A Love Letter

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When I met my husband-to-be, Andre, over twenty years ago, there were things that I knew:

--That he brought a real glass (not a plastic cup) from home every day, to drink complimentary soda at the movie theatre where we both worked.

--That he drove the original Smart Car, a tiny Chevy Sprint that I dubbed, 'the death trap', partially because our shoulders actually touched in the front seat.

--That his special occasion meal was--wait for it--Hamburger Helper.

But there was so much I didn't know yet. Those subtleties that come from growth and maturity that evolve over time. It's the stuff you don't actively think too much about when you're looking for love, but if you're lucky enough to partner up with someone possessing things like integrity, compassion and depth of character, you'll be forever grateful. And slightly in awe.

Indeed. I am.

Andre's been a mentor, both formally and informally, to a host of young men over the years, including Ty. They were matched through a mentoring program when Ty was in middle school. Four years ago, Andre supported Ty through the acceptance process at The Met in Providence, a charter school, which Ty himself took the initiative to enroll in, that's shaking education on its head.

The Met is brilliant at creating an excitement for learning. The school promotes intellectual curiosity by allowing students to not get bogged down with traditional text books, but to instead develop their own curriculum through internships. The Met also creates an awesome support system, by pairing a single advisor with a core group of students, all of whom remain together for four years.

Andre and Ty were officially paired up through his freshman year at the Met, until Ty's living situation changed. What Ty didn't realize is that Andre Brown is a hard dude to shake. Truth is, if Andre's your mentor, you've got someone you can count on for life. So, when Andre calculated that Ty should be graduating, as a member of the Class of 2012, you best be sure that Andre's going to be there. Dressed, of course, in a blazer--'cause that's just how we do.

Last Thursday, Andre read a newspaper notice that the Met school was hosting their graduation that evening. And so began the cosmic series of events to bring the mentor and mentee together again, on an night of incredible pride, outstanding positive energy, and a performance by Jeffrey Osborne. That's right. R&B superstar Jeffrey Osborne, live, on stage, performing 'On The Wings of Love.'

Did you get that sort of soundtrack at your high school graduation? Didn't think so.

The song was fitting, because truly, this graduation night was all about love. The love the students have for their school, administrators, advisors and each other. The love of learning. The love and pride of the families themselves, many who count a high school graduate in their ranks for the first time. How love can help you succeed in life, overcome obstacles and encourage you to reach for the stars.

So congratulations Ty! Up next--college graduation!!



And Happy 13th Wedding Anniversary Andre! I love you--and am so proud of the man that you've become.

Here She Is...

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Did you happen to catch the Miss USA pageant on Sunday night? You know, the one that Miss Rhode Island--MISS RHODE ISLAND--won? Woot. Woot. Indeed, that was shocking enough 'round these parts, but more interesting to me was the final question posed to Miss Ohio, Audrey Bolte, by Judge Marilu Henner.

Henner asked, "Do you think women are depicted in movies and on television in an accurate and positive way? And please give us an example."

Miss Ohio, I got this one.

Granted, I'm not dealing with the high pressure stakes of live tv, but the answer seems real easy. An accurate or positive portrayal? Hell to the no. The no-brainer example: 'The Real Housewives' series on Bravo. When was the last time that you had screaming fests with your 'girlfriends', then continued to invite them over for a glass of wine, week after week?

Miss Ohio's take? Slightly different. Her reply:

"I think it depends on the movie. I think there are some movies that depict women in a very positive role and then some movies that put them in a little bit more of a negative role. But by the end of the movie, they show that woman power, that I know we all have. Such as the movie Pretty Woman. We had a wonderful, beautiful woman Julia Roberts, and she was having a rough time, but you know what, she came out on top and she didn't let anybody stay in her path."

Hmmm.

Initially, when I was alerted to this controversy, by my man on the pop culture scene, otherwise known as my husband, Andre, I was shocked and awed. And not in a good way. But the more I thought about it, the more that I realized that it wasn't Miss Ohio's fault that she chose this fairy tale of a streetwalker to illustrate the positive portrayal of women in film. At all.

It's ours.

My epiphany came courtesy of a recently viewed documentary called Miss Representation. Writer/director Jennifer Siebel Newsom sets out to examine and expose how mainstream media not only works as the most persuasive force in our country, but also contributes to shaping our cultural norms.

And not in a good way.

The overriding message that's being showcased over the airwaves? That a woman's value and power lie in her youth, beauty and sex appeal. Not her intelligence. Not her drive. Not her problem solving ability. Not her independence. And certainly not in her ability to work out of whatever her current predicament may be.

Without the help. Of Richard Gere.

There's a whole lot of reasons for this, but one, as explained by Miss Representation, is that only three percent of clout positions in mainstream media are held by women. So those Hollywood stories marketed as stories of female empowerment, aren't really stories of female empowerment after all. The same way that Pretty Woman, well, isn't.

And on a national stage, you, Miss Ohio just proved a powerful point. Only it wasn't the one that you were aiming for.

And Now A Word For The Graduates...

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Watch out Class of 2012---I may just wander onto a podium near you. And read this:

Congratulations Class of 2012.

Yay! You did it.

Now savor it for a second. Okay, a weekend even, but for the love of god, please don't cap it off here. Go forth. Work on improving your bad-ass eighteen year or twenty-two-year-old self. Because if these are the best years of your life--forever--you're doing something wrong.

No seriously. Boo-hoo for you. Trust. You don't want to live in the past. There's a huge difference between reflecting back on your accomplishments and pining for your lost youth. Whatever your biggest achievement has been to date, you need to up it. Once, twice, three times shoot.

You don't want to be that forty-five-year-old dude, still basking in those glory days of high school. Go on, do the math. That's more than thirty years since said guy actually made some memories worth remembering. And is there any reason that depression is at an all time high?

The truth is, you don't have to lose your youthful spirit. Really. No, really. Those rules of adulthood? They'll try to creep in. The shoulds. The musts. But the truth is, outside of paying your mortgage on time, there really isn't a whole lot that's important. The other stuff? Just lame. Keep being curious. And enthusiastic. And wear a bikini as long as you can rock one.

You get the drill.

But the real secret? Always walk the path that's right for you. Easy enough? Eventually, maybe. But here's the thing. At the beginning, those who think they know what's best, for not only you, but for everyone else in this whole wide world, will be shouting the virtues of that traditional roadmap.

Yup. More of those shoulds. And musts.

Go ahead. Blame that genius, who once upon a time, decided that life doesn't fall oh so neatly in line when you're allowed to just play it out as an adventure. You need a guide. Or a series of carefully crafted benchmarks that generations before you, and generations after, have used to help them find their way. And gauge success. What's up next? Well, it all depends where you are on that timeline. You've got your education, or at least part of it. So it's on to a great job. Then marriage? Of course. House? Naturally. Kids? Why the hell not.

Keep to the plan and you can bet there will be no trouble. No conflict. No contest. It makes folks feel better when you're doing things at the same pace that you're 'supposed to.' It's when you start to deviate that you'll really start to shake people up. And make them feel uncomfortable. They'll start wondering what the hell is wrong with you. And why 'you' are not more like 'us.'

Take comfort in the discomfort, my friend, because that's how you'll know you're on the right track. That you're living life authentically. Going against the grain will make you stronger, for the simple reason that you'll have to define who you are. And own it. And shake off all of the people who just want you to be easy. And predictable. And 'normal.'

Because, really, where's the fun in that?

Call Me Ashley

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So, there was this one time that I got mistaken for a prostitute.

Every parent's dream, right? More like a sad commentary on our society.

It was February, 2008. Andre and I had tickets to the Freestyle Extravaganza 3 at Mohegan Sun Casino in Connecticut. Basically, it's a rare opportunity for stars of the 1980's dance scene to reemerge in public and perform their hit(s). Kind of pathetic, but Stevie B is still the man.

Andre and I were early, so decided to kill the fifteen minutes or so before the doors of the arena opened, standing beside the iconic blue and white Dale Chihuly glass sculpture. It's two stories tall. You can't miss it, which apparently explains why it works as a good meeting spot.

For everyone.

It's also located, conveniently enough, at the entrance of the casino's hotel.

On a Saturday night, this joint is jumpin'. Space is at a premium--even in the loitering spots. So, Andre winds up standing slightly behind me. We're still plenty close enough to communicate we're indeed together. But apparently the vibe we're throwing off is more along the lines of business associates, as opposed to romantic partners. We're engaged in a bit of people watching--when then this super nervous middle-aged guy comes up to me out of nowhere.

"Ashley?" he stammers.

"What?"

"Ashley?"

"Uh, no," I reply, but he's already long gone--practically sprinting back into the crowd.

Yeah, it could have just been a simple case of mistaken identity. But the sheer panic exhibited by this dude, combined with a complete lack of 'sorry, thought you were someone else' and assorted other context clues, turned our focus in another direction.

That's right. Hookerville.

What was I wearing? Trust. It wasn't anything that even whispered 'pay me for sex'. Truth is, I'm kind of a sucker for classic lines, with a hint of sass. That's sass. Not ass. It was winter, so I was sporting layers. Literally a fitted brown cotton blazer and jeans. No fishnets or red vinyl in sight.

Regardless, it should not matter. For me, or for writer Sarah Kathleen Peck, who blogged about her latest indignation here:  http://sarahkathleenpeck.tumblr.com/post/23583589056/the-one-about-the-elevators. Similar story, but she didn't have the protection of her buff black pimp, ah, husband to wrap up the situation before it really got going.

Seriously dudes--what are you thinking?