Neighborhood (Eugene and Diane)

Coming up next is the fifteenth part to Diane Richardson’s “When I Met My Hubby.” But first, let's talk about community. It comes up in both stories today, in very different ways. Best Day is very much a community project, with roots in Philadelphia, and it's all about community. And it's not just your neighbors and coworkers. It's the people on the streets, it's the people in the hospital, it's the people in prison. And it's only a small step from one to another. 

Check on the people in your life regularly. You never know what they're going through. And the next time someone talks about the homeless or prisoners needing to work harder, remember how difficult it can be to keep on top of your payments...and how easily something can derail your life. People need people, that's the truth of the world.

Onto Eugene's story:

Eugene Charrington

03/27/2020

The Happiest Day of My Life

The happiest day of my life was the day when I and my best friend dropped me off on Pine Street, West Philadelphia. I am originally from New York, where I lived nearly all of my life. New York lately has become terribly expensive, impersonal and discriminatory. I left my last residence in Bedford Stuyvesant, Brooklyn without a new room or apartment to move into. For about six weeks I was “couching it” at friends’ homes, which wasn’t ideal.
One night at Doug’s house we spoke about giving Philadelphia a try. He booked a room with me with Air B and B. November 24th I left for Philly with Doug who remained quiet, very quiet as we drove south on the Jersey Turnpike. After about an hour and half a sign said Cherry Hill, New Jersey and minutes later another said Camden which was across the bridge.
I felt relieved when I saw the Ben Franklin Bridge. New York and all its headaches was now behind me. And now my new life would begin in Philadelphia.

We now return to our continuing story, “When I Met My Hubby, Part 15” by Diane Richardson.

Diane Richardson

07/05/2022

When I Met My Hubby Part 15

So, I am now on assignment at the Medical Dept. at the Phila. Industrial Correctional Center (P.I.C.C.). It’s on State Road around the corner from Holmsburg Prison. It’s not different from any other clinic. The inmates come up to the clinic for glucose checks, immunizations, flu and pneumonia shots, EKGs, eye exams, OBGYN, etc. The only thing that was different was when there was gang or territorial fights. If two gangs got into a fight that were from different areas or cities, all the guys from those areas had to fight each other. That was the code of the jail. You’re either with me or against me. I used to hate seeing the inmates all beat up and injuries and how we had to irrigate their eyes from the pepper spray from the guards breaking up the fights.
People used to often ask me aren’t you afraid to work there? I would answer no. I’m surrounded by guards. It’s safer working there than anywhere. I used to walk through the prison unescorted by guards and get on the elevators with the prisoners. The elevators had cameras and panic buttons. I would walk to the employee cafeteria for lunch or dinner. The food was catered by A.R.A and Stouffers food services for the employees. I wouldn’t be afraid. I’m from South + North Philly so I knew most of the inmates. Half were my friends, the other half my family. All of the prisoners used yell at me from the tiers. “Hey what’s going on Parks? How’s your brothers doing Parks?” (Parks was my name at the time).
My co-worker who is Italian got acquainted with another Italian inmate and later would wed upon his release. I got pretty close to come of the regulars that would come up for B.P. checks and sugar checks. One of my favorites as a guy named Rudolph. I would call him Rudolph Vasalino. I’ll tell you about the mobsters I used to do favors for next week.
To Be Continued

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have any stories about your neighborhood, then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Domestic Bliss (José and Diane)

Coming up next is the fourteenth part to Diane Richardson’s “When I Met My Hubby.” But first, relationships.

Now that Diane and Joe are in a stable relationship, I wanted to share another story of a couple being content to spend time with each other. José's story isn't quite as calm as Diane's, but it follows the theme of making the most of every part of a relationship:

José Dominguez

02.15.2022 

Olvidos

“How do you dare to give lessons and speak in front of so many people if you forget everything and hardly know the day you are living?” Maria asked me when I was working as a schoolteacher in Mexico. Later, after we married, she confessed to me that when I was working as a lawyer, she was terrified about my memory lapses and usually she recommended my security to all saints since my omissions could be a danger to my life. But I guess I was not completely lost. Perhaps I just had some misfortunate failures or if you want to put it another way, they were only confusions of priorities that conducted me to the wrong way. I just want to tell you a few events that I keep in memory because I already forgot the rest … I guess that is called selective amnesia or intentional premature small trials of Alzheimer's. It happened before my marriage to Maria; when I started dating and interacting with ladies. I’m speaking about my beginner’s stage when my naiveness was mixed with my stupidity in an insoluble bond. A certain, night I invited a young lady to mutually amuse ourselves and when we were in the preliminary manifestations in a burst of intimacy I said, “It’s wonderful to meet you Elena.” As soon as I finished my sentence I received a hit in my left chin and resulted in being expelled far away from her, falling to the ground like a broken pinata and the lady continue screaming, “I’m not Elena. So idiotic if you don’t control your partners' names, better not to say nothing, stupid moron” and left me with a lesson of life free of charge.
My second significant memory break to remember was the first Maria’s birthday that I happened to witness. She told me the exact date but I, in an overconfident movement, decided not to take note. I don’t remember what day I selected as her birthday and bought something that I found meaningful to our relationship that by the way was super ok. The night of the present delivery I nocked Maria’s house door and her mother invited her to come in, the family was reunited as usual and Maria asked “What do you have in your hands” and I responded, “It’s a present for you, happy birthday” at the same time that I handed it to her. Everybody laughed and was astonished so I questioned what did I say that was so funny and Maria answered, “My birthday is not today but I appreciate your intention. The day does not matter.” Later Maria told me in a laughing mode that her mother, who by the way was a very strong and wise woman, advised her “Maria, it’s better to take with a sense of humor Pepe’s memory interruptions if you want a peaceful life with him.” And she was right. Her exact birthday day did not matter. Nevertheless I found the way not to be so foolishly omissive for the rest of my life.
Another case happened when being married we were invited to a wedding at the Ciudad Juarez Country Club. It was a high-level party and I asked Maria’s sister and husband to join us. The day of the party we were very elegantly dressed, it was the priority of the day so everything was suspended to allow us to attend to such event. I drove my car with the four of us but something strange happened. The country club was closed, the lights shut and a sign saying closed on Mondays, so I realized that our date was for Tuesday and I didn’t know what to do…. The only human response that broke the mortal silence inside the car was Irene’s husband who laughed so loudly that alleviated the troubled situation. “I’m so sorry,” I articulated with a guilty voice but Maria didn’t say anything. There was a painful silence and I was waiting for a terrible and justified burst from my almost always efficient marriage partner. After we arrived home, she expressed to me, “My mother warned me about something like this…so, I cannot say I’m surprised and I can’t say I didn’t know about your predisposition to mess dates, amounts, names, etc. Thus let’s continue living as usual.” Of course, I didn’t take advantage of the situation. Nevertheless in a very natural way things evolved as prognosticated. Maria was explosive but at the same time an intelligent person. She knew I was not going to be born again with complete memory capacity and she was not going to worsen the incident with her recriminations…so, we lived a happy and imperfect marriage life as the majority of the couples do.

 

We now return to our continuing story, “When I Met My Hubby, Part 14” by Diane Richardson.

Diane Richardson

06.28.2022

When I Met My Hubby Part 14

 

So, I am now happy Joe is no longer one of Philadelphia’s most eligible bachelors. We continue to enjoy each other’s company. He works six days a week. On most days I would take him dinner as he worked evening and night shifts. I would take him dinner after I got off work. Most of the times I would wait in his office until he got off. And we would go back to my place, and he would take me to work in the morning. At that time, I was working at the Family Court at 34 S. 11th Street doing paternity tests.
Our romance is going on for about two years now. We rarely went out as he was only off one day of the week and I was perfectly fine with that. I would love to watch him sleep. Pearlie Mae would sometimes invite us to her church functions, and we would attend and enjoy the services. After the service there would be a nice luncheon or dinner. People would often ask me “How can you be in a relationship and never go anywhere?” I would reply, “I don’t need to go to the bars or clubs to enjoy myself. I enjoy myself just fine being alone with him. He’s off one day a week and I look forward to enjoying him all to myself.”
To Be Continued…….

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have any stories about domestic life, then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

Happy National Hispanic Heritage Month! 

Curated by Caitlin Cieri  

The End of the Beginning (Ann and Diane)

Coming up next is the thirteenth part to Diane Richardson's "When I Met My Hubby." And things are starting to get serious.

By this point, the "When I Met My Hubby" saga had become a regular installment, a routine part of Best Day. Diane would introduce her next installment as "When I Met My Hubby Part..." and then point to Ann who knew which part it was by heart. This story took several twists and turns, and turned into more than just a woman and her husband. This became the story of a life, a chronicle of Philadelphia in years gone by. And we're nowhere near the proposal yet! This is just when Joe and Diane go steady!

So before we go into the story of the beginning of Diane's romance, we're sharing a story from her hype man Ann about her first divorce:

Ann von Dehsen

02.25.2021

My First Divorce

At the age of four I went to nursery school two mornings week it was strictly a morning program held in the owner’s large Victorian house. The whole first floor was converted into the school and each little high ceilings room some with stained glass windows had a title: The block room, the art room, the pretend room etc. I loved going there because to me it looked like a castle from the fairytales and my mother read to me. After morning circle and we children were allowed from room to room to room until the closing storytime circle. My friend Timmy and I spent a lot of time in the pretend room playing house. True to mid-1950’s social norms I put on apron from the dress up box while Timmy put on a tie and a man's hat with a little feather on the side.
While I fed bottles to our two baby doll children Timmy would ride around and indoor riding toy
pretending to be going to work and then ride home quickly when I was making a pretend dinner
with the pretend food in the pretend kitchen. It was a good marriage. One day Timmy and I were playing with children sized scissors in the art room and decided we would cut each other's hair. He gave me a chunky cut as he cut big chunks all around my hair in random spots. I gave his bangs and a nice zigzag cut. Satisfied with our creations we played outside until it was time for the closing circle. But as we all gathered on the rug, our teacher looked very serious and told us that she had discovered a hair in the art room and that some kids have been cutting hair which was not allowed. She also said that if the kids that did it admitted that they did it they would not be punished. Now only a sightless person would not be able to identify the chopped up culprits. But Timmy and I stood our ground and shrugged our shoulders as if to say “Jeez who would have done that”. As moms started to come for pick-up the teacher told me and Timmy to stay put. A few minutes later she returned with our startled Moms who said in unison “what happens to your hair” I burst out into tears saying “I'm sorry, I'm sorry” to my mom and then to my teacher a very anticlimactic confession. “I did it, I did it” As Timmy chimed in “I did it too.”
After we had all calmed down Timmy and I were handed brooms and dustpans and sent off to clean the art room. We were also not allowed to use scissors for a couple of weeks. When we returned to school the next week we were both sporting rescue haircuts. I had a pixie and he had a crew cut. We no longer played much together if at all. I guess our four year old brains blamed each other for getting into trouble. One day though I did ask him if he’d like to play house with me and he said “No, I don't wanna play with you ever again.” And then I realized my days and making his dinner and taking care of his children were over. I call it my first divorce because, simply put, isn't that what happens when adults get divorced? They no longer want to play with each other anymore either. The End

We now return to our continuing story, "When I Met My Hubby: by Diane Richardson, Part 13":

Diane Richardson

06.07.2022

When I Met My Hubby Part 13

It’s been a few months. Joe has been coming over after work every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. While he’s taking his shower, I’ll be cooking his favorite snack, chicken wings. He loves chicken wings, hot out of the pan with bread and hot sauce. When he’s finished showering, I’ll bring him his meal in which he enjoys before falling asleep.
In the morning I said to him, “I want to talk to you about something.” He said, “Shoot.” I said, “If I ask you for something, could I have it? He said, “You can have whatever you like, what is it that you want?”
I said, “What I want is to be your girl, exclusively. I want you to no longer be one of Philadelphia’s most eligible bachelors. I want it to be you and I only. Only you and I. Can I have that?”
He answered, “You got it, will there be anything else you want?” I said “Not at this time.” He kissed me and I gave him a key to my apartment.
To be continued … 

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have any stories about the beginnings and ends of relationships, then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Labor (Gloria and Diane)

Coming up next is the twelfth part to Diane Richardson's "When I Met My Hubby." But first, Happy Belated Labor Day!

I hope you were all able to take some time off during Labor Day, recharge and get ready for the autumn workload. When you think about it, labor is more than just the jobs we do. It's all the little things we do to keep our lives going. Doctor's appointments, home repairs, paying bills, groceries, tune ups. If even one of those things gives us more problems than we expect, then that's just labor on top of labor. And older bud Gloria has a story about a time she needed to do more work than necessary:

Gloria Nhambiu

07.26.2022

The Convenience of an Automobile

I have been addicted to my cars for most of my adult life. I see a car as a necessary convenience. As a mother of four, I transported children to schools, medical appointments, friends’ homes and various other places where they needed to be chauffeured. Sometimes I felt driving them was safer than walking in our neighborhood.
Once my youngest son called me to come and get him when he was at a classmate's house party. He said drive past the house, and he would see the car and come out. This seemed weird but I did as he asked. He ran out and jumped in the car. He said he left because the drugs came out. This shocked me, because these were prep school kids.
When my mother sold her small house in South Philadelphia and moved in with me I chauffeured her everywhere. Medical appointments, church, ladies club meetings etc.
Having my own car gave me a sense of freedom. I did not have to ask my husband to alter his schedule to transport me or the children.
Last week my husband's car was stolen, and my car is being repaired. I feel really strange without my own transportation. It’s funny how dependent one becomes on something that should be a simple convenience. 

We now return to our continuing story, "When I Met My Hubby: by Diane Richardson, Part 12:

Diane Richardson

05.31.2022

When I Met My Hubby Part 12

Everything is going great for Joe and I. I really appreciated and enjoyed the Thanksgiving Dinner he cooked for us. Pearlie Mae and Tia are still flying back and forth to Vegas to gamble every chance they get. Tara and I are staying local at Atlantic City utilizing their comps, rooms, room service, shows, restaurants and limo service. We are not gamblers like them. We have a problem losing our money. I’d rather give my money away to someone in need than lose it. Its not a problem for them to lose a thousand dollars. I get pissed when I buy a lottery ticket and don’t win.
So, this morning after Joe and I had a nice weekend together I asked him if he would take my rent to the rental office for me as the rental office would be closed when I got off. He said will do, not a problem. The next day when he came over, I asked him was he able to go to the rental office? He said of course, I said I would, didn’t I? I thanked him. He said “No problem. Let me hold on to this rent book. I’ll be taking care of the rent from now on.”
To Be Continued…

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have any stories about the work you do, then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Cooking With Gas (José & Diane)

Coming up next is the eleventh part to Diane Richardson’s “When I Met My Hubby.” But first, some food for thought.

Food is my love language. I bond with people by recommending restaurants. Often, a friend of mine will go on a trip and I'll recommend a restaurant that's there. I started giving tins of tea as presents during the pandemic, because that meant a lot to me during supply-chain disruptions. I'll cook for people I'm close to, and I'm even assembling a cookbook as a Christmas present.

Eating is an essential part of our survival, so I always appreciate stories where people show their love by cooking, saving food, or taking people to restaurants. Today's blog post has a double serving of food related love, from older buds José and Diane:

José Dominguez

05.13.2021

My Almost Frustrated Lunch Invitation

 

At the beginning of my law studies I immediately made some friends that later became an important part of my life; almost all of them were school teachers and very serious readers. Each one had a very different approach to life and our paths mingled naturally, nurtured by the school environment that gave us a common ground to share readings, discuss social issues, communicate accomplishments, publish gossips, tell jokes, etc. In the meanwhile, I was living in my aunt’s rented room paid by my parents. As you can imagine living in that way was a blessing because it gave me the opportunity to continue my studies and my life style; but in another way had its own limitations. Well life is not perfect, nothing is perfect except God, according to some believers. One imperfect thing was the scarce and elemental food that I ate. In the precise moment when the episode of this essay happened, I had been eating the same simple menu for 7 years since I was 12. My monthly allowance helped me to pay for my transportation, and virtually drinking coffee or refreshments were a luxury. Nevertheless, since my father used to work in the cinema business, I had a card that gave me and a guest green light to enter to any theater for free. Sometimes I made some extra pesos finding clients who wanted to see weekend movies paying half the entrance. The reality is that when I was invited to eat I was more than happy because it meant avoiding to have lunch or dinner as usual.
One of my friends was Alberto Saenz. We called him “Beto,” but since he was a classical music lover we ended calling him “Beethoven.” He was a super intense fellow. Nobody knew more than him about Mexican culture, Philosophy, music, art, etc. Always smiling, he lived in a world made of beautiful art images, musical notes and discussions with famous thinkers. Occasionally when I asked something to him, he didn’t clasp the question immediately and I had to repeat the interrogation since he was absent. Recognizing his lapse he begged for my pardon and asked me to excuse his tardiness to respond; it didn’t upset me. I knew he comes and goes from our world to his abstract and intense inner space. He was teaching Philosophy at the nearest high school and lived with his parents and two sisters. One day, don’t remember why, he told me: “Dominguitos (nickname meaning little Dominguez) come tomorrow to my house. I invite you to eat, can you be there at 1:00 pm?” My obvious response was: ”Of course, Beethoven count with me and my empty stomach.” Wow, for me it was a liberation to skip my routinary menu and eat something different.
The next day, I went to his house just in time. He received me joyfully as always and invited to his room. It was a big room illuminated poorly, the walls were filled with books and a lamp defined his bed with intense brightness; clearly he was previously smoking and listening music. He began to speak about the music that in that moment he was enjoying. Among other things he told me: “There’s no other like Tchaikovsky. Do you know, Dominguitos, that he is the most representative Russian composer and perhaps the most creative musical author?”
“I don’t know too much of music,” I responded, “But surely enjoy deeply a few of his creations…” He interrupted me and started explaining how the author managed to infuse the theme with the help of the orchestra. In that moment I decided it was my turn to interrupt; my mind was wandering. I had been there for one hour and there were no signs of my invitation to eat. I was worried because in a few minutes I will have to take a bus to school, so in the most friendly way that I was able to speak I asked him: “Sorry to interrupt but just want to remind you that you invited me to eat lunch at one and it’s going to be time to take the bus to school. What is in your mind?”
He incorporated himself with one jump and taking his right hand to his forehead said in a pleading manner: “Excuse me Dominguitos, I forgot about it! Oh you have to accept my excuses please! I feel very, very bad since I already ate!” Before I was able to respond anything he took by the arm and draw me in a hurry to the kitchen. “This has solution!” he said, with a mastery I didn’t know from Beto he lighted the stove, placing on it a big frying pan and oiled it. Later like a hurricane he took from the refrigerator lots of groceries and began to cut in pieces onions, tomatoes, jalapenos, ham, among other things.
“I’m going to surprise you with my favorite creation: famous ‘Beto’s egg omelette,’ just you wait!!” With the same frenzy of a director in front of an orchestra he moved his arms and body cutting, throwing, mixing, seasoning. Very soon the food aroma and my hunger expanded my gastronomical experience in such a way that those scents were more vivids that Verdi’s operas in the Scala de Milan. I devoured “Beto’s special plate” and immerse in my eating could see Beto’s face shining with satisfaction. At the end of the meal I told him: “Beto, my stomach and I are very pleased, thank you.” He saw me with a child like glance and smiling told me: “I’m glad you like it, in the future I will not forget any of my invitations … promise.”

 

We now return to our continuing story, “When I Met My Hubby” by Diane Richardson, Part 11:

Diane Richardson

05.17.2022

When I Met My Husband Part 11

So, getting back to when I first started getting to know my hubby. Thanksgiving was approaching and I didn’t have any plans. Remember I don’t work on weekends, holidays, Mondays, between Xmas and New Years and no summer months. Just when I wanted to, Pearlie Mae was having a big Thanksgiving dinner at her house. She invited me and my kids. My children declined the invitation as they are always flying around the world to concerts and hanging out on a beach at different islands. They will fly to anywhere in the world to see Beyonce in concert. One time they were in, I think Aruba on the beach and when they looked over and saw Smokey Robinson. They struck up a conversation and he told them he was going to be doing a show there at one of the hotels. They asked him could he let them have some tickets. He said if you can name three of my songs, I will get the tickets to you. Of course, they didn’t know any. They excused themselves for a restroom break and called me and asked me. I told them the title of three of his songs. They returned to him and named three songs and he left tickets at Will Call for them (four). So I declined Pearlie Mae’s invitation as I didn’t want to be around all those old people (those people were as old as I am now.) So I told Joe I would be home alone thinking about him. I asked if he wanted to come over, he said maybe for a short visit. I was disappointed, but oh well. At least I had the interest of one of Ebony Magazine’s ten most eligible bachelors in Philadelphia. I’ll continue to rope him in. So on Thanksgiving morning, he called me from his car. There were no cell phones back then. He had a phone in his Lincoln Town Car. He said come down and help me bring some things up. I wondered what it could be. I went down and saw he had several containers of food. He cooked us a complete Thanksgiving dinner. We had to make two trips up the stairs to bring in all the food he cooked for us. I was so surprised and happy. We had a very good day and night.

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have any stories about students and teachers, then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

On Appreciating Teachers (José & Diane)

Coming up next is the tenth part to Diane Richardson's "When I Met My Hubby." But first, teachers.

A good teacher can mean the world to a person. They can inspire you to do better in life, they can literally save your life, or they can simply cheer you up after a bad day. But not all teachers are good, and not all students appreciate good teachers. Teaching is a job that involves handling rooms full of people for several hours at a time, and balancing that with the demands of their staff, school board, bosses, etc. Both of today's stories are about times when teachers don't have students like you'd see in "Dead Poet's Society."

José Dominguez

03.30.2021

About Discussing Seriously When Drinking

That summer of 1994 in the capital city of Chihuahua I was working for a GM factory. I was invited to reunite with my old law school classmates and some former professors. Several activities were organized like a visit to our old school building, a group photo, etc. all oriented to celebrate the opportunity to see us again together. After a fairly succulent dinner we move to a different room to continue our chattering; in the meanwhile, drinks were served at discretion. I was happily surprised to be among some of my dear schoolmates after so much time of absence. I was conversing with my friend José Manuel Aburto and with some others companions. I have to say that in the room there were four or five senior professors that I always remembered with respect. The theme I was discussing with José Manuel was about the purpose of education. It all started when my friend stated: “The idea in our Law studies is to know the law to serve the society.” I continue inquiring: “But most of us are not properly lawyers but businessmen, employees, bureaucrats, teachers and very few practitioners. So our studies habilitated us to be efficient interpreters and applicants of the law but not necessary seekers of justice, but highly skilled technicians willing to apply the law according to the customer interest.” José Manuel smiling told me: ”So, you are implicating that our law studies are not significantly related to our gains as professionals? Are you suggesting that our studies did not enable us to care for our society?” I answered: “I’m not the person to judge that so I can only speak for myself. I believe that I was a beneficiary of many social circumstances that gave me the advantage to study at a very high level. In that process my studies allowed me a very rich experience of life when I met all of you, my professors, etc. Yet, I have seen some higher educational systems that clearly define its purposes, for example the Tecnologico de Monterrey system is looking to educate future entrepreneurs. The Tecnologicos system are preparing vocational operators to serve mostly big corporations. But what I want to think hard is about how the future Law students can be inspired in a very different way.” José Manuel interrupted me asking: “Now that you are stating your preference for a different aim of education, please give your point, how the Law School education can improve its philosophical approach?” And I answered: “Well in general education has the aim of making the students more human. The law as Plato says has to make us better. Professors will help students by inspiring conscious actions guided by values, and moral scrupulous. But my experience is that I was trained to consume legal literature in order to apply it as a modus vivendi.” “That’s enough,” said José Manuel and grabbing me by the arm took me to the presence of professor Enrique Aguilar. He used to teach us the course of Obligations, a course oriented to infuse legal criteria to read and interpret the civil law and it’s very much related to motives and decision making that have legal consequences. It was one of the few courses that I found interesting. In those times he was very popular among students since he also lectured courses at the high school level and many of the law students took those courses with him. Those teachings were influenced by his Marxist orientation and he navigated as a leader and model for a new just society were work exploitation will be abolished. In addition, he was a very good-looking guy and an accomplished public speaker. Now Manuel confronted me with him and openly asked me: “Can you repeat to Mr. Aguilar what you just told me about education?” I had to organize my ideas since some colleagues surrounded us supposing something interesting was going to happen. I explained about my experience and how my opinion is that the curricula and the teacher approach had to be more oriented to human development and moral maturity; I ended with a plea for courses to facilitate students to be social leaders. Mr. Aguilar spoke with his pompous orator voice directly to me: “You are completely wrong, as far as leadership facilitation you have had the privilege to be student of some of the most accomplished leaders and professors of the state and I can add… from the country...” and he later mentioned a list of the academia. Regretting the inappropriate circumstances for such discussion as soon as I had a chance distanced from him and continued the chatting, avoiding getting into more trouble; who wants trouble in the middle of a drinking session? I remembered the saying “If you drink, don’t drive” and I applied to this case I would say: “If you drink, don’t start serious discussions.”

We now return to our continuing story, "When I Met My Hubby" by Diane Richardson Part 10:

Diane Richardson

05.03.2022

When I Met My Hubby Part 10

So, at this time I’m on assignment at the Occupational Medicine Department at the University of Penn Hospital. This department has contracts with several companies in case of an employee accident or injury. The employee that got injured on the job reports to our Dept. for treatment and or therapy. This day I have an employee of the Phila. School District, a male teacher who got assaulted by a male student at a high school. The student was angry at the teacher for giving a failing grade where he could no longer be on the football team. The large male student caught the teacher at the marble staircase, picked the teacher up and threw him down the stairs. The teacher was brought to the hospital at my department, Occupational Medicine. Where he was treated and released.
The student was arrested, After the incident the teacher was continuously threatened and harassed to not press charges and testify in court. His car often damaged and tires flattened by the students. He told me this when he came for therapy. He said according to his contract he could not transfer to another school until the contract was up and the trial was over, and there were no witnesses to anyone doing the damage to his vehicle, or threats to him and he had no names of the students who threatened him.
In other words, he just had to “Deal with It.” Finally, he was permitted to transfer to a different school. The student was found guilty and expelled from school.
To Be Continued…

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Curated by Caitlin Cieri