Move over little dog . . .

So, as the end of the grad school experience approaches, I have begun to apply to jobs -- first packet went out on Tuesday. I am of decidedly mixed emotions about this moment. I love the place we are living, really enjoy being in a city with M's family nearby and friends-a-plenty, and the stable environment / awesome school system has been great for J.

On the other hand, I want a friggin job. First app went out to Batman State, which employment would theoretically begin Jan 1 2009.

Yes. Two months out. !!!

There are other jobs I am more interested in, in parts of the country that M would rather be than the Motor City. But you know what? I am taking the job if they offer it to me. We may have to work something out where M and J stay here for the spring or something, but . . . that's certainly the cart before the horse.

Other prospects include a Jesuit school in the Windy City, Nut State (IN), EnsignCrusher-an (CT), and the big brass ring, the job from UNCle.

On the home front, took J to see The Express (and failed to let M know, putting me in the doghouse, hence the title of this post). A Fine Film, though I can't disagree with the reviewer who said that it works despite its conformity to convention. The movie has a lot of heart, and it was a real treat to watch J watch the movie. He doesn't know the formula - or rather, he knows it so well that he would only notice it if wasn't there - and I take a fierce kind of pride in the way he doesn't understand why people would be so hateful because of skin color. I've thought alot about the way my parents raised us regarding race relations. For the most part, growing up in the center of the country, the subject never came up. I dont remember knowing anyone who wasn't white until middle school. So, on the one hand, there was no attempt to make us kids aware of that aspect of the world.

On the other hand, early on the three of us - without exception or ambiguity - rejected the idea of prejudice based on skin color. I will never forget a conversation my brother and I had with my dad on day. Pop had a job working in a big box store, and made the comment one day, I don't remember why, about how "those damn black kids are so lazy." What I remember most about that moment is how much it shocked me, that my dad could even say something like that. G and I tore into him for a good thirty minutes, and I remember what it boiled down to: in my dad's experience, the black people he had worked with had a different work ethic than he did. He apologized for putting it into a blanket generalization, if I recall correctly. I can't imagine anything less would have satisfied G and I, fired up as we were.

I have more to say about race and my family, but enough for one day. Point is, I guess, that I want J to know that America, with her great ideals, has failed to live up to her promises for so many of the people who live here. I want him to know that the problems they had - as J says, "back in slavery time" or "back in segregation time" aren't gone, or fixed, or over. Better? Yes. But the work isn't done. "Until the color of a person's skin matters no more than the color of their eyes," yes? I worry at what a completely unattainable standard that seems to be -- but then I think about the changes that have happened in my lifetime. Maybe its not too much to hope that J's kids might know a world like that.

Ran 20 minutes hard on Monday, 15 on Tuesday, and took Wednesday off.