don't have to attend. I can simply shut my mouth and walk away; or better still, I can choose not to open my mouth to begin with. And all those online arguments? Ha! Double ha! My revelation broadened, my understanding deepened, and I began to simply stop participating in all the ruckus.

It happened just the other day. I posted a link on Facebook to which certain of my acquaintences took great umbrage. A long, impassioned comment appeared under the link I had posted. This wordy, indignant commenter had a lot to say, all of it in a confrontational tone which was clearly designed to elicit a strong response from me. The writer certainly had a bone to pick with me.

Okay, fine, I'll admit that I stewed about it for longer than I should have. I composed several snarky retorts (in my head only, though; my thoughts never wended their way down to my fingertips, never made their way on to the keyboard.) Ultimately, though, I declined her invitation to verbally spar. I blithely deleted her comment and then, with a few swift strokes, unfriended her, thereby ending the possibility of a second, more insistent invitation to HER argument.

You may be asking yourself, 'what's the big deal?' And I do have an answer for you. Were you so inclined to read back through some of my earlier posts, you might notice a certain combativeness, a tendency to jump into battle with the slightest provocation and a well-honed talent for verbal shredding. Bickering and I have a long, well-established history. I have always been of the opinion that EVERYONE is entitled to my opinion. I have never been above believing that, if necessary, I would gladly beat my detractors into submission - with words, people, with WORDS.

Maybe maturity is creeping up on me, or possibly I'm just mellowing, but I no longer feel the need to verbally club someone in an attempt to make them believe as I do. Or maybe it just takes more energy than I'm willing to muster.

I prefer to think that I have reached a place in life where I am comfortable in my beliefs; a place where I don't find it necessary to defend, explain or justify everything I say (or write.) More importantly, I am happy to let others have their beliefs, while I hold on to mine, and hope that we can agree to focus on our similarities rather than our differences.

All things considered, it's not a bad place to be.

Tick, Tick, Tick

Mon, 6 Feb 2012 21:02:31 -0500

It starts with a niggling feeling in the back of my mind. That's the best way I know to describe it - a niggling feeling. Nothing distinct about it, just a nebulous uneasiness. In fact, it is almost so indistinct as to go unnoticed. Almost.

Try as I may to pay it no mind, there is an insistence implied, a persistent tapping on my subconscious - pay attention, I am not going away. "Shake it off," I say to myself, "don't give it another thought." But I do. I do give it a thought. Something aggravating this way comes.

There is no nail on which I can hang this free-floating irritation. Well, perhaps that's not exactly the truth. More to the point, there are too many nails, too many causes, too much generalized anxiety that is claiming my attention and whittling away at my peace of mind. I want to label it, identify a single cause so that I can address it and make it go away. It's the state of the economy, it's the pre-election frenzy, it's the jobless (non) recovery, it's this, it's that.

On a personal level, it could be the pressure of trying to sell what no one's buying, or wondering what that spot on my arm could be. It could be any number of things, none of them really deserving of my jittery attention. It could be all or none of these things. So why can't I shake it?

I find myself spoiling for a fight, taking everything personally. Relax, relax, RELAX! Why the hell can't I just relax? Instead I gravitate toward those things that push my buttons. I rush to judgment, I refuse to walk away, I leave no slight unperceived.

Perhaps this post is my version of sitting myself down and giving myself a good talking-to. I have everything to be grateful for, untold blessings, I am fortunate beyond measure. Come down off that ledge, dammit.

I'd like to close the door on this... this phase. I'd like to believe it's just a phase. I want to believe it's temporary and time will be the magic amulet that will set things right again.

But, there is that niggling feeling...

Strong in the Broken Places

Fri, 30 Dec 2011 19:12:29 -0500

The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.

Ernest Hemingway

It’s the end of yet another year, a time for inevitable reflection. Frankly, I try to stay busy enough so that I rarely have the time for reflection. But as the year winds down, so do the days. The hands on the clock begin to crawl rather than race, the days languorously stretch before us; and, trapped as we are in that slow-motion dance, we are loathe to resist as our hearts become bathed in memories heretofore squashed and wishes gone unfulfilled. It is inevitable; this gathering of emotions and remembrances, for one can never outrun them. They are always with us, always a part of us.

Christmas Day, amidst all the chaos and gifting and gorging, I hugged each of my children tight and silently thanked God for the gift of each of them; and even more, for the gift of being in their presence on that day. It’s a gift I’ll never take for granted. I don’t know that I ever truly did, but if so, I know I never will again. The scars of yesterday are etched upon our hearts. The tears are gone, but we are forever changed.

When my brother and his wife arrived, I threw my arms around him, thankful for the peace that reigns in our lives today, but ever mindful of the madness that marked so many of the past years. As we pulled away from each other, he whispered in my ear, “We are so blessed now, aren’t we? So blessed to be so happy.” We hugged again and blinked away the tears. The pain is gone, but we are forever changed.

As I delighted in watching my grandchildren tear open their gifts, I drank in the exquisite simplicity of their joy. I reveled in their innocence, in the absence of fear or sadness in their countenance. They are growing up so quickly, but I watch and I mark each year with one thought: That’s what joy and innocence looks like in a three-year-old, a six-year-old, an eight-year-old. And every time I silently make that observation, it heals me in a different broken place. The tears and the pain are gone, but I am forever changed.

I recognize now that so many of the broken places are healed. Not as if they were never broken, but in a different, even better way. Hemingway was right. The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong in the broken places.

We are strong in the broken places. I am strong in the broken places.

Merry Christmas to All

Fri, 23 Dec 2011 11:12:36 -0500

It's the most wonderful time of the year, as the song goes. Fortunately, this year I can sing along with absolute conviction in complete agreement. I've had my years of "Blue Christmases", but happily, this is not one of them. Believe me when I say I know how very fortunate I am to be able to say that. I am not so far removed from those tear-filled, weepy holidays that I have forgotten they existed. And that very well may be the reason for my unbridled joy this year.

I have so much to be thankful for - my amazing children, my equally amazing grandchildren (5 and still counting), a husband who loves me and takes good care of me, a wonderful new home, a great job. It's sobering how easy it is to momentarily forget how good I have it and fall into the trap of bitching and moaning about things that aren't just the way I want them. Human nature, I guess. But I digress...

One of the things I am most grateful for this year is the dear friends I have here on OS. I spent part of the morning reading back through some of my old posts. I never cease to be amazed by the level of genuine love and support offered by the incredible people here. I want you all to know how much you have helped me, cheered me on, enlightened me and encouraged me over the last 2 1/2 years, to say nothing of the countless times you've made me howl with laughter, cry, giggle, wonder and reflect.

You are a treasure to me, dear friends. I wish for each of you the very happiest of holidays and that the New Year brings to you a bright and shining new chapter in your life.

Kim

Justice, Prisons and the American Way

Fri, 16 Dec 2011 14:12:50 -0500

A few days ago, I read an excellent post by David Chura entitled The World of Girls and Young Women in Prison. This piece deservedly earned an EP. If you haven’t read it, it is well worth your time. In fact, I was so inspired by it that I decided I would finally write the piece that has been lurking in my sub-conscious for longer than I care to remember.

I’ve been loathe to write about this, partly due to the hits-too-close-to-home nature of the subject and, probably more to the point, because just thinking about it enrages me, so I bat away thoughts of it every time they wing to the front of my mind. I read David’s piece again yesterday to bolster my resolve. I even printed out reams of paper containing the facts I want to use to cogently present my case, in hopes of remaining somewhat detached so that this post doesn’t come off sounding like a major rant. It’s too important a subject to be reduced to a rant; instead, it should be given the thoughtful consideration and careful review worthy of a matter of such grave import.

The matter that weighs so heavily on my mind is the condition of, the deterioration of, the adulteration of the judicial system in the United States of America.

“The judicial system in the United States of America.” Sounds grandiose and lofty, doesn’t it, when it’s phrased just that way? I’m sure that’s exactly what our founding fathers had in mind – something grandiose and lofty… and just – when they crafted the constitution with the Preamble stating the intention to “establish justice… provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity…” Justice was certainly on their minds when The Bill of Rights was adopted by the states on December 15, 1791.

Certainly, two-hundred and twenty years later, our society has undergone massive shifts and permutations that have stretched thin the fabric of goals and ideals set in motion centuries ago. One would be naïve to believe otherwise; however, the basic principles of Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness set forth in the Declaration of Independence should hold firm and true as the underpinning of the enlightened and just society that our forefathers declared and destined us to be.

Fast-forward 200+ years to a burgeoning private prison industry, mandatory sentencing guidelines, Zero Tolerance policies and a whole slew of related judicial ills; and this once grand country boasts the largest prison population in the world. Approximately 1.8 million people are locked up in the US at any given time—that’s equal to the combined populations of Atlanta, St. Louis, Pittsburgh, Des Moines, and Miami. Despite a 20% drop in the rate of violent crime since 1991, the number of people imprisoned has risen by 50%.

Until the 1970’s, US prison population consisted of approximately 110 inmates for every 100,000 people. By the 1990’s that number had jumped to 445 inmates per 100,000; among adult men it averages 1 out of every 100 adult males in the population. This unprecedented increase can be attributed in large part to the War on Drugs, implemented in the 1970’s by Richard Nixon and galvanized in the 80’s by an overzealous Congress which enacted federal mandatory minimum sentences in a misguided attempt to shore up the emotionally-charged battle cry for a “war on drugs.” Consequently, the proportion of drug offenders sentenced to prison ballooned from 79 percent in 1998 to a whopping 93% in 2004. Many are serving inordinately long sentences and receive little or no addiction treatment. Lest you think otherwise, allow me to point out that a large majority of that 93% are not drug kingpins, as one would hope, but are instead nonviolent drug users with addiction problems who would be far better served by fines, community service, and drug treatment programs.

Of the 1.8 million prisoners serving time in the US today:

70% are illiterate
Approximately 200,000 suffer from a serious mental illness
60%-80% have a history of substance abuse. Meanwhile, the number of drug-treatment slots in America’s prisons has declined by more than half since 1993

The Rise of the Prison Industrial Complex

Despite the fact that more than 1000 new prisons have been constructed in the US over the past twenty years, prison overcrowding remains at critical levels. Prison population continues to grow by 50,000 to 80,000 people per year. To address this serious problem, authorities have turned to private companies, such as Wackenhut Corporation and Corrections Corporation of America—two of the largest private-prison companies in the US. Cell facilities rent for $20-$60 per day with an additional $2.50-$5.50 commission per man/per day. Overcrowded facilities often truck prisoners hundreds of miles throughout the country to private prisons with open beds.

Phone companies are raking in the bucks, too. One single pay phone in prison can generate as much as $15,000 a year. Some phone companies install phones for free. Loved ones of incarcerated individuals sign up with private collect-call enterprises charging as much as $25 for a five-minute call.

Revenue for private companies riding the wave of the Prison Industrial Complex has reached more than $35 billion a year, with a projected growth of 5-10% annually.

Our system is broken and repairing it seems to be an insurmountable task. One has to ask, is anyone even paying attention any more? Allow me to leave you with one single ray of hope—an editorial published in the Baltimore Sun on December 8, 2011, written by Andre M. Davis of Baltimore, a judge with the United States Court of Appeals for the Fourth Circuit. May his words ring loud and clear, and may they herald the beginning of a new day in the halls of justice.

Mandatory minimum sentences impede justice

^{photo courtesy of}^69ergibby