The Shoes

The shoes are worn down
The shoes have blood stains
The shoes represent pain
The shoes have been spit on
The shoes have stepped in doggie doo
The shoes REEK
The shoes have grass stains
The shoes are worn out
The shoes have lost their tread
The shoes remind me of sore muscles
The shoes thud on the pavement
The shoes have been caked with mud
The shoes are part of an unending cycle
The shoes caused blisters
The shoes formed callouses
The shoes have no more padding
The shoes have become discolored
The shoes sit and mock me
The shoes force me out the door
The shoes carried me 12.4 miles
       and therefore, gave me my freedom

The Blanket

The blanket that has always been there
The blanket that was technically stolen
The blanket was comfort
The blanket kept me warm
The blanket has smells of home
The blanket was a good pillow
The blanket was safety
The blanket made a good cave
The blanket kept me dry
The blanket has a lot of memories
The blanket kept me hidden
The blanket blocked the sun
The blanket made a good cape
The blanket became a floor mat to dance on
The blanket could transform into an ice rink
The blanket was slippery
The blanket became mine
The blanket has holes
The blanket was stolen again
The blanket was my woobie
The blanket was security
The blanket wasn't a blanket
It was a poncho liner
Making it a symbol
A symbol for the cause of my dad's demons

Dream Detours

I was shooting for the stars
Ready to face the world
and conquer it like Genghis Khan
  (with less bloodshed)
I would be victorious in my dreams

I was going to make it to DC
There would be hurdles
 - possibly some road blocks -
It was time to beat
and plow over them all

It wasn't easy at first
I cowered with some fear
but soon I was a roaring lion
ready to attack
ready to start my climb

And then everything slowed
things started to veer and shift
 a new dream started to appear
I listened to my heart -
It was time for a new route

A major detour started
I was nervous and unsure
The little mouse returned
taking timid steps toward the new

The new road is smoother now
There's still some bumps
But my steps are surer, more definite
because my dreams merged with another's

What the World Needs Is More Seans

Photo from PNJ.com
Sean Dugas

The first time I saw Sean Dugas, I have to admit I was taken aback.

Sean was a little eclectic - and that's saying a lot when you're working in a newsroom, which is typically filled with rather eclectic, creative people. The copy desk is usually a motley crew, and the group at Pensacola was no different. But Sean was unique and easily stuck out in our rather vanilla night crew (well, vanilla compared to Sean).

He had a crazy head of dreadlocks with a mountain man beard and usually was dressed in plaid bell bottoms from the 70s. He could easily be mistaken for a homeless person. He was his own person and didn't care what anyone thought or what society told him he should like.

Sean, though, was one of the nicest guys I have ever met.

A newsroom isn't always a happy place. It's a high stress job that doesn't always deal with the greatest topics. These things can greatly affect the mood of the room as a whole or even just a few people.

It rarely affected Sean. He was always happy and always had time to stop to talk to anyone. If he saw that you were having a rough day, he'd try to cheer you up.

Sean never knew a stranger. He could strike up a conversation with anyone, and it was a great characteristic to have for a reporter. Not only was he willing to talk to anyone, he was more than willing to go cover anything at anytime. He was a go getter. Sean never complained about any of it. He was just excited to be there; excited to go out and learn people's stories and report them back to others.

I was lucky enough to get to know Sean in the two years we were both at the Pensacola News Journal. Every conversation with him was always interesting. It seemed like he could talk about anything and had some knowledge on it. There were many things he was passionate about, and it became quickly apparent if he cared about the topic.

If you notice, I've been speaking about Sean in the past tense. He has been missing since August 27. He was actually reported missing to the Pensacola Police Department on September 13. On Monday, a body was found partially covered in concrete in a plastic tub buried in a backyard in a Georgia town north of Atlanta.

Police have determined it is Sean.

When I got home from school on Tuesday, my email and Facebook had blown up. I had no idea what was going on, and then I read the article - only to find out that Sean had been brutally killed.

I haven't had an easy time with this. I honestly didn't realize when I first read the article that I would have this hard of time with it. While I worked with Sean almost five days a week for two years, we weren't really friends. Sure, we'd go out with the large groups in the newsroom and hang out then, but it's not like we would have hung out outside of a work setting. I hadn't even talked to, seen or thought about Sean since I had visited the PNJ newsroom in 2008 or 2009.

There's been a lot of us who worked with Sean that have been commenting on Facebook, messaging on Twitter, texting - trying to deal with this. Trying to understand it.

But we don't understand any of it.

We can't.

It appears that they have the two people who most likely committed this heinous crime. And I don't understand how they could do this to someone like Sean.

You know that saying that a person would give you the shirt off his back? That was Sean. And if that shirt wasn't enough for you - he'd find another one for you. He was insanely trusting and always saw the good in everyone.

And that's what makes this even harder to understand. It's unfathomable to think anyone could be so violent to someone who was so caring and loving and peaceful.

As a copy editor, I read stories of crimes like this. I knew people were "creative" with how cruel they could be. I knew this happened to real people. But, it is very, very different when it happens to someone you know.

I'm sharing this story because I hope you NEVER have to experience something like this. But, I'm also sharing this because I want people to know Sean. You'll never get to meet him, but he's the type of person who deserves to live on.

Sean was a humble person; he never wanted to be on a pedestal. He just wanted to be and enjoy life. To honor Sean, I challenge anyone who reads this to be a little friendlier, be a little more comfortable with yourself, and to bring a little sunshine into other's lives because that's what Sean would do.

And we could all use some more Seans in our lives.

"You May Say I'm a Dreamer ... but I"m Not the Only One"

I had a tape of The Beatles when I was in first grade. I remember listening to it frequently but then I just stopped. New Kids on the Block became cooler.

And then The Beatles Anthology aired on ABC when I was a sophomore in high school. Everything changed as I watched it. I recorded it, and my mom was convinced I was going to wear out the tape. I was obsessed. I couldn't get enough.

Soon, I became known as The Beatles freak. I could quote off tons of trivia. I pored over any books I could get my hands on. I was a walking/talking Beatles encyclopedia.

Like any Beatles fan, I quickly had my favorite - John (although I can remember when I was little, I thought Ringo was awesome, but that was probably mostly because of his name). When trying to think of a reason why he's my favorite - I don't know if I can give you a specific one. I think it boiled down to his sarcasm and the lyrics to his songs. I connected more to them than any of Paul's or George's - although I have to admit, George's songs are musically amazing. But, John's had more of an angsty edge to them - and that spoke perfectly to my teenage self.

It wasn't just Lennon's lyrics that created my "awestruckness." His voice could just convey rock and roll. Listen to that original cut of Twist and Shout, Mr. Moonlight, Hey Bulldog, I'm a Loser - he shreds his voice and makes it sound like REAL rock and roll. He oozes blues. Pain. Suffering. There's an insane amount of feelings rolled up into those songs. It makes the lyrics even "more." His vocals finish what he scribbled on to paper before they stepped into that studio to record them for history.

But, I did become torn as I learned more about him. He had huge demons. Extreme substance abuse. Abandoning his first son/first life. Abusing his first wife. All things I was against.

When I was younger, I tried to ignore these things. I wrote off the fact that he frequently made fun of handicapped people - or people who were different from him - because everyone did it. I decided that his genius overwrote all the bad. Basically, I ignored it.

But as I got older, I've had a harder time with it. I do think it goes back to his demons as a kid and not wanting to admit that he needed people because his father left and his mother was killed in front of him. I don't like it, but it is part of who he is.

What has never changed, though, was my admiration for his music. Two years ago, as I stood in front of the place he got shot and then moved on to the Imagine mosaic at Strawberry Fields in Central Park, I got chills. His music was/IS so important that it makes me sad his life was cut short. I got teary eyed- but not as choked up as I did on the 20th anniversary of his death. That was ridiculous. I can still remember calling my mom, barely able to talk through the tears and just choking out:"It's so sad. And so unfair."

Then there was the trip to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame where I was bad and touched his bed. I couldn't help it. That, of course, was before I saw his bloody glasses and stained shirt from that horrible December night in 1980. It made it real.

I think what I really came to terms with is that no one is perfect. We may put stars up on pedestals but they have their own issues just like we do.

I use Lennon's lyrics frequently for motivation/reminders to just be. From "all you need is love" to "life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans" to all of Imagine - there's a wealth of knowledge from someone who was so flawed. I guess when I look back on it all, it tells me more about me than I realized. I can be a great person who tries to be the best I can even if I may make mistakes from time to time.

Lennon was flawed, but when it comes down to it - his lyrics show us that he was trying to be a better person by trying to make the world a better, happier place because he truly was a dreamer.

The Dirtiest Word in the World - Censorship

I've never been a fan of censorship. As a journalist, it was an evil, evil concept. It went against everything that the First Amendment stood for and protected for us.

Now that I teach, it takes on a new meaning I can't imagine not being able to give certain books to my students because someone else said they were improper. In my mind, it would only make them want to read that selection more. Obviously, I won't tell a kid that they should ignore something their parents have told them not to read. But, I think it is different when it is the parents. They have the right to do that. I don't necessarily agree with the concept, but that is their prerogative as a parent.

I was lucky. My parents didn't tell me what I could or could not listen to, read or watch - except for refusing to buy me Motley Crue's Girls, Girls, Girls when I was in grade school thanks to my older cousin saying I was too young. They maintained they had raised me with certain beliefs and felt they had given me the tools to make choices. They also felt that I wasn't going to be swayed by the influence of others. What this gave me was a huge world view. Through reading and movies, I was exposed to worlds, cultures and beliefs that I wouldn't have known to exist coming from small-town Iowa. I can't imagine not being given that freedom. My world view would have been so small, it wouldn't have been funny. I would not be as well-rounded as I am today if there had been restrictions put on what I could read or watch.

I think back to friends in high school whose parents did restrict their movie choices. They told them watching certain movies would give them too many bad ideas. They were the ones who ended up having to get married because there was a baby on the way. So, their argument about giving them ideas doesn't seem viable because they obviously figured out those things on their own.

Sheltering yourself isn't good. I think it only makes you wonder more and it is n't like it is hard to get access to any of these things in today's society. It is human nature that if you tell someone you can't have something, it makes you wonder more. When you wonder more, you seek it out and could end up causing more problems.

Free speech is an amazing cornerstone of our county. Censoring takes away that right and turns us into something that we worked hard for and many sacrificed for in our past. We're the home of the free - not the slightly free depending on the ruling viewpoint. Being diverse and letting several viewpoints be heard, voiced and experienced is what makes us us. If we can't experience a certain viewpoint, then we're missing a big point of free speech. You can choose to not listen, not pay attention to it, but you shouldn't force that on others. As Americans, we should be able to see, hear, read, digest what we want. Outside groups and the government should not be in control of that. It should be a personal choice - maybe up to parents since they do have some type of control until you're 18 - or while you're living under their roof. But, I also think that children will make good choices if you've equipped them to.

It's not like we want generations of sheep. This is America. We champion creativity and being able to be who you are - individuality. It is what makes this country great and amazing.

Response to "I See Me" poem

This seems to be a pretty dark poem, but then again, I remember writing things that were this dark and depressing in high school and junior high, too. There was that one in eighth grade that was really dark and just a stream of consciousness. It was really good. Probably my favorite thing I ever wrote. Too bad it got lost in the shuffle of one of the moves.

Being a teenager isn't a fun time. Sure there are a lot of fun times and you basically have permission to be an idiot - but, you're alos becoming you - and that's not an easy thing. Especially when you are constantly bombarded with photos of what society deems as perfect and correct. So, it gets into your head that that image is what you should be.

That even holds true for adults. You're always feeling like you need to look the ads - but we know they aren't real. They're photoshopped - or they're plastic. What could actually be seen as more disturbing, though, is that we've become OK with that as a society. E preach that it matters what's on the inside, but I truly believe that this is a case of actions speaking louder than words. We say that, but we continue to show different "ideals."

Look at all the fad diets. The quick fixes. Society - and by that I mean all of us - is saying we need to be skinny.

But it hasn't always been that way. Marilyn Monroe was curvy. Bridgette Bardot definitely wasn't asking and bones. But at some point, stick thin because the ideal. I'm lucky because I got good genes. But that also doesn't mean it makes it any easier for me.

******

When I first read this, I read it as someone looking at themselves in a mirror, but then a student said he thought it was about a bo looking into a girl's eyes. Once he said that, I could completely see that. That is one thing I love about teaching - when students have a chance to make me able to see things differently. It's a teachable moment for me and helps me grow. This is also a great example of how our personal schema and thoughts/experiences affect how we interpret things in clases - and life. It is all about how you frame things; either choice wasn't right and it wasn't wrong - it just was.

******

This person must have a significant amount of self loathing, though, when they ened it by saying that they hate that they always see "me." It makes me wonder whether they are upset about something they've done to the person they are looking at or if they just don't have enough confidence in themselves. If it is the former, it makes me question the person they are looking at. Or is "Jay" beating himself up unnecessarily about something he's done. Is he blowing it out of proportion? Or is it something that truly is horrible. If it is truly horrible, then the other peson should leave. Vamoose. They shouldn't suffer because someone else is a moron or rude or abusive. Everyone is better than that and deserves more than that.

As I read through this for the fight time today, I notice that the subject of the poem does indeed have some self-esteem issues. This could explain why she's staying with this person. Now, I'm also getting the idea that the narrator is the one who causes all the pain an suffering in her life. Now, though, I'm wondering why the narrator doesn't try to improve himself if he is so unhappy about how he hates what he sees.

The Day Everything Changed

*This one is from a few weeks ago when we wrote about 9/11.

I didn't believe it at first.

She called after 8 to tell me small planes had hit the World Trade Towers in NYC. It didn't seem like that big of deal at that point. small planes weren't that big of deal. Besides, I had another 15 minutes before my alarm went off.

My mind set changed completely when I got out of the shower. My stereo was on like it was every morning; but instead of the normal Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Foo Fighters coming from the speakers - it was news.

Did they seriously just say that the Pentagon had been hit? What was going on? I stood there dripping in my robe and turned on the TV. I couldn't believe the images being shown.

This couldn't be happening.

I still headed to campus because it seemed like the only logical thing to do. It was all we talked about in criminology, but he did let us out early because we needed to process.

I was in a fog. This was unreal; I was still mourning my mom. I couldn't handle this yet. But I needed to hear normal voices. I called Sarah. It helped a little, but she was frantic. We were all frantic. I started trying to call my dad - no answer.

Classes were being canceled all over the place - but not mine. This was the perfect time to go over how to cover this and how to deal with this horrific attack. So, instead of getting to go home, I was stuck in the basement of wAlter williams digging through plane information based on tail wings.

I headed home, having to weave the car through the lines of cars that poured out of the gas stations.

Still couldn't get in touch with Dad. Constant busy signal.

Odd thoughts started going through my head. Just a week ago, we were flying back from Orange County. If this had happened just one week earlier, I would have been stuck there.

Finally got home. The answering machine was blinking. Had to be Dad.

Nope. Cicely.

"I just want you to know I love you because it doesn't get said enough. So, I love you."

So - my best friend calls, I have tons of emails from other people - but no word from my dad.

I try again.

Busy.

He's talking to HER. Once again; she's stolen him.

I finally get through. He's mad because I interrupted the call.

I say fine and sorry that his only daughter wanted to talk to him on the day that the world appears to be going to Hell. I say good by, hang up, and realize that we truly have no relationship now all thanks to her.

*******

This was the day I realized the importance of my future career. It was up to us to start filtering/sifting through all of this nonsense to make sense of it. In all honesty, we had no time to process it. We may have only been student journalists, but that was no excuse. WE had a paper and newscasts to get out.

And so we did.

We sifted throughs tories. Got a crash course in various Middle Eastern subjects. Afghan vs. Afghani. Explaining why there were various spellings of Bin Laden's name and al-Qaeda. Learning how to fit Afghanistan in a headline with ease.

And the pictures.

They were heart wrenching. Horrific. Telling.

Some of those photos never say the light of day in any publication because they were just too much. It's not like we didn't see enough anyway.

It was the start of the constant ticker on the news feeds. And every channel was a news feed. No ESPN. No MTV. No CW. No FX. NOthing but news. And that ticker. Constantly updating us - even though there were no real updates. Little did we know that ticker was never going away.

Slowly, stories came together. But after a while, they all blended in to one. By the weekend, it was time for something else - but there was nothing else. No football game to go to. No sports. Just news.

I started watching Telemundo. Despite not knowing much Spanish beyond Donde es el Bano? I could understand what the anchors and reports were saying because they were saying the EXACT same thing everyone else was saying on EVERY other channel. It just wasn't in English this time.

There was no escape. People who weren't even there were going into a depressive state because of all the coverage. Sometimes I wonder if it was too much simply because there was no escape from it because there was no other programming.

Looking back, I don't even think we understood it then. Strike that - I know we didn't understand it. It was too much. too odd. Too foreign. It was common to hear phrases like "This doesn't happen to us." Because it didn't We had been lucky - but that luck also bit us in the butt because we felt safe. As much as feeling scared sucks, it is now a lot less likely for something of this magnitude to happen to us again.

Lunch stress

Lunch ... such a social strata.

In high school, you wanted to make sure that you had your 5th hour class with at least one of your friends ... preferably more than just one because you'd be screwed if they were sick. Trying to find other people to sit with ... not fun. it was so much easier in elementary when you sat with your class. No standing there looking for people. You just went. You'd think it would get better when you got to college - but then it was three meals of standing and looking for people. Breakfast was a pop tart from quick service because you weren't getting up any earlier than you needed to. Lunch was usually a sandwich from there because no one else was back from class. There were days you'd all meet somewhere on campus, but with study schedules and those pesky classes, that didn't always work either.

Dinner, though, was carefully and meticulously planned. What time? Which dining hall? Was it chicken fingers night at Down Under? Because we couldn't miss that - EVER. It also had to be carefully planned because you had to get there before the football players did. Otherwise, you'd be waiting forever for them to restock the food. I remember some girls being jealous I was in the same dorm as the football boys, but really, in times like that - it was just a pain in the rear. I did not handle not having Froot Loops to eat because Mr. O-Linesman decided he needed four bowls. Pig.

Even now when we get the master schedule, we're scrambling to see what lunch we have and who is in it. Groans erupt when it isn't your preferred time spot. Sympathies go out to the lone male stuck with a bunch of females. And those of us in C lunch know that if there's treats in the lounge, we need to find a way to sash some because goodness knows there won't be any left for us. As soon as anything homemade or chocolately gets placed on that table, it's inhaled within a few minutes. We're more vulturelike than human at that point.



*This was a freewrite. I started the day writing about different things that were stressing me out, and then the lunch ramble jumped out. So, it shows you that it is typical to have very random freewrites!

Listening to Hannah's tapes

I would have a hard time continuing to listen to Hannah's tapes - especially knowing that i was one of the reasons someone had decided to take their own life. I think curiosity would win out, though. I would want to know why I was at fault. And, I'd want to make sure that my reason wasn't horrible. And, to be honest, I'd also want to make sure that I wasn't the worst reason. If I was the 13th reason, though, I"m not sure how I'd handle that knowledge. That would be tough to deal with on a daily basis. I don't know how I'd deal with it actually. It would come with a lot of guilt attached to it.

Then, there'd be the question of whether I'd tell someone "important" or someone with authority about it. It would be a tough decision. Would I want to implicate myself? Of course, I wonder what they'd even do with it. Would it bring the family more closure/more comfort? Or would it be like Dylan Klebold's mom after having read his journals - more guilt because they didn't know they pain and suffering their daughter was going through. I think it would be a Catch 22.

You'd want to listen with the hop that it brought closure, but what if it just brought more pian? That wouldn't be helpful to the healing process, which would be just as important - if not more since you'd still be dealing with the decision that your loved one made. But what if there was something on there that could hep others choose to not commit suicide?

Hannah never made the rule that one of the listeners couldn't make the tapes public. So wat if one of the "reasons" decided to do that and outed everyone on the tapes? Would that be worth it? How would the others react? Wouldn't it be a type of karma? They caused her death so others should know why they were to blame. Of course, that could cause more backlash for you. The others could retaliate. I wonder if there could be legal action they could take. I suppose defamation, but again, what was being said would be true. There is, though, the issue of perspective. What if the person who had committed suicide just read into things too much? But that's the big issue with our words - we never know how someone will perceive them. Just because we have one meaning behind them doesn't mean they'll be take that way.

I suppose that's part of the point of this book: Be careful what you say. The old saying "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me" has never really been true. Words sting - especially when you hear them over and over again. They're also more painful when you know they aren't true, but no one wants to listen to the truth because they've already accepted the wrong reality based on what they've heard. And then it goes viral and doesn't stop. If you repeat something enough, it becomes truth no matter its actual validity. It's public perception and that's worse than anything else.