DarkNight II: "The Return of Durant"

Too Old to Start Over, Too Young to Give Up.

By Elyssa Durant

 

Too old to start over, too young to give up. I often wonder why other people can uncover more information about my life than I can... Medical, Financial, Employment,,, even my next door neighbors are not somehow linked through the tiny web we have weave in cyberspace.

 

I'm a digger. To be clear, that is "digger." I never use the "N" word, and I'm way too proud to marry for money. I love information. I love to find, I love to collect it, but most of all, I love to use it. I love to dissect it, analyze it, formulate new questions and ponder the answers. 

 

I love the journey of natural inquiry... never knowing where my racing mind will take me, often surprised surprised by the answer, but always, always intrigued by the things I encounter along the way.I may set out to find one answer to one question; only to find myself asking a million more.It keeps me up at night, and allows me to avoid the day. 

 

My life is not unexamined, and my thought patterns may be far from typical, but the things I have learned along the way are by far the most intriguing and most unique.I am not afraid to ask questions, nor am I afraid that I don't have all the answers. 

 

But as a digger, I do know that it is the path least taken: the creative, atypical mind that is riddled with creativity, tangential thoughts and questions that often deliver the most interesting answers. But sometimes, it is the answers that deliver us to the most interesting questions.

 

We often think that questions drive the inquiry-- at least that's what they tell us in school. To use the "scientific method"And of course, we are trained, and practiced to never, ever color outside the lines. But aren't the best discoveries the ones we weren't searching for? The unexpected gift... the non-occasion. Outside of the box?

 

Finding my voice has allowed me to appreciate the silence. The hours between dusk and dawn where the rest of the world sleeps and I dig. I dig and I write. I fill the lonely hours with my innermost thoughts, and my very best friend. So as the rest of the world sleeps soundly, surrounded by loved ones in a sanctuary they call home, I fill myself with books, journals and information. 

 

Lots and lots of information. I love knowledge. I love the written word.The beauty is in the every day. The challenge is in the unexpected. Call me crazy if you like (and many have) but I can assure you that there will come a day when all of that R.A.M. will come in handy. I am definitely asking the right questions... and maybe one day you will too.

 

I never dreamed my life would turn out this way at the age of 35. It seems as though it was over before it even began. My birthday next month has pushed me a little further over the hill, and a little less tied to the past.I have a strong voice. A powerful voice. 

 

I have a story that needs to be told. I am tired of being silenced by the Powers That Beat. I will not be ignored and I will not be forgotten.And though I may be too old to start over; I am definitely too young to give up. 

 

 ELyssa Durant © 2008-2013 || All Rights Reserved ELyssaD™ 

 

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0109552/ 

Dedicated to Abraham Friedman

Sunrise Wonder

Several years ago, someone told me that Grandpa was not my "real" grandfather.  

Looking back now, I know that was not true. Grandpa was one thing in my life that was, in fact, very, very real.

My grandfather embodied all things constant: consistency, reliability, and unconditional love. I could always depend on him to be there for me: as a child, a young woman, and an adult.

So now I ask myself and all of you to help me define what is "real?" I believe you will come to understand it as I have: "real" is something or someone we can touch; something we can feel.

My grandfather was a man I could trust, a man I could admire, and a man who stood up for what he believed in. My grandfather was, in fact, a man that was so real that he could single-handedly turn dreams into realities.

When I was little, I used to go to my grandparent's when I was too sick to go to school. Grandma would load me up with tea and cheese and Grandpa would load me up with Vitamin C.

As I got older, he continued to care for me. When I was hungry, he sent me food; when I was cold, he sent me clothing. When I was sick, he sent me more vitamins!

When I was scared, he gave me courage; when I was lonely, he gave me shelter; when I was sad, he gave me hope.

He was a man of action, a man of honor, and a man of truth. But most of all, he was a man of integrity. He was a man who exemplified all things wonderful that life had to offer.

He was generous beyond reason and he gave me those things in life money simply cannot buy: he gave me roots, he gave me foundations, and most importantly, he gave me wings.

Rest in peace, Grandpa. You were loved.

Talking Points:

Relatively speaking: What is "real?" Does DNA alone define who you are? Where you came from? A relationship? Blood is not always thicker than water.

ELyssa Durant © 2008-2013 || All Rights Reserved ELyssaD™ || DailyDDoSe™ @ELyssaD™

Relatively Speaking. A Eulogy.

Several years ago, someone told me that Grandpa was not my "real" grandfather.

 Looking back now, I know that was not true.

Grandpa was one thing in my life that was, in fact, very, very real.

My grandfather embodied all things constant: consistency, reliability, and unconditional love. I could always depend on him to be there for me: as a child, a young woman, and an adult.

So now I ask myself and all of you to help me define what is "real?" I believe you will come to understand it as I have: "real" is something or someone we can touch; something we can feel.

My grandfather was a man I could trust, a man I could admire, and a man who stood up for what he believed in. My grandfather was, in fact, a man that was so real that he could single handedly turn dreams into realities.

When I was little, I used to go to my grandparent's when I was too sick to go to school. Grandma would load me up with tea and cheese, and Grandpa would load me up with Vitamin C.

As I got older, he continued to care for me.

When I was hungry, he sent me food; when I was cold, he sent me clothing. When I was sick, he sent me more vitamins!

When I was scared, he gave me courage; when I was lonely, he gave me shelter; when I was sad, he gave me hope.

He was a man of action, a man of honor, and a man of truth. But most of all, he was a man of integrity.

He was a man who exemplified all things wonderful that life had to offer. He was generous beyond reason and he gave me those things in life money simply cannot buy: he gave me roots, he gave me foundations, and most importantly, he gave me wings.

Rest in peace, Grandpa. You were loved.

Caualties of War in American Schools

Casualties of War:

Hired Guns in American Schools

Elyssa Durant, Ed.M.

           

            Over the last decade, there has been mounting concern for the safety of teachers and students in the American public school system.  This is particularly true of urban high schools, where students must walk through a metal detector before entering the building.  School violence has become epidemic, and educational researchers have looked long and hard for a solution to the problem.

            School administrators and elected officials bear the responsibility of keeping students safe during school hours, and a number of districts have implemented violence prevention programs.  School security has become a top priority, and while improved security measures may have contributed to a decline in school related deaths, it has not been without significant changes in the school environment. 

 

            The added security has effected the traditional school environment and has disrupted the chain of command within public institutions.  The presence of school security guards appears to have a negative impact on the overall school climate.   The presence of security guards disrupts traditional roles within the schools, and teachers report feeling at odds with security personnel.   Increased security tends to fragment the school environment, and teachers report feeling a false sense of security.  The secured environment is an indication of how students are expected to behave.

            Under these conditions, it is not surprising to learn that students also report pervasive feelings of fear and do not feel secure despite the added presence of security personnel on school grounds.  For these students, school is a mere extension of the violent communities in which they live.  

            Studies consistently report lower academic achievement in these neighborhoods.  Children growing up in urban neighborhoods have a much higher incidence of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD).  Most researchers believe this to be the direct result of living in stressed communities plagued with street crime and violence. 

            Despite the severe implications of this realization, there is virtually no research on how pervasive fear affects the academic performance of urban adolescents.   Previous research has found that people who suffer from acute stress process information differently (Sapolsky, 1996; McNally, 1995; Metcalfe & Jacobs, 1996).  Individuals who feel threatened by their environment are acutely aware of their surroundings and have a heightened sensitivity to visual cues.  As a result, they tend to hyper-focus on potential sources of threat, and shift into a different cognitive gear. 

            Individuals under stress not only store information differently, but their ability to retrieve information is also largely dependent upon emotional states (Metcalfe & Jacobs, 1996; Sapolsky, 1996; Perry, et al, 1996).  Interestingly enough, information learned in song, rhyme, or rap is more easily retrieved in a state of high arousal.  If this is in fact true, then popular culture may effect adolescents considerably more than previously believed.  In addition to helping us understand the cognitive framework of individuals under stress, this can help us to find alternatives teaching methods to help urban school children who have not responded to traditional teaching methods.

            Research has found the school climate to be a critical factor in reduction of school violence (Walker, 1995; Sabo, 1993).   Disruptions in the traditional organization structure places additional stress on the school climate.  The effect of school violence on teacher relationships is not known.  In response to the public outcry for action, school boards implemented violence prevention programs and zero tolerance policies long before there was a chance to evaluate the severity and prevalence of the problem.  The literature tends to focus on classroom management and violence prevention programs (Ascher, 1994; Walker, 1995). 

           

            Literature on school violence tends to focus on statistics and incident report which does not provide an adequate understanding of school related violence.   The research on school violence fails to address the importance of the organizational culture and the various components which are critical to effective schools.  It is not surprising that students are unable to learn in this environment.

            Teachers have become fearful of their students, and students fear each other.  The presence of school security will certainly affect the organizational balance of American public schools, and sensitizes all members of the school environment to the roles they are expected to play.  Many teachers feel a social responsibility and commitment to their schools, and feel they have a direct impact on the livelihood of their student body. 

            Together, the urban public school and the community it serves are a constant reminder of the poor living conditions and social reality of urban America.  Students understand what is expected of them, and teachers are sensitized to conduct which reinforces their experience.  Since urban communities have many different sources of stress, it is important to examine how school policies contribute to the learning environment in public schools.

The Last Goodbye by ELyssa Durant, Ed.M.

I can no longer protect the one who hurt me the most, and I officially declare myself as independent and free.

Goodbye for now to The Powers That Beat, I am growing so tired ofthat nightmare where I cannot move my feet.

I am one today, but I am not alone; my DNA and birthright does not make me a clone.

Any genetic disorders, whatever they may be; will never again stand in the way for my fight to be free.

My bloodline alone comes right back to you, and your ridiculous denials are nothing new.

I must protect myself from your twisted mind, never forget, late last night, you left me behind.

You may think I have forgotten all your hysterical pleas, but I am legally required to remind you of these.

I hope you are ready for what lies ahead, because I do not think anyone else will agree this was all in my head.

You may dispose of my photos, writings, and more, I am sorry you do not realize you have officially now escalated funny money into a full-fledged war.

You declared this yourself, on March the Fourteenth, and I will expect it in writing before the next April 15th.

You no longer manipulate my ID or actions and blame; for I am not the one who falsely claims to be poor.

You may find it a little bit harder to blame it on crazy and point the finger at me; I am posting it here for the whole to see.

Do not blame my siblings or my father's new wife; material wealth should mean more value than your own child's life.

I got excluded from the human genome, stop feeding me crazy, just bring it back home.

The suicide note I once left in your possession, should no longer be guarded as your greatest protection.

I defy the heritage that left me broken inside; any tears I have shed will finally subside; I no longer will allow myself to be tried by the ridiculous facade that has given YOU a false sense of pride.

I am now on my own, as was always the case; it is so very sad you thought of this as a race.

I will honor your request to sever all ties; it is long overdue that I be free from your lies.

I never signed on to your game of deception, there was much more at stake than a strangers' perception.

So just as you once photographed my tattoo, sadly but surely, this one joke is on you.

I doubt you heard my very last words, but they were words of sincerity I hope that you'll review because my concern was genuine; just too familiar, we discussed nothing new.

I defy my heritage and reject your faith; I think I am worth more than an aborted mistake.

I declare my freedom and reject your "good faith" I am sorry you believe I was your biggest mistake.

You are so transparent it is easy to see, I hope you leave this behind the same way you left me.

My bloodline runs deeper than your maternal pride; I pray for your sake psychosis is real, for I see no other way your pain will ever be healed.

I am over and done with this stupid game, I gave you more than one warning to amend your tax claim.

So as I fight for my freedom, my health and my name, I hope your psychosis protects you from shame.

I must no longer allow trauma to guide me through life; I cannot worry about details as you become a new wife, you are correct in your assessment that you have earned all the "things" you cling to for dear life.

 

If there ever was a time to say, "This too shall pass...," then please go ahead and kiss my tattooed fat ass!

ELyssa Durant, Ed.M. © 2009-2013