I guess you can never be too cautious...

It didn't take too long for the profiling to begin.

http://cbs2chicago.com/topstories/local_story_116064451.html

Some points:

"(CBS) CARY, Ill. An 18-year-old high school student from the northwest suburbs has been arrested and is facing criminal charges for what officals called an alarming essay that made reference to a school shooting."

Hm, intriguing...the title of the article was "Student Arrested For Alarming School Essay" so you know I had to click it. I had to find out.

"Allen W. Lee, a student at Cary-Grove High School in Cary, was charged with disorderly conduct stemming from an essay that was part of a "free writing" assignment in a creative writing class.

The teen was charged because his teacher became alarmed by the "violence" he described, Cary Police Chief Ron Delelio said. The essay contained no specific threats but was "disturbing and inappropriate," he said.

The paper allegedly made a vague reference to a fictional school shooting in McHenry County but didn’t specify a school or district, a law enforcement source said."

After reading the full article, I was just struck wanting a lot more information than what they were giving me in order for me to decide for myself whether or not the teacher's reactions were just.

1. What was in the essay exactly? It is later exposed that the police are denying to release a copy of the essay... and I say why? Why are we not to hear exactly what the essay said that was "so disturbing" but we can easily post up pictures of an angry boy waving two guns angrily in the air all over national television?

2. Several keywords pop up to me and spark my curiousity as to what led the police to bring criminal charges against Lee. "no specific threats" if there were no threats, than why be alarmed? "disturbing and inappropriate" what exactly made is "disturbing"? We watch movies with women getting trapped in caves and getting their hearts ripped out - that's disturbing. Somebody had to have written that screenplay. And inappropriate for who? For what? The assignment? Didn't it say "free-writing assignment" above? Isn't that what free-writing means? To have no assignment of subject? "vague reference" ...so even as slight as a reference that he might have possibly made - you decided to arrest this kid on a Tuesday morning...they even admitted to it being "fictional"

3. For one, you gotta give credit to the kids in his school who petitioned to have him let out of jail. Lee posted bond at $75 (most expensive essay I've ever seen) and is awaiting his court hearing on June 18th.

4. This quote:
"Disorderly conduct can be filed if someone’s actions alarm or disturb another enough to "provoke a breach of the peace," McHenry County State’s Attorney Louis Bianchi said. "So far, we’re supportive" of the charge, he said."

Somehow I just don't think that this kid Lee would want to hand a paper in with the thought of wanting to be found out even if he was going to do a school shooting. But I could be wrong.

I definitely feel like they are being over zealous here. It is quite an interesting factor that Lee is also Asian American. I can't help but think there was something to do with that ...or that it at least was one of the deciding factors that led to the teacher's decision of waking up the principal in the middle of the night after reading the essay.

It is sad that it came to this though. In general, I feel like teachers, and parents should be taking a more active role in the things the students say or do. That it has always been an area where there has been some sense of neglect. And now all of a sudden, splattered with a portrait of a boy who was troubled and never listened to - we jump at the nearest fright that we think could be there.

I can't wait to see how Lee's court day pans out.

How To Fit Your Life's Story in Four Lines

I am staring at this Appeal Suspension of Aid form on my desk at work. I should be worried about my deadline for these four files today, or the fact that my tracking report is due tomorrow and not even half of it is completed yet. But I can't take my eyes off this damn form.

The words "suspension of aid" look and sound so ugly. Like some sort of anti-financial aid disease. I felt my heart sink down to my stomach when I saw it on my online transcript this morning. I figured I'd be proactive since the Financial Aid office last night told me that I wouldn't be able to apply for a student loan until June 4th, and just log on to the student website to see what type of financial aid availability I had.

Let's see....um, none, perhaps?

And now here I am with this form in front of me that I need to fill out to appeal the school's decision made back in the fall of 2005.

There is so much that has happened in the past year and a half and even the prior year leading up to that semester. But I only have four empty available lines to explain myself. The process is so frustrating.

In four lines, can I tell you how it felt to be kicked out of my parents' house the night before my 19th birthday because my mother said "You hate me because I am white..." not because I ever made her feel that way but because of some innate guilt that she had formed from adopting me? Or how she threw all my clothes in trash bags and let them sit in the frontyard while it poured rain? And how that night I had to sneak into my father's place of stay (my uncle's home) because my uncle "has a thing against Asian people"?

In four lines, could I tell you how my mother refused to let me back in the house to obtain my textbooks (books that I paid for with my own money) so that I could study for final exams?

In four lines, do you think you'd care that I had to find a ride to the school library, sat there at the computer and wrote emails to all my teachers to explain the situation and only had one teacher respond?

Probably not. And that's what's so difficult. There are no words I could use in just four lines that could ever amount to how I feel right now. That could equal the want and the desire that I have to learn and to better myself now more than ever after having dealt with my obstacles and trying to get back on my educational feet.

But I'll try. It's worth the world to me to at least try.

And so I begin to fill those four lines...

Do You Remember...?

It might have been two years ago but when I close my eyes and listen to the same songs that came across that beat-up radio sitting propped against the freshly painted walls you had just painted that night - it seems like it was just yesterday.

"Thanks for inviting me..." I whispered, pressing my face against your arm. I'd only tell you that while you were sleeping so you wouldn't realize how one night with you in a deserted house with endless painting supplies could mean so much to me. It's something that even I had a hard time understanding. All I knew was that I felt happy...and completely content and safe.

That's all I can remember now. You, me, the summer wind, a fuzzy radio station, and the feeling of utter happiness and elated joy. I love memories that end that way.

Dreamin'

"My soul, is as open as the sky.

Often time, it's just as blue.

People tell me, I need to keep on dreamin'.

That's just what I'm gonna do."

-Amos Lee, "Dreamin'"

"So that is the xA," the man said as I stepped out of the white "Suburu Outback-mini me" and closed the driver's side door.

"What do you think?" I could hear my mother's voice from the other side of the car.

"I love it. It fits me perfectly," I said. Perfectly, except for one thing.

I had no idea how I was going to bring it up. I didn't even really want to. And the whole car buying experience was always something that I dreaded. It had this intimidating "Meet-The-Parents" feel to it and I would have rather not been bothered with it. But at the same time, I always viewed it as this right of passage event that would help mold the future for yourself - like a Quince party or a Bar Mitzvah. This whole ordeal would certainly mold my future, alright. I didn't realize how freakin' nervous I had become.

"So, you like the car. Is there anything else I can help you with? Any more questions?" the guy looked like he was sweltering in his blue denim Toyota/Scion shirt.

"Well, actually," I started. Where was my voice? Where did it go? I was clinging to my purse for lack of anything better to fumble with. Let's start this thing over.

"Actually, I was wondering about your mobility program. I read on the website that you have a Mobility Financial program and I was wondering more about it," and then here comes the part that made me choke up, "The MVA recently put a restriction on my license, and since I have a slight physical disability (lump in my throat enlarges) they have recommended that I get a left foot accelerator placed on the car. So I wanted to see how much I could get in financing, and how much this car would cost to get a better feel of my financial situation."

There, it was said. "Slight physical disability"

"I actually don't know too much about that, to be honest with you," he said.

Gee, well that makes two of us, Mister.

Basically, it comes down to this:

One left foot accelerator (parts alone) : $357 - $545

Labor: $500 - $1000 (I am guessing, only because I have to go to a "special" auto shop that puts on adaptive equipment)

My pride: Priceless

I know this sounds a bit silly. To be 21 and talking of pride, especially knowing that I am not the pioneer in driving adaptive equipment...and even moreso knowing how much adaptive equipment my brother is going to need later down the road.

But just for a second, let me humor myself. Back at GS Hospital, with the lady sitting there next to me, after we played "Finish-The-Picture" and "One-Of-These-Things-Is-Not-Like-The-Other" with black and white pictures, she made her diagnosis.

"I think maybe...you would need some...hand controls," she said in a way that made her sound like she was pulling this wonderful trick out of her big black bag of adaptive equipment magic.

I was stunned (for lack of a better word). It just...killed me to the core.

"No, I don't think I need hand controls," I somehow found my voice and tried my best to make it a "don't - F -with - me" tone, "I think I would do much better with a left foot accelerator. I have heard that they make those, don't they?"

"Hm, that is a very good suggestion. I never thought of that." Yeah, I'm sure you didn't...you know with all the concrete impressions of me you've created being a mentally-retarded and incompetent person based on what's written on medical records.

I made sure to watch as she wrote "left foot accelerator" on the paperwork she was faxing to the MVA.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I was four years old, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. A doctor and the girl without the leg braces.

I told my mother that when I got older, I never wanted to feel plastic and velcro around my legs again, never wanted to wear large body casts, and use a walker or canes anymore.

"Mommy, when I get older I will wear any shoes that I want to wear!" I used to cry every morning while putting on the big orthopedic shoes that were two sixes too big in order to fit over the plastic leg braces.

The doctors told me at a very early age (possibly because I complained so much to them) that the outcome of me never wearing braces again was slim to none. I had horrible balance when I walked without them. My right leg had become the anchor that weighed down my childish energy and tied me back from running as fast as I felt that I could. The muscles along my right calf and hamstrings were tight and stiff, and left me walking around much like the spooky Frankenstein at Halloween...with heavy feet and a heavy heart.

I refused to let that get to me though. I kept telling myself that it was okay to dream - to believe that no matter what people said, I'd learn how to walk without leg braces if it was the last thing I did.

Five years later, I proved them all wrong.

"It's a risky situation," Dr. S warned me, pressing his glasses into his face even further, the way he does when he is contemplating something very serious, "you could either come out of this tibia rotation surgery with full mobility... or extremely limited mobility. I won't know until I go in there and see everything for myself."

"I really want to do this," I said, nodding my head for what seemed like the upteenth time. I was nine. I didn't know what color socks I wanted to wear in the morning or which new Barbie I wanted for Christmas but I knew this. I knew I wanted to walk without braces.

Five or so hours later, I emerged in full out pain. I think it was the worst pain I had ever experienced to this day. I felt like my right leg was being ripped from its socket, and twisted and stabbed at with a knife. But when I looked down, all I saw was a huge white body cast from my waist all the way down to my toes.

It would take a year after my recovery from surgery before I learned how to walk all over again. I started crawling at four weeks post surgery...which basically meant that I would creep on my arms and my hands like a soldier in the line of enemy fire, the rest of my body immobilized to lay flat.

I kept the dream alive though. Every stumble, every fall, every time I wanted to give up, I remembered that I had promised myself that I would walk without braces...walk without any sort of help at all.

I think of my first day of getting my first "real" pair of shoes as a rebirthing. I can never forget how the tears felt running down my face as I slipped on my very first black patent leather shoes and felt the soles against my skin. No thick and heavy plastic in between, no velcro straps cutting into my skin. It was me, my feet, and my shoes. I spent the entire day in the basement of my parents' house, tapping against the hard floor to hear the sounds, to feel the movement and to bask in the dream that I had made a reality.

____________________________________________________________

So I'll keep dreaming...and I know one day soon, I'll be driving...and I can't wait to prove them all wrong again.

The $150.00 Connect-The-Dots game

I don't think my life could get anymore complicated at this point. I went to the GS Hospital on Friday morning to get the "clinical rehab evaluation" through this MVA-certified program. First off, that alone is a bunch of bull sh*t because the first lesson I ever learned from this is that "honesty to NOT the best policy". Just because it says "cerebral palsy" on my records, and the technical term of "spastic diplesia" makes it sound even worse... the MVA decided all on their own that despite a letter from my doctor writing specifically that he thought I was capable of driving - that they needed me to attend a rehab facility to show that I was capable to them.

So I walk in, sit down, wait for this woman. She comes out, smiles politely and then leads me into this room.

We sit there and she suddenly sits down in front of me and realizes that...I am not as "slightly mentally retarded" as she thought I was going to be. As she chuckles out of pure uneasiness she looks at her paper holding her pen above it and asks, "So...why are you here, exactly?"

"Ma'am, quite honestly, I have no clue. The MVA just saw two little words of Cerebral Palsy and started freaking out. So they placed a hold on my license, and here I am."

"Well, wait, I see you've already completed and received a certificate for a Driver's Ed program...so that means you've had in-driving instruction already?"

"Yes, I have."

"Oh...so in that case, I am not going to require that you take the driver's assessment testing today...you already have proof that you can drive," she said for her own relief more than mine.
That's awesome, I thought. I get to save myself $150 dollars and I am not too stressed out or nervous then. Cha-ching.

"Okay, let's begin the clinical assessment. It's just going to be testing your cognitive abilities," she said, spinning around in her chair with a black binder and some pages. She turned the table around and sat in front of me placing the pages on the table flat.

Now let me give you some insight - my thoughts on this clinical test in the very beginning were skeptical...but as time wore on, I tried to find some good in it, some sensible reasoning behind it. Thus, I began to think that possibly, it had to do something with the clinical testing that I had done in the past as a child. Being hooked up to a machine with wires to test brain activity, being asked a series of psychological questions to test my ability to answer and handle myself in an "average/above normal" fashion. So here I was, bracing myself for whatever this lady had in store for me...

"Here ya go! This is the beginning of the test. This will be timed now. Please connect the dots 1 through 15 as fast you can," she said whipping out the paper and placing it in front of me while handing me a pen.

I freaked out. Inwardly...but freaked out. Out of pure disgust/pride/surprise/horror [please continue to insert whatever horrible emotion you can here], I paused. I am sure my slight pause in reaction probably embalmed her assumptions of me being an utter retard even further into the recesses of her brain, but I just couldn't contain my surprise.

As I connected dot 14 to dot 15 she exclaimed, "Wow, that was fast!" Not even trying to hide her incredulous tone.

Then she whips out another paper. At this point, I was still in shock over the first...and was praying to give her my slight good graces of hope when...

"Okay, now this is a bit trickier now. That's why I am giving you an example first so you can get a good feel," she explained, "This one...this one involves matching numerics and the alphabet..."

What?! Wait a minute...what is going on? Is this a joke? Is Ashton Kutcher along with J, Gen, or Cheryl, or hell, even L-Boogie going to come out from behind the curtain and shout "You've Been Punk'D!"

No, sadly.

There were more tests to be done. More degrading tests.

As I walked out to the front desk the girl at the computer said, "Miss, I am ready whenever you are..."

I walked up with my purse and glimpsed over at the receipt she was writing out.

"It will be $150.00 total today."

I felt my stomach start to get queasy as I signed the check and handed her the most I have ever spent on a connect-the-dots game.

We all must be alike...

It's 10:55 AM, the day after the V Tech shootings, and I can count about a dozen or more websites, and comments that have been made (either to me or collectively) about "Are all your people like that?" or "I told you immigration was a huge issue - we should be protecting our country from immigrant weirdos like that guy"...

Is anyone else bothered that the immediate reaction to the shooter being an Asian guy (it hasn't been concluded what nationality the shooter was, although I have been sent several links ruling him as either Korean or Chinese) is that he was a terrorist, with no human characteristics and that the issue isn't about how he got the guns, or gun control, or even that there is not a high level of security like we thought in our children's schools - but that we need to be stricter about immigration and that it HAS to be that he was an immigrant, and let's go attack his family because they have to be here illegally?

What happened with Columbine happened? We made each other feel like complete idiots because for whatever reason - somebody decided to make the two idiots that were dressed in black trench coats and guns the victims. "Aww, poor guys, they must have been teased. They must have been faced with so much depression over their life that led to this tragedy...that has to be the explanation"

It's just upsetting when the resulting outcome of a horrible and unfortunate circumstance is ignorant hatred and immediate prejudice accusations.

Update: The shooter was a Korean male. Now all of a sudden the forums are sprouting with bouts of racism. Ignorant people making ignorant statements. It's truly something to be sad about.

In the heat of the situation, let us not forget the lives that were lost here. 32 people gave their lives - and it was possibly motivated by something as simple as a cheating lover (as several reports have said, it was due to a falling out with an ex-girlfriend but I am not sure if that has been confirmed yet).

I heard on NPR that the two professors that were shot dead were world-renown. One of them was from Israel and one of them was from India - highly regarded men of their profession. It's devastating to know that such greatness is at loss.

And to all the students at V-Tech, my prayers, my thoughts are with you.

The Barber of Seville can set you free...

Ahhh...nothing like a decent haircut. Although TL's suggestion was outta sight (and I plan on tackling my closet in the next couple of weeks to make room for new Spring/Summer clothing), I think my haircut was effective in its own right.

Who knew that chopping off a few inches, adding some awesome layers and a brand new spiffy bottle of hair mousse/gel/whatever-it-is would help me to feel so much more...light?

I felt amazingly spirited afterwards.