All I Need To Know About Life I Learned From Trees*

· It’s important to have roots.
· In today’s complex world, it pays to branch out.
· Don’t pine away over old flames.
· If you really believe in something, don’t be afraid to go out on a limb.
· Be flexible so you don’t break when a harsh wind blows.
· Sometimes you have to shed your old bark in order to grow.
· If you want to maintain accurate records, keep a log.
· To be politically correct, don’t wear firs.
· Grow where you’re planted.
· It’s perfectly okay to be a late bloomer.
· Avoid people who would like to cut you down.
· Get all spruced up when you have a hot date.
· If the party gets boring, just leaf.
· You can’t hide your true colors as you approach the autumn of your life.
· It’s more important to be honest than poplar.

*Unknown source; from the Internet

The New Multi-Billion-Dollar Green Economy Leaves Minorities in the Red, Creating Eco-Apartheid

Global climate change is a process—not an event—that our children will inherit and live with throughout the 21st Century. Spawning a new nomenclature, lifestyle, culture and economy, it is imperative that concepts like alternative energy, ecosystems and biological agri-science are included as integral parts of today’s progressive instructional curriculum.

But are they?

According to a highly critical article by Van Jones, President of Ella Baker Center for Human Rights, “Green is rapidly becoming the new gold. The LOHAS (lifestyles of health and sustainability) sector is growing like crazy: It was a $229 billion piece of the US economy in 2006. …But unfortunately, the LOHAS sector is probably the most racially segregated part of the US economy — in terms of its customers, owners and employees. Changing that could create better health, more jobs and increased wealth for communities that need all three.”*

Not only are blacks and browns not a part of the new green economy, they are the consummate uninformed consumers, or, as one environmentalist stated, they are “eco-parasites.”

According to the Department of Health Services, County of Los Angeles, “Food insecurity, defined as the limited or uncertain availability of nutritionally adequate and safe foods…” is experienced by “22% of lower income households (defined …as 300% of the federal poverty level…. This equates to over 400,000 households with food insecurity, of which 141,000 included someone who had experienced hunger in the past year.”

Jones writes, “The climate crisis is galloping from the margins of geek science to the epicenter of our politics, culture and economics. As the new environmentalists advance, only two questions remain: whom will they take with them? And whom will they leave behind?”

I couldn’t have said it better, but I just want to add that where there is a will there is definitely a way. Previous generations have produced innovators and inventors of color who contributed greatly to society in spite of all odds. Slave-born George Washington Carver taught Midwest farmers how to improve soil through crop rotation, invented over 300 products that could be developed from peanuts, and 115 uses for the sweet potato. Victor Ochoa, a Mexican revolutionary, invented the Ochoaplane, a precursor to the modern helicopter. In the late 1990s, Mexican-American Victor Celorio, patented the "Instabook Maker" a technology that now allows e-book publishers to print electronic books offline, cheaply and quickly.

With an emphasis on standardization in traditional public schools, this century’s inventors will most undoubtedly come from small, personalized high-performance schools that celebrate innovation and support individual achievement and from communities that support their efforts.

How can the new Green Economy be introduced to tomorrow’s leaders and innovators within the highest need communities, to those youngsters least apt to study or practice environmentalism at home or in school?

Here’s just one simple idea: With time restraints and set and structured classroom activities, vermicomposting (harvesting worm castings out of table scraps and other organic products) can increase awareness of vital environmental issues and provide a setting for the ideal after school, home or weekend project that can blossom into much, much more. Vermicomposting is, indeed, earth science studies from the ground up!

But that’s just one idea. Just one!!! This is a multi-billion-dollar industry whose time has come and there are a thousand ideas that can evolve the science that haven’t been discovered yet. The question remains, will our black and brown inner city youngsters be able to capitalize on the new green economy? With our help, the answer is “Yes They Can.”

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For more on Green Collar Jobs, follow the writings of Van Jones, civil- and eco-rights pioneer.

L.A.'s Witness Protection Lighthouse Is Just A Dinghy

Just in case you're put in the position of relying on the Los Angeles Witness-Victim's Assistance Program for help, you should know that besides sending you a brochure (if you ask for it) and a reimbursement for up to $2,000 for rent (per family), there isn't much help this city office can offer. A lighthouse it isn't! I'm thinking it's more like a big dinghy with a light on it.

But I'm going to be optimistic; light is good. It gives you a tiny ray of hope and you begin to search out every break in darkness you can find over the horizon.

We don't know where my son is. He's angry, hurt, confused and doesn't understand "reimbursement" or why Mommy can't resettle him in say, Miami, or San Francisco--someplace cosmopolitan, where jobs (and recreation) are plentiful. I was thinking more like Bakersfield, Omaha or Iowa City. After all this is a re-location, not a vacation.

It's time like these that you need a strong support system. Besides my great friends, prayer partners and neighbors, I feel blessed to be working with Mario Portillo, of Aztecs Rising--who is trying to talk sense into my son--and L.A.P.D. Gang Unit Det. Rick Ortiz, who is safeguarding our home. Today I know now that I did the right thing to report the crime, in spite of everything that's happened since.

While the City doesn't have much of a lighthouse, I'm thinking we should build one for ourselves. Not for the City's sake, but for our own. We need a network of safe houses, employers who'll take a chance, adult mentors for troubled and confused young people.

In future blogs and on our website, 2 Late 4 Time Out, I'd like to share every resource I can find regarding gang intervention and help for families. And if you've got some ideas, please don't keep 'em to yourself. No one should have a monopoly on light.

Parents of Troubled Youth Need A Lighthouse

When I was 21-years-old, finding an apartment—or another apartment—was simple. You just filled out a one page application, signed the thing and plopped down your first and last months rent. With the help of a few college buddies you moved in the next weekend. Same thing with getting a job—or another job; it was a piece of cake.

It’s been a long time since I tried to find a place to live, or looked for a job. Forty years just slipped by, without me taking nary a notice that a young person today who has any blemish on his/her driving record, employment history, residential background, or credit report, might as well pull up a cot on skid row. Without some serious intervention or help, he’s not going to find a regular job. And forget about decent place to live!

Take a look at this generic Rental Application, for example. I don’t blame landlords; I understand that screening is necessary to protect their interests. Why invite trouble. But on the other hand how about the young person who’s trying to turn his life around? How is he or she expected to change and make a new start if no one will give him a chance?

I can’t tell you how many people took chances on me: My mother, teachers, mentors, landlords, employers, even a few cops. How about you? Were you such a perfect youth? Today, parolees and undocumented workers get a better break when it comes to resources than do this group of troubled or misguided youth.

What parents like me need is a lighthouse—la casa de luz. As we float in despair on the open, foreboding seas of fear and uncertainty for our children, we need to be guided quietly, stealthfully to the shores of sanity.

I’m just one person, but it seems to me that the City Attorney’s Witness-Victim Assistance Program should be that beacon. After all, if you’re a witness or a victim, where else should you start looking for help?

It’s not like you went to fugitives’ boot camp or survivors’ academy. Nobody gives you the playbook on how to survive a gang home invasion. Or how to deal with death threats. If you are in my position you need HELP!!!

You need some basic questions answered, like: When to go for “outside” assistance, where to find advocates in your area, what to ask the police, and how to make a helpful witness/victim statement. And you certainly need to make a plan.

But while time for you stands still, the gang is on the move and you’ll need to employ some new guerilla strategies to stay on top of the situation. Someone’s got to teach you how to duck, tuck and roll when you hear gunfire…and how to recognize vehicle license plate numbers (and letters) at a glance. And for your daily routine, you’ll need to gain some new parking, driving and shopping survival skills that’ll help you avoid unwanted encounters with your new adversaries.

No one can teach us these things unless they’ve had such experiences. Or are versed in gang behavior. That's why we need a lighthouse! I just want to remind City Hall that we may be just little boats, but so many little boats make up a fleet worth saving.

I’m praying that the Witness-Victim Assistance Program will be my lighthouse. But since they’re not open this weekend—I’m guessing especially over Easter weekend, with everyone enjoying family activities—that I’ll have to call first thing Monday to find out exactly what they can/will do to help save my son’s life. Meanwhile, my weekend plan is to lay low, stay sane and keep my six-foot-tall man-child hidden away like a moldy old wedding dress, like himself the criminal, or like hidden treasure I want to selfishly covet.

Ah Shit! This Is A Parent's Second Worst Nightmare

There will be those who think that I’m crazy, but I’ll do anything on earth to save my son. I know that he’s made some foolish mistakes and some very bad decisions, but like I’ve been saying for the past few weeks—since this gang nightmare started—stupidity shouldn’t be a death sentence. So I’m throwing everything I’ve got at the wall, hoping something sticks.

During the past few days, in my latest incarnation as SuperMom, I’ve used every form of electronic communication available to man (or woman) to ask for help from the L.A.P.D., all the way up to the Deputy Chief’s office, every news outlet I could think of, e-mail, phone calls, reaching out in every way possible, to people I haven’t known for 20 years, working to help my son find safe harbor.

I’m such a ba-a-ad mama that I stood up to the gang! [Who am I fooling? I was just that desperate.] I’m not gon’na lie to you, I have been going crazy—trying to front off this “incident” to the grocery clerk, the gas station attendant, the bank teller, not to mention my neighbors, my boss, clients and business associates—all people I normally love to chat with—pretending that I wasn’t looking over my shoulder, scurrying to the car, tucking behind a bush, cutting meetings short; wearing baggy, black get-away clothes, all signs of a fugitive lifestyle.

Okay, so I’m learning to protect my personal safety from possible gang retaliation because if they can’t get at my son, maybe they will come after me. Hey, I've watched enough CSI episodes to know the rules of the streets. My son's gone, okay. So maybe they’re thinking of taking out his moms. [Now that would really prove a point, wouldn't it!]

This afternoon—after an exhaustive day of research, phone calls and passionate conversations with my new deep friend, Aztecs Rising Gang Interventionist, Mario Portillo, and Natalie, a member of LAPD’s top-brass staff, and a mother who cares, I fell into a peaceful slumber. Or so I thought:
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“Say wa’, homes? That’s the lady who used to bring snacks to H.P. baseball and shit. She was always smiling and shit. And she had good snacks too, man.”

“Naw, homes. No shit? Like, did she bring pizza and shit?”

“Yeah, homes. And Cokes too. In the can and shit. But she was crazy and shit. Always talking about our potential and shit. And she used to pick the cans out of the trash can and talk about recycling and shit and saving money and shit. She made me laugh and shit.”

“Oh yeah, man, I remember that black lady. She came to school and talked about college and careers and we could do anything we wanted to be and shit.”

"Is she the one who talked at graduation about the value of a penny and shit?"

"Yeah. And she was the lady who used to work in the school gardens and shit. I remember that she was old and shit but she had great legs."

"Yeah, dude. That's the one. She worked in all them damn gardens all over Highland Park and shit. S he used to talk about worm gardens and composting...I think that's what it was, and shit."

"I remember that she was down with the little homies to build a skate park and shit."

“No shit, homes? The l'il homies?”

“No shit. She used to talk to us like we was real people and shit. She told me I should be a graphic artist and shit. I used to draw real good, dude.”

“No shit, man? You used to draw and shit? That’s the old lady you want to hit, homes?”

“I don’t want to hit her homes, but her son disrespected us. He’s been greenlighted. And you know how it is.”

“But look, homes, how does that put his old lady in the grave and shit?”

“I dun’no, homes. I don’t get it either. I was just told to do it if we can’t get her son, we got to send a message.”

“A message to who, homes?”

“Uh-h-h-h, yeah, homes, that’s a good question.”

And that’s when I woke up. But, did I?
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Please ask how you can help the City Attorney’s Victim-Witness Assistance Program so that they can widely distribute their literature and make their services available to at-risk youth citywide, 24-7! And send us your comments so we can send them to the mayor. Please don’t let another parent’s nightmare come true. Together, can we change government policy? I believe that the answer is “Yes, We Can!”

Bad Behavior Shouldn't Be A Death Sentence

My 21-year-old son—my only child—has been “asking for it” for the last seven years, since he was 14. I thought he’d grow out of his risky behavior, with my help and the harsh lessons learned from “getting into trouble.” I should have taken out life insurance on him then, when I had a small measure of disposable income.

He didn’t get it. Was it the adventure of defying traffic laws that thrilled him? Were drugs more important than going to school or building a career? Was I less significant to him than even his most casual junkie friends? The answers: Apparently, YES.

But who says that stupidity should be a death sentence or deserve a lengthy prison term? Every day of every week of the year, some man- or woman-child’s mother, father or caregiver is terrified that their child’s behavior will lead to the worst possible consequence. And they, like me, feel helpless to protect their child.

“You made your bed now lay in it,” is not an option for most parents. Over family objections, in spite of what neighbors and friends say, that is your child! You know that once he sees the light—joins a 12 Step Program, meets a “good” girl, finally gets a job—does something, anything positive, you’ll be able to sleep nights. If only he (or she) sees the light before it’s too late.

Today my son prepares to relocate, as far as Greyhound can take him, under the L.A.P.D.’s Witness Assistance Program. You see, he finally got himself into a jam that no one could help him get out of. He crossed paths with the local gang and they began to harass him and extort money. They were emboldened when he relented, but then they wanted more, and more and more… Their threats were never going to stop!

Working with our local gang intervention specialists, Aztecs Rising, and the police, my son and I fingered two convicted felons: One a minor player in the gang hierarchy, and the other a junior shot-caller. Now my son is green lighted by one of the most notorious gangs in Los Angeles. If he doesn’t get out of Dodge, he’ll be killed.

“Aren’t you scared,” you ask? The truth is I’ve been scared for my son for seven years; this is the first time I can take a breath. With his higher power to guide him, I believe that his new life will give him a fresh start and finally a chance to think. He’s been living his life like it was a video game; now it’s time for him to step up or fall into oblivion.