Saying It Loud
Richard J. Alley
When I was a kid in school, I recall taking field trips to Chucalissa Indian Village, where the high point of the visit was buying an authentic Indian arrowhead in the gift shop. We also went to the Pink Palace, when it was actually in the house, to see the shrunken heads. And, of course, there was the zoo when all it boasted was a fetid concrete box housing the lions, just a short walk from an island of monkeys.
Today, I chaperoned Calvin’s class at the Rock 'n Soul Museum in the FedEx Forum. We walked there, his school being only a few blocks from this venue, and along the way there were impromptu history lessons given by Dr. Max on the Robert Churches, W.C. Handy and the history of Beale Street.
The museum tour begins with a 15-minute film on the evolution of blues to soul and rock-n-roll and it was great to see the kids' heads, from my vantage point in the back of the theater, bobbing and dancing along with Carl Perkins, Sam and Dave and Elvis. At certain points, too, they broke out and sang along on "Blue Suede Shoes" and "Respect." The tour was self-guided, each child and adult wandering around with headphones and an MP3 player that allowed its user to punch in a three-digit number to hear a narrator discussing a particular display or, most often, to listen to song lists on any number of juke boxes set up throughout the museum. The kids danced and strutted to everyone from Furry Lewis to Al Green, and it was great to hear them singing, with no thought as to their volume, along with "Say It Loud (I'm Black and I'm Proud)," "That's All Right (Mama)" and "Walk The Line."
Music, and the history of Memphis music in particular, is a great catalyst for the discussion of civil rights, its history, and the proper way one human should treat another. The Rock 'n Soul Museum devotes much time in the introductory film to this cause and there is a large display on nothing but the Civil Rights Movement. But as I watched these black and white children, all of whom were born at the turn of this century, dance and sing together while laughing and helping each other with the given assignment, it occurred to me that all of the strife and tension and heartache of the last century is mostly lost on them. And that's a good thing, because it left their hearts and minds wide open to the music in their ears.
Showing posts with label Richard J. Alley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Richard J. Alley. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Urf! The Birth of a Blog
Urf! The Birth of a Blog
Richard J. Alley
Why would a person start a blog? Narcissism. At some point a person believes that what he or she has to say is so interesting, so poignant, so goddamn witty that he must share it with others. And that others will necessarily enjoy it. That’s why I began Urf!, because I’m just so witty. That’s not entirely why I started it, of course. As the father of four young kids of varying ages, I am always amused by the silly things they’re saying or doing, or trying to say and do. These stories I would invariably email to my mother or sisters. I decided it would be easier to put them in one place, along with current photographs, for them to visit and to really feel a part of our lives no matter how far away they were.
Urf!, a term my then-three-year-old daughter would use to vent her frustration, was begun on March 31, 2006, with the post What is Urf!? I wrote online for about 10 days before telling anyone, posting almost every day. I needed to make sure it was something that would hold my attention before attempting to hold anyone else’s. I received positive feedback in the form of comments and email once I went public, and the URL was forwarded from family to friends to people I’d never met before. I’m a frustrated writer at heart and having someone read what I’d written – and like it – turned out to be just what I needed, what would propel me to write more, whether online or in my own composition book. It also helped me gain access to a community in Memphis that I wasn’t even aware I wanted access to. My wife owned a parenting store for a couple of years and, through that entity, she became close with a group of women and their families. Kristy’s Friends, that’s who they were to me. I knew of them, but didn’t really know them. Once she told them about Urf!, and they read it, they began to comment and email their thoughts on various posts and topics. Stacey Greenberg and I discussed using a post as an essay in this very zine. Instead of hanging out as individuals with kids, we started getting together as families and have all become close, a sort of extended family.
I consider myself to be a good father, though with room for improvement, but writing about the kids every day changed the way I looked at, and even interacted, with them. I began listening more closely to what they were saying and how they were saying it, always looking for that next hook to build a post around. They had become my muses. Suddenly I saw humor in their stubbornness, questions, eating habits, and even their arguments. I instigated conversations just for the reaction and dragged others out longer than I normally would have just to see where they’d lead. They usually led to one of the kids rolling their eyes at me, and that in itself was worthy of writing about. Urf!, as I’ve said, is a funny term of vexation, and that’s exactly what fatherhood is to me - a series of frustrations punctuated by intense moments of silliness and laughter. Urf! became my place to document and share the good times as well as the not-so-good.
My grandfather was the editorial cartoonist for The Commercial Appeal during the 1940s, 50s and 60s, and during much of this time he also penned a daily comic strip called The Ryatts. In this comic strip, he documented the antics of a family of seven, the parents and their five children, based on his own family. It was brought to my attention recently that that is what I’m doing. I’d never made that connection before, but it’s nice to find this link to the past; to think that, though I don’t have his skills with a nib and ink, I can still paint those pictures, convey that humor, in my own way. Hopefully in a way that will resonate with other parents, other families.
The blog also became a sort of archive or record book for me. My thinking is that when my kids grow and have kids of their own, reading Urf! will be akin to flipping through that old family album we always look through at my grandmother’s house. There will be some actual photos, but most of what is there will be drawn with words, some embellished, some silly, but hopefully with enough truth and feeling that they and their own children can be transported back to this time in their lives. It’s done the same for me. I find that I’m not only interested in writing about my kids’ childhoods, but my own as well, attempting to draw a parallel between our experiences at times and a contrast at others. I’ve written heartfelt entries about my family, knowing full well that they were being read by those people, and that has unexpectedly opened up lines of communication that may not have been there otherwise.
My kids don’t yet know about Urf!. I’ve kept it from the oldest, the only one who can read now, because it’s not time for him to read it. I’m not ready for them to know just how funny they are to me, how parents laugh at their children even when they’re exasperated by them. If that happens, we, as parents, lose our edge and the whole system breaks down. I also fear that if they know they’re being written about, and that people are reading it, then they will begin acting for it and I want them to be as natural as possible. The time will come for them to read it, and I look forward to emailing them the URL wherever they may be. Away at college, on scholarships, hopefully.
Richard J. Alley
Why would a person start a blog? Narcissism. At some point a person believes that what he or she has to say is so interesting, so poignant, so goddamn witty that he must share it with others. And that others will necessarily enjoy it. That’s why I began Urf!, because I’m just so witty. That’s not entirely why I started it, of course. As the father of four young kids of varying ages, I am always amused by the silly things they’re saying or doing, or trying to say and do. These stories I would invariably email to my mother or sisters. I decided it would be easier to put them in one place, along with current photographs, for them to visit and to really feel a part of our lives no matter how far away they were.
Urf!, a term my then-three-year-old daughter would use to vent her frustration, was begun on March 31, 2006, with the post What is Urf!? I wrote online for about 10 days before telling anyone, posting almost every day. I needed to make sure it was something that would hold my attention before attempting to hold anyone else’s. I received positive feedback in the form of comments and email once I went public, and the URL was forwarded from family to friends to people I’d never met before. I’m a frustrated writer at heart and having someone read what I’d written – and like it – turned out to be just what I needed, what would propel me to write more, whether online or in my own composition book. It also helped me gain access to a community in Memphis that I wasn’t even aware I wanted access to. My wife owned a parenting store for a couple of years and, through that entity, she became close with a group of women and their families. Kristy’s Friends, that’s who they were to me. I knew of them, but didn’t really know them. Once she told them about Urf!, and they read it, they began to comment and email their thoughts on various posts and topics. Stacey Greenberg and I discussed using a post as an essay in this very zine. Instead of hanging out as individuals with kids, we started getting together as families and have all become close, a sort of extended family.
I consider myself to be a good father, though with room for improvement, but writing about the kids every day changed the way I looked at, and even interacted, with them. I began listening more closely to what they were saying and how they were saying it, always looking for that next hook to build a post around. They had become my muses. Suddenly I saw humor in their stubbornness, questions, eating habits, and even their arguments. I instigated conversations just for the reaction and dragged others out longer than I normally would have just to see where they’d lead. They usually led to one of the kids rolling their eyes at me, and that in itself was worthy of writing about. Urf!, as I’ve said, is a funny term of vexation, and that’s exactly what fatherhood is to me - a series of frustrations punctuated by intense moments of silliness and laughter. Urf! became my place to document and share the good times as well as the not-so-good.
My grandfather was the editorial cartoonist for The Commercial Appeal during the 1940s, 50s and 60s, and during much of this time he also penned a daily comic strip called The Ryatts. In this comic strip, he documented the antics of a family of seven, the parents and their five children, based on his own family. It was brought to my attention recently that that is what I’m doing. I’d never made that connection before, but it’s nice to find this link to the past; to think that, though I don’t have his skills with a nib and ink, I can still paint those pictures, convey that humor, in my own way. Hopefully in a way that will resonate with other parents, other families.
The blog also became a sort of archive or record book for me. My thinking is that when my kids grow and have kids of their own, reading Urf! will be akin to flipping through that old family album we always look through at my grandmother’s house. There will be some actual photos, but most of what is there will be drawn with words, some embellished, some silly, but hopefully with enough truth and feeling that they and their own children can be transported back to this time in their lives. It’s done the same for me. I find that I’m not only interested in writing about my kids’ childhoods, but my own as well, attempting to draw a parallel between our experiences at times and a contrast at others. I’ve written heartfelt entries about my family, knowing full well that they were being read by those people, and that has unexpectedly opened up lines of communication that may not have been there otherwise.
My kids don’t yet know about Urf!. I’ve kept it from the oldest, the only one who can read now, because it’s not time for him to read it. I’m not ready for them to know just how funny they are to me, how parents laugh at their children even when they’re exasperated by them. If that happens, we, as parents, lose our edge and the whole system breaks down. I also fear that if they know they’re being written about, and that people are reading it, then they will begin acting for it and I want them to be as natural as possible. The time will come for them to read it, and I look forward to emailing them the URL wherever they may be. Away at college, on scholarships, hopefully.
Saturday, September 9, 2006
Good Morning!
Good Morning! by Richard Alley
Photo by Erica Carter
I’m going to give some of you the cold hard facts of raising kids and, to fully grasp it, you must first understand this: small children are not morning people. Shocked? It’s true. And I don’t know what all the baby raising books say about morning time with your little tow-headed jewel, but I imagine it has something to do with setting schedules and being repetitive and speaking in a soothing voice to reassure little Jimmy that it’s a new day full of rainbows and grand adventures. Something like waking up to golden flapjacks in the Hundred Acre Wood instead of urine-soaked sheets in your very own bed.
Since C was ready for his first day at day care it has been my job to get him – and then his siblings as they came along – dressed, fed and out the door for their day, and I’m going to tell you now how that gets done. If you have a weak stomach then you may want to stop reading now because this isn’t Baby Einstein and I’m not going to recommend leading your spawn out the door with black and white triangles and rhombi. I did it all with fart jokes. And conversations centering around who will stink the most if they’re the last to eat or to get dressed. Humor has been the essence of efficiency when it comes to getting non-morning little people to obey commands – if I can fool them into thinking they want to do something because it’s fun, then it just may get done without my head exploding. Humor and competition. I encourage The Trio to race each other to see who can get dressed first and who can get into the car first like I’m some sort of Roman impresario putting on a gladiator match for the emperor. I have looked the other way as teeth and hair were ignored. They’ve worn socks with holes and possibly underwear that was past its prime. And I have raised my voice, very likely awakening the neighbors.
Lately the humor angle has taken an ugly turn and it’s one I fear could have some longer lasting repercussions. The Trio, for the most part, aren’t a belligerent group. They’re not hateful or playground bullies (Again, for the most part. The jury is still in deliberation regarding S). However, there is considerable fun being made in the a.m. at the expense of a little cartoon 4-year-old named Caillou and his giant, bald head. Kristy and I find this cartoon particularly irritating because the character of Caillou consistently whines to get his way and this behavior tends to be rewarded by his cartoon parents. But then there is still his head, his beachball of a head, that my kids find hilarious. So hilarious, in fact, that S has begun waking up earlier than she ever has to see his gleaming melon. And she laughs at it. And they all laugh at it.
Thankfully I haven’t seen any kids at their schools with a head as disproportionately large as Caillou’s, because I’m afraid they might make the connection. We are constantly reinforcing that they should be nice to other children, all other children, no matter how different they are from themselves. But this is just a cartoon, right? A freakish, globe-headed cartoon. My other problem with Caillou is that they put him on in place of Sesame Street, which is a show I grew up on. There are a lot of freaks on Sesame Street, too, but they’re supposed to be monsters and giant birds and hairy elephant creatures, and not 4-year-old little boys with a bowling ball for a head. Besides, Sesame Street had grown-up guest stars like James Gandolfini, Robert Deniro, R.E.M., and one episode with a hoarse-voiced Natalie Portman dancing around in an elephant costume that made me feel a little conflicted.
So I don’t know if any of the child raising books say it or not, but I’ll say it – throw this book out! Nothing is cut and dry. Nothing but that silly, expensive mobile you got at the shower is black and white and there are no wrong answers. If oatmeal and Grover don’t work, then try farts and boogers. Make them laugh. Make them run. Whatever it takes to get them out that door.
Photo by Erica Carter
I’m going to give some of you the cold hard facts of raising kids and, to fully grasp it, you must first understand this: small children are not morning people. Shocked? It’s true. And I don’t know what all the baby raising books say about morning time with your little tow-headed jewel, but I imagine it has something to do with setting schedules and being repetitive and speaking in a soothing voice to reassure little Jimmy that it’s a new day full of rainbows and grand adventures. Something like waking up to golden flapjacks in the Hundred Acre Wood instead of urine-soaked sheets in your very own bed.
Since C was ready for his first day at day care it has been my job to get him – and then his siblings as they came along – dressed, fed and out the door for their day, and I’m going to tell you now how that gets done. If you have a weak stomach then you may want to stop reading now because this isn’t Baby Einstein and I’m not going to recommend leading your spawn out the door with black and white triangles and rhombi. I did it all with fart jokes. And conversations centering around who will stink the most if they’re the last to eat or to get dressed. Humor has been the essence of efficiency when it comes to getting non-morning little people to obey commands – if I can fool them into thinking they want to do something because it’s fun, then it just may get done without my head exploding. Humor and competition. I encourage The Trio to race each other to see who can get dressed first and who can get into the car first like I’m some sort of Roman impresario putting on a gladiator match for the emperor. I have looked the other way as teeth and hair were ignored. They’ve worn socks with holes and possibly underwear that was past its prime. And I have raised my voice, very likely awakening the neighbors.
Lately the humor angle has taken an ugly turn and it’s one I fear could have some longer lasting repercussions. The Trio, for the most part, aren’t a belligerent group. They’re not hateful or playground bullies (Again, for the most part. The jury is still in deliberation regarding S). However, there is considerable fun being made in the a.m. at the expense of a little cartoon 4-year-old named Caillou and his giant, bald head. Kristy and I find this cartoon particularly irritating because the character of Caillou consistently whines to get his way and this behavior tends to be rewarded by his cartoon parents. But then there is still his head, his beachball of a head, that my kids find hilarious. So hilarious, in fact, that S has begun waking up earlier than she ever has to see his gleaming melon. And she laughs at it. And they all laugh at it.
Thankfully I haven’t seen any kids at their schools with a head as disproportionately large as Caillou’s, because I’m afraid they might make the connection. We are constantly reinforcing that they should be nice to other children, all other children, no matter how different they are from themselves. But this is just a cartoon, right? A freakish, globe-headed cartoon. My other problem with Caillou is that they put him on in place of Sesame Street, which is a show I grew up on. There are a lot of freaks on Sesame Street, too, but they’re supposed to be monsters and giant birds and hairy elephant creatures, and not 4-year-old little boys with a bowling ball for a head. Besides, Sesame Street had grown-up guest stars like James Gandolfini, Robert Deniro, R.E.M., and one episode with a hoarse-voiced Natalie Portman dancing around in an elephant costume that made me feel a little conflicted.
So I don’t know if any of the child raising books say it or not, but I’ll say it – throw this book out! Nothing is cut and dry. Nothing but that silly, expensive mobile you got at the shower is black and white and there are no wrong answers. If oatmeal and Grover don’t work, then try farts and boogers. Make them laugh. Make them run. Whatever it takes to get them out that door.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
