Michael = Dog?

Anna is one of my favorite students. She is in second grade and just adorable and beats up most of the boys in our class as a bonus. She has black hair like everyone else here, brown eyes like everyone else here but hers are deeper, darker and rounder than most. Her full cheeks with that soft, silky Korean skin is just unavoidable for a quick, gentle caress every time I see her when she is done walking with me with her little hand inside mine. Anna is very affectionate and loves to be loved. Fortunately, I love loving her, so we get along well.

Today while waiting for her classmates to get to class, she was holding my hand, well actually my wrist and looking up at me with those wondrous eyes and dimpled smile. I was lost in her world when I noticed there was someone petting me, yes petting my forearm and I came back to earth and my classroom. It was Anna stroking and petting the hair on my arms. She again looked back up at me this time with wonder in her eyes and said in her best English, “Michael, dog?” and she pointed to my arm hair and then to my chest. Translation for the non-EFL teachers of the world: “Michael you have hair on your arms, are you a dog?”

I laughed half-heartedly and smiled at my precious little angel who somehow made calling me a dog sound sweet. Second graders can get away with stuff like that but adults get the Jersey/NYC stare when they venture into making comments of that sort.

I still get startled at the fact that most Koreans, both children and adults have never touched a human being with body hair or facial hair. It startles me. I grew up in an Italian family and amongst Italians, chest hair and facial hair are signs of virility. In fact, you are not really considered a man until you have chest hair. I faired well in that department. The other symbol of Italian manhood is not as easy to see, but we will leave that one alone for now. The idea that men can be men and not have hair on their chests, face and arms is beyond my mental capacity to understand. When I am lazy and do not shave, the next day almost every young one will come and rub my stubble. It occurs to me that they may have never felt a man’s facial hair as stiff as mine, another fact that baffles me and my social programming.

While on a roll about my social programming, bodies and cultural differences, I might as well dive into the women. Wait, that did not come out right. What I meant to say was I would like to explore the different bodies of Korean and Western women. OK, that didn’t work either but I think you get the point! I was here almost a month before I realized that the majority of females in Korea are not teenagers! Korean women have very slight frames and bones. It is of the highest importance for a woman in Korea to be skinny. I mean skinny, not thin or athletic. Typically, their bodies remind me of the standard American eighth grade girl in girth, bone structure, weight and size of butt and breasts. Even when pregnant, Korean women are less voluptuous then the American college girl on a diet. And I am speaking of American White girls, not Blacks or Latinas. Their butts are smaller then most pre-pubescent American girls, often with even skinnier legs. If thin is in, then Korean women are it but if curves are what shake your nerves, head east in a hurry! Again, I grew up around Italian women and the physical features that define her as a woman are her curves coming and going.

It has taken me a while to adjust my personal definitions of what is considered attractive, sexy and mature here in Korea. I am not sure I would ever adapt completely from the social and familial programming that is seated deep in this curious mind. But I am curious about what the skin feels like, I cannot lie. Koreans have the smoothest, silkiest skin on this planet. It almost doesn’t feel real. I have a friend in the states who is half Korean and I call her Silky Pants (she calls me Jerk Face for the record) and she warned about how the whole country has skin like hers. I did not believe her, I am a believer now. At times, I reflect on wanting to have a one-night stand or something similar just to touch, caress and lay next to such soft smooth skin. My Inner-Slut has a field day with these kinds of thoughts. But generally, return to my prudish ways and go about my business while trying not to gawk at an occasional woman that I cannot tell if she is twelve or twenty-eight- their bodies, faces, skin and clothes are almost identical. I blush when I realize they are a child and lower my head in shame.

The lessons and education continue for me here in Korea. I am starting to pay attention again to my surroundings knowing that my time here is limited. So the young ones will have to find another man to pet and call dog, and I will have to hold the hands of somebody else’s children with skin more course and a lot less bowing. In the mean time, Michael Dog will try to not smirk at the idea of being a man without chest and facial hairs and being a woman without curves. The programming is deep, like the center of an old Oak Tree. And like an Oak Tree, they don’t die easily.

Hope is in The Eyes

Eyes. Eyes are where I see hope and inspiration. Words often feel like a bridge but not the actual thing itself. Eyes tell the true story for me.

Lately I have had the opportunity to stare into the eyes of many young and beautiful children that can't communicate beyond "Hello" and "Goodbye" with me due to language barriers. It is such a powerful experience to share love, gratitude and connection through eye contact, bowing and holding hands or hugging. It really shreds away all the other stuff that often gets in the way.

Soft eyes that are not filled with propaganda and the illusion of needing more and better also have inspired me lately. The bulk of the youth here in South Korea are wholesome, even innocent in many ways. It is not as much that they are naive; it is more actual wholesome instincts that are cultivated through their families, communities, schools and culture as a whole. They would rather be hugged, smile and laugh than be cool, tough and walk around pouting to get their way. They genuinely want to be happy and share it with others. If I was a better author, I would be able to describe it more accurately. They are trusted and respected, and honor that respect with respecting others and trusting others.

An example would be that in a city of half million that I live in, all the florists in the neighborhood leave their most expensive plants out at night without locks and security. Kids are out till 10:00, 11:00 at night without supervision and nobody stares at them like they are bad and ready to do something wrong, and they don't. Young children below ten years old are out at night walking around, playing and running errands for their parents. Teenage girls walk home from their English, science and math academies after ten at night by themselves without fear and paranoia in their eyes. I have eaten in restaurants that the owner and only employee leave while you are eating to make a delivery without fear of being robbed or anything, they just smile on their way out and do their thing. You are respected regardless of who you are.

This all gives me hope. There is another way besides fear, power, sex and personal ambition. This gives me hope.

As a side note, not necessarily for his stance on issues or the fact that he is Black, but Obama gives me hope as well.

Peace and Hope,
michael

Oscar the Janitor

I started working for the Urban League of Greater Madison in October of 2003. The first project I worked on and the whole four plus years I worker there, was at a middle school here in Madison, Wisconsin.

After being at the school for a little while, I noticed one of the janitors. His name is Oscar and he is a beautiful man from Costa Rico. He has a dark complexion for a Costa Rican with a graying beard and sideburns and short wavy balding hair. He typically wears t-shirts with bright colors. His brown eyes are full and deep. He moved to the states many years ago as an adult. He is friendly in such a warm and genuine manner that it is hard not to want to be around him. To be honest, his smile beams greater than almost anyone I have ever seen. It radiates out to fill up the whole hallway while having casual conversation. He always has a minute to engage in brief interactions; every one of them is filled with all his presence and sweetness.

One day, some of the boys were making fun of Oscar but he paid no mind while they laughed and teased him about “being just a janitor”. One of my co-workers pulled the boys into our room and shut the door. I was new to the scene, but knew what that meant. Arthur and Barry, the two guys I share space with, shut the door when they want to say things that would get them fired with the door open. He explained to the boys how disrespectful and rude it was to speak to a janitor like that. One of the boys made a comment like "Yeah, but he is just a janitor!" Then Arthur shared with the boys (and me) about Oscar:

Oscar had been a high level corporate executive, a real mover and shaker. He owns several expensive cars and retired early after accumulating more wealth than needed. After retiring, he wanted to be around kids but did not want to have the responsibility for them. So, he chose to be a school janitor.

My mentor has an expression that I hold close to me. She talks about "hiding in plain site". By this, she means being out in the world but drawing no special attention to yourself- being present without being noticed. Oscar is a master at hiding in plain site. He cleans the classrooms and bathrooms with such ease and grace. He moves his boom box with him down the halls after-school, while listening to the local Spanish station, La Movida. He never stresses or looks bothered by the mess the kids make. You would never even know he can read or write by how simply he carries himself, forget about being a high powered corporate executive.

I hope sometime in my life I smile once as brightly and beautifully, as he does daily while cleaning school hallways, classrooms and bathrooms. My mentor has recommended to me many times over the last 15+ years that being a night janitor would be an excellent job for me- working with my hands, simple, focused, no drama and do something for people who never know you do it for them. I am still too attached to being important to make that leap yet. It is not that I do not see the benefit for me, I do. It is just the ego is still firmly in control of this man.

The Truth is that his smile has its source in him, not in his moisturizer, shower gel or "age defying cream". Peace, Joy and Love are the original beauty secrets (and much cheaper too). For those who want another more practical resource Dr. Bronner's Magic Soaps. Their quote is " Enjoy only 2 cosmetics, enough sleep & Dr. Bronner's Magic Soap to clean body-mind-soul-spirit instantly uniting ONE! All-One!" They are the only the only products I use on a regular basis. It is Oscar's Inner smile that brightens the hallways. It is his willingness to give without need for thanks or recognition that shines for us to see if we look. I have run into Oscar several times out while he is walking his two really cool, unusual dogs, and that same presence and peace is still there.

Happiness and the willingness to share it with others is the secret to staying, feeling and looking young. I am grateful I have had a janitor like Oscar in my life to remind me of how this all works.

My friend Oscar The Janitor.

We don't even Know We have It

Yesterday while drifting around Front St, Wilmington, NC, I stopped in a hippie-type store to peruse and continue my search for linen or hemp drawstring pants for men. I found amusement in the marketing of the Grateful Dead and Bon Marley paraphernalia. I have felt this way before in these kinds of stores. They have made them out to be demi-gods and forget how simple and humble they were. Bob would have hated being an icon for anything but revolution or uprising I think. In some ways, it is similar to what has happened with Brittany, Lindsay and Paris. I love that I can just write their first names and everybody knows whom I am referring to; it just further illustrates the point.

I was conversing with the young lady working in the shop about unisex pants and the differences in where we need comfort and more space to account for gender body types, curves and such. We have the “such” and women have the curves. Our conversation expanded as we continued to the icons of the Dead, Marley and her experiences touring with Widespread Panic. Of course, our personal experiences were much different due to generational cultural shifts. She was not old enough to experience the Dead as a living, cultural group of icons and the following they commanded. I would not know a Widespread Panic song if given only two choices.

As we got more personal, I shared about being on the road for the past three months and writing. She asked what I was writing and I explained that I a working on a project that may become a book someday. She inquired deeper and I expressed its content being how we try this and that, make all kinds of decisions and mistakes and in spite of ourselves, we come out of it OK for the most part. Reflections on Grace of you will.

She beamed and said she understood; her expression let me know she definitely understood. I asked her if she wanted to share an experience and she said she did. And she did.

She shared how she has a year and a half old girl that she did not plan for and how it is has been incredible for her. She continued on how this has effected her so positively and forced her to be grow up and be more responsible. She shared how surprised she was with the degree of strength she has in being a single mother and all that goes with it. Her affect and voice resonated with that strength, steadiness and maturity that parenthood has brought out in her. The young lady who just ten minutes before did not make eye contact and fidgeted constantly before, disappeared and now an adult woman and mother was standing before me. This is Motherhood to me- strong, courageous and maturity manifesting in front of my eyes on Mothers Day.

She told me her name was Leah and I shared that mine was Michael. Our connection was now constructed through the bridge of sharing our experiences of being human. Being human to me means walking into to enough walls long enough to accidentally find there wall is a door with an amazing sunset over the ocean on the other side. The Inner strength that she spoke about and oozed out of her quietly inspired me, made me stronger. Strength and courage are contagious. I feel fortunate to have “caught” some being in her presence.

This is another example of the exact thing we were sharing together; I walked in the store, amused with my arrogance with the marketing of the Grateful Dead and Bob Marley, whining about not finding the pants I want and then while “bouncing into a wall”, a door opens and the magic happens- Love, Courage, Strength, Birth and Parenting shine out for all to seen and feel. This is the Teaching for me these days; in spite of ourselves and all are efforts, the Divine Presence holds us and gently saves us from ourselves. Something beautiful takes place and we can do things we didn’t even know we could do/with for somebody else.
Wilmington, North Carolina: 5/2008