September 2024, apocalypse now

My car got towed a few weeks ago. They've been doing construction near my house the entire time I've lived here and take up the sidewalk and all of the street parking spots with their personal vehicles and big work vehicles, and sometimes, I just want to park my car close to my house.

I didn't know what to do but eventually called all of the numbers listed on the construction sign. The person who answered the phone on behalf of what we'll call Pete's Towing because I don't want to look it up and get angry all over again was quite nice. He confirmed my car had been towed, gave me the address of the lot where it was unceremoniously shoved, let me know it had also been ticketed, and told me they'd give me paperwork to dispute the tow. I didn't have the energy to take a bus over there, having recently gotten off one after a long day, so I vowed to do it in the morning. The guy told me they're open 24 hours, except between 7 and 8 am.

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I arrived the next morning at 9 am to a padlocked gate, and my precious car trapped behind it. It didn't seem like anyone was in the little trailer office, so I called the helpful person, who, after a brief hold, informed me they would be in at 10:30. My boss was cool and told me to get my car and then come to work, so I found coffee, tried to calm down, and then headed back to the shop, where I once again had to call the "call center" and was told no one would be in until 12:30.

I have a strange relationship with cars and driving, in general. I was a late driving bloomer, though I took driver's ed with my own money when I was 16; I didn't get my license until I was 19. My best friend taught me how to parallel park in her big maroon car, which we called Mercutio, and she was kind enough to let me gain driving experience by borrowing it from time to time. I bought my first car for $1000 in cash, and it lasted for nine months. When it died, I sold it to the shop for parts (RIP, Billy) and didn't have a car for over five years. When I finally bought another car, which I had for nearly 10 years, it was a vital resource for me to not only get to and to and from work but to allow myself the autonomy to pack up and move from Bellingham to Seattle, where it continued to take me back and forth between the cities, supporting a shoddily built distanced relationship and allowing me to continue to make vital relationships, namely with my friends' kids who I could still show up for.

I'd prefer reliable trains, better public transportation, and less reliance on cars. If we built a working society where people could live where they work and be located near resources without needing to drive to them, that would be ideal. But we don't really live in a society like that, and having a car is important to me because, for example, when my best friend needs a quick ride home to tend to her family, I can do that for her. As someone who grew up taking the bus, walking, or having to rely on friends' parents to take me home from stuff, having a car provides a strong sense of having my shit together, even if deep down, I wish I didn't feel like I needed one.

The towing story conclusion: my wonderful friend Erin supported me in ensuring I'd be able to get my car. Some other ridiculous stuff happened, including my car being gridlocked, but luckily for all of us, I didn't have to take matters into my own hands and play bumper cars to get Judy home. However, I did waste a lot of time, energy, and cold, hard cash on this situation, all for parking my car near my house.

Poor people are looked down upon for not driving cars, taking the bus, walking, going to the grocery store, and needing to call a cab or load up their backpacks and struggle to walk home. I know that because this was my life growing up, I still have to talk myself out of feeling sad when I think of my mom sitting at the bus stop with bags of cheap Christmas gifts for her kids. It shouldn't make me sad; maybe we should all be sitting at the bus stop instead of flooding the roads with cars driven by angry, selfish people who would rather run over a fellow human being than wait 90 seconds at a red light before turning left.

Then, when a poor person has a car, they're penalized for it. I was so frustrated and upset that I spent so much time getting my car back, but, as is almost always the case, I was deeply upset about the experience because it reminded me of how unfair poverty is, how poor people are targeted and criminalized, and how legal rackets can legally perpetuate these cycles.

I was too mad to even read a book as I waited but! I did read some books this month.

[Books I read]

America Made Me a Black Man: A Memoir by Boyah J. Farah (2022) | Quick summary: Born in Somalia, Boyah Farah believed he would succeed in the US, but instead of safety and freedom, he found systemic racism, police brutality, and intense prejudice, everywhere.
Farah’s deeply insightful memoir takes us alongside him as he realizes the difference between being a Somalian and being an “African American.” Being a Black man in America brings Farah nothing but pain. “Yes,” I say. “I have seen it all, and I never thought that I would ever compare it to anything else. War is temporary, but the pain caused by racism is passed down. Black children inherit that pain the way white children inherit property or trust funds. The pain I endure now, my children will inherit.” It’s a beautiful, devastating, painful read, and I loved it.
[literary fiction, written by a Somali american writer, medium-length read]

The In-Betweens: A Lyrical Memoir by Davon Loeb (2023) | Quick summary: The memoir of a Black and white biracial person trying to find himself while coming to terms with his white family and trying to find his place in American society.
I crave the stories of biracial people, especially Black and white biracial people. I have long felt a lack of those stories, or in more recent terms, I don’t feel seen. That all said, it delights me when I come across a memoir written by someone with a Black father and a white mother, like Davon Loeb’s lovely lyrical memoir. Though our childhoods weren’t totally parallel, I felt his pain and pride, the same as mine.[literary fiction, written by a Black author, medium-length read]

The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store: A Novel by James McBride (2023) | Quick summary: Small-town secrets and a community’s stories weave together, dissecting race and personal narrative.
Something I love about research is knowing who you’re reading and why they might be writing what you’re reading. I recently finished McBride’s memoir and first-published book, The Color of Water. I wrote about it in June, and though it didn’t affect me as heavily or deeply as I expected it to, I cried a lot at the end and felt a deep camaraderie with this man who is Black but has a white mother. McBride’s mother is Jewish, though, and my mother is not. That identity meant a lot to her and a lot to him, so as soon as I started The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store, a fictional novel, I felt McBride’s mother. This story explores Jewish people living alongside Black people living in a white, white world — it’s fiction, but, as most fiction, it’s not far from McBride’s story to tell.
[literary fiction, written by a Black american writer and musician, medium-to-long read]

Fog by Caroline B. Cooney (1989) | Quick summary: Christina, an island girl, heads to the mainland for school where she trusts nothing, especially the authoritative adults.
Last September, I read Caroline B. Cooney's Janie series and had the time of my life doing so. I’d remembered those from my youth but hadn’t come across Fog before and also didn’t realize it’s a series. I don’t think I’ll continue this one, though. It didn’t enthrall me, though I appreciated the spooky themes and the commentary on gaslighting and distrusting adults and/or authority figures.
[fiction-mystery novel series, YA, written by a white american author, shortish read]

Ramona and Her Mother by Beverly Cleary (1979) | Quick summary: Ramona is 7.5, and in the fifth book in the Ramona series, we focus a bit more on her relationship with her mother.
I didn’t really grow up reading Ramona, though as a lifelong Reader, I feel familiar with the character and am in awe of Cleary, who lived to be 104. Besides reading Ramona the Pest once or twice, I don’t think I fully explored the series or the character until now because I found a cute copy for 1.00 at Value Village. As I am officially one week into my three-year grad program, I think reading lighthearted books from my youth (with phenomenal writing) will be a good form of ~ self-care ~ to balance the heavy load of becoming a social worker.
[children’s fiction, written by a white american writer; one of america's most successful authors, short read]

[Books I heard]

Motherhood So White: A Memoir of Race, Gender, and Parenting in America by Nefertiti Austin (2019) | Quick summary: The story of a Black adoptive mom learning about parenting in America.
This was such a great read and something I’d highly recommend to anyone raising a Black or brown child, especially if you’re a white person doing so. Nefertiti Austin dissects parenting in America through multiple important lenses, including an adoptive parent. I could go on and on about the importance and relevance of this book and love that I picked it up after all of these years right as I began my master's program, which has thrust me back into the world of child welfare, race, identity, and, well, parenting in america.[nonfiction, memoir, parenting, and family, written by a Black author and memoirist, medium-length listen, read by allyson johnson]

Down the Drain by Julia Fox (2023) | Quick summary: The memoir of actress Julia Fox.
What a life Julia Fox has lived, and she’s still younger than me! I’ll be honest: I’ve heard this memoir is great, but I had difficulty following what was happening. The timeline of her life is so confusing, and the (assuming) aliases she used for her friends and lovers were hard to keep apart, and I never fully understood the relevance of anyone in her life. She has suffered so many deep losses, but upon sharing those parts of her story, I felt myself unaffected because I couldn’t remember who they were to her.[nonfiction, celebrity memoir, written by an italian-american actress and model, shorter listen, read by the author]

Prairie Fires: The American Dreams of Laura Ingalls Wilder by Caroline Fraser (2017) | Quick summary: A comprehensive historical biography of writer Laura Ingalls Wilder.
I’ve been reading the Little House series on and off this year, and it felt necessary to read this to accompany the journey, as I’ve been startled and disturbed by some of the worst lines about and depictions of native americans throughout the series. Prairie Fires is a brilliant deep dive and critique of Wilder and her daughter. It’s a super long listen and one I’ll probably also read one day—I’ve already ordered a physical copy! I thought Caroline Fraser did a fantastic job holding the Wilder family accountable while also honoring the significance of these stories and books, even all of these years later. In case you're wondering, she only covers the TV show at the very end of the book![nonfiction, biography, literary history, written by a white american author, long listen, read by christina more]

[What I recommend]

If you don’t understand what being a Black Man in America is, or if you do: America Made Me a Black Man

If you are a parent: Motherhood So White and Ramona and Her Mother

If you enjoy and/or study celebrity memoirs: Down the Drain

If you like to laugh out loud: Ramona and Her Mother

If you are biracial: The In-Betweens

If you grew up with the Little House series: Prairie Fires

To October, a spooky month of change, celebration, and cozy blankets. Here’s hoping I can read “for fun” while in grad school.

“I too love America, but I want America to reciprocate.” America Made Me a Black Man

“But I wouldn't let that happen to me. I couldn't. I had to keep my facade that none of this ever bothered me. That I was a participant to learning like everyone else—not the thing that was being learned.” The In-Betweens

“‘It's been one nightmare after another,’ Christina thought. ‘Pretty soon I won't be able to keep track of them all.’” Fog

“Besides, why wasn’t the top of the bottle screwed on tight? Because some grown-up had not screwed it on, that’s why. Children weren’t the only people who did things wrong.” Ramona and Her Mother

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