Sweet Endings Part III

Chapter III

Being in Miami was risky I knew, by it was confirmed on the fifth day.  The concierge inquired about him.  He wondered aloud why he hadn’t yet joined me.  I had never been here this long alone.  Neither had he.  Out of the country on business was my decided upon response to any questions about his whereabouts.  No one would question me or even think twice.  However, my stay in Miami would not be much longer.  I always found it impossible to manage business in this damn city.  The vibrant colors, laid back atmosphere and the weather made my lazy, but I cannot afford to be lazy now.  I needed to remain vigilant and poised and shit, I probably should limber up, because there is no telling what will come next.

Reluctantly, I visited my lawyer and accountant.  Between the trusts that I maintained for my family and various charitable organizations, I needed to review my will and get some cash money.  I set up various scheduled payments for our expenses and managed a few other matters.  Then I headed for the beach.  Determined to think and devise a plan.  I could not lay dormant in Miami.  The beach was full of tourists, so I traveled to a hotel on the beach with restricted beach access and checked in.  I purchased a yoga mat from the gift shop and headed to the beach after changing.  Once there, I meditated.  Silence, stillness, silence, cleansing.  I saw my daughter’s face and immediately opened my eyes, out loud I spoke ‘You do not belong’, again I closed my eyes and started again.  This time, I heard her laugh.  I stood.  I stretched.  It had been years since I did this; allowed this.  And whatever this was, it didn’t work for me.   I ran into the ocean, slapped my body against the water and began an awkward swim against the waves and against my memory.

I swam until I felt my lungs demand a reprieve and turned onto my back and floated.  The waves were calm unlike my heart.  The sun was bright and I could feel my entire body heat up from its external warmth and my internal turmoil.  My heart beat returned to a more natural rhythm and I could feel myself calm down.  I waited and I didn’t hear my past, so I swam back to shore.  When I emerged from the water, I became instantly self conscious of my hair, my new cut had a bang and my hair is curly.  I must look like a wet cocker spaniel; I walked quickly to my mat, dried off and returned to my room.  After showering, I turned on the television and stood in the window naked and watched a young family play on the beach.  Angered, I turned away and noticed that the television had a mail icon in the bottom right hand corner of the screen.  I followed the menu options to retrieve the message and to my surprise a frequent donor to one of my charitable foundations had left the message.  She was approaching me on the beach earlier when I took off into the ocean.  She wanted to meet for an early dinner tonight.  Smashing, I thought, how much of that atrocious sight had she witnessed?  Fuck it I thought as I dialed her back.  As we chatted, I stood in the mirror, still naked, I looked from my toes until my gaze landed on my eyes and I stared at myself.  At the person I created and again, the surge of anger and hatred boiled so hot and fast that I saw red.  I blinked hard and turned away.  I scheduled dinner with Julianne Esse for later that evening at the hotel steak house, and then I climbed under the covers and slept.

When I arrived at the steak house my stomach was growling, I thought people could see its disdain through my black linen dress.  The atmosphere was very masculine, yet luxurious.  Deep, dark browns accentuated by gold and thoughtful lightening gave the space the feel of a cigar lounge without the smell.  I saw Julianne Esse when I glanced over to my right and approached her slowly.  Her small hands held both cheeks of her round face, her emerald dress, clung to her body as if she had been in the ocean right beside me earlier.  When she noticed me, she smiled and stood.  We embraced and I almost cried; her smell was always the same, light peony and citrus.  We kissed quickly on the cheek and sat.  Conversation was easy for us; we caught up on family, friends and new and old ventures.  We ate and drank too much, enjoying the atmosphere and the company of each other.  Julianne asked me between shots of SoCo and Lime if she could get my opinion on a project she was asked to lead.  I of course obliged.  Anxious to hear about the project, I was slightly agitated that Julianne wanted to speak privately, ‘preferably’ she’d said in my room.  I laughed slightly to myself as I stood, inebriated, I motioned for Julianne to follow me. 

When we entered my room she was on me.  Lips against lips, her hands on my breast and hip, my hands on her cheeks, holding her close; I’d missed her a lot.  She tasted just like I remembered and she whispered that I was beautiful.  Her skin was so soft; I buried my face in places that were warm and sensuous.  I imagined for a moment being with her forever.  From between her legs, I looked up, excitement coursed through my body as our eyes met.  I felt her thighs on my cheeks and buried my face again.  Julianne moaned and whispered sounds, as they never hit my ears as words, I only heard affirmation to continue.  I pushed her legs into the air slapped her ass and grinded on her moistness.  Julianne reached up and kissed my breast, then arched her back and climaxed.  I kissed her forehead and went into the bathroom to shower.  When I came back, Julianne was still naked, which surprised me I’d anticipated that she’d be dressed and ready to talk.  She was ready to talk, but no intentions on dressing, she said she still wanted more. 

She began to tell me about a project in the Dominican Republic that she was launching but needed a marketing director.  My interest was piqued as this opportunity presented just the escape I needed.  We discussed the details of the project and agree on a transitional timeline.  At the end of our conversation, I was confident that within 48 hours, I would be reinvented in a new country.  Unfortunately for Julianne, it wouldn’t actually be in the Dominican Republic.  We fucked once more and when she fell asleep, I returned to my condo. 

The next morning, prior to departing for the airport, I called Julianne to review the proposed plan.  Under the guise of confirming what was discussed after a night of drinking and sexing.  During our call I heard my front door open.  I glanced at the clock quickly, wondering why the management staff was entering my home without prior notification.  I heard footsteps approaching and turned around to see who had entered.  I dropped the phone as the first bullet entered my chest and began to fall as the second bullet entered my right cheek and exited through my neck on the left side.  My knees hit the floor and he stood over me with the gun my dad had given me and he fired one last shot.

Sweet Endings - Part II

When I arrived at the condo, I was pleased to see the renovations that I had followed via email and through the online system for the past few months. I wanted to come a few weeks prior to my hasty arrival for a quick rejuvenation but my schedule would not allow it. When I entered my foyer, I was again pleased to see fresh flowers and smell the fresh scent of linen. It’s always refreshing to know that the services and amenities that you pay for are available, and not contingent on your presence.


This particular residence has always been a source of escape and calm for me. Its open spaces allow for a bright and airy feel and most importantly, it offered a gorgeous view of the Atlantic Ocean. And this Atlantic Ocean looks and feels so much more inviting than the one up north. This ocean, blue, green and warm always welcomed my body into its vast abundance. I had given up my fear of sea animals simply to spend hours floating on my back staring at the sky and thinking about nothing other than the rhythmic motion of the ocean around me. Stung by jelly fish and nibbled on by small fish, I still treasured each moment in this ocean, among others around the world.

I made a quick call to my hair stylist and was lucky to get an appointment for later in the afternoon. I showered, moisturized and ventured out. I decided to head to David’s Café to grab a lunch before heading to the do some shopping. Two hours of retail therapy, 6 purchases and delivery instructions later, I left for my salon appointment. My goal was to reinvent myself; a new color, something dramatic, to get noticed. I arrived about fifteen minutes early for my appointment and had a few moments to look through the digital album which boasted thousands of cuts, colors and styles for clients to choose from. Before I could decide, I was being escorted to the wash station.

As the assistant washed and massaged my scalp, I remembered the first time I came to Miami. I was 25 and three weeks away from graduating with a dual undergraduate degree in Economics and Organizational Development. I had arrived very much in the fashion that I arrived this morning; fleeing, after committing murder. I let out a small laugh at the irony of my current situation. I closed my eyes tighter and recalled that spring day that changed the trajectory of my life and erased the two people that I loved deeply. He was my husband, she was my daughter. My name was Lacey Monroe and I lived with my husband and daughter in Southern California. We had a great life, or so I thought. On this specific day, I wanted to thank my family; my husband of 5 years for supporting and encouraging me as I pursued and met my educational goals, and my 3 year old daughter who loved my unconditionally and enhanced my ability to comprehend true love. I left the university library early, headed to the market and picked up the items for my family’s favorite meals. I even brought decorations and balloons for my princess and a bottle of wine for later with my king.

I remember feeling blessed, like the luckiest girl in the world. My thoughts, interrupted by the transition to the next station fast forwarded to my first visit to Miami after my blessed life in California came to a crashing end. It was warm and the air was thick when I arrived that first time. I navigated through the airport to the cab stand quickly I had no bags; not even a wallet, only cash and my identification. The cab driver was a sexy Cuban, with strong, wide shoulders, my weakness. His accent was thick, and I responded that my destination was his bed, when he asked. Not expecting the response, he stammered, then he accepted my offer. I only remember the smells, the colors, the sweat and the $4000 cash and handgun I’d obtained from that night. The next morning, I walked along the beach, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, searching for a spot to sit and think.

I had serious decisions to make about my future, once so promising and vast, it now felt empty and honestly, it felt over. I would never be the same person, literally, I would never, ever be Lacy again. She was dead and could never be revived. My experiences make me, and me, I don’t want to be. At that moment, I knew that I could not think about the events of three days ago often, I would need to bury those memories and all memories of my past to move on. What moving on looked like, I was not sure, but as long as I had freedom and breath, I had to somehow press on. At this moment, a light breeze pushed past me, the sky growled and the rain fell. I imagined that God recognized my sorrow and pain and was granting me the opportunity to bury my past in my tears and prayers.

As I prayed aloud, I replayed the events of three days ago. When I approached the house, I immediately became nervous when I saw hubby’s car in the driveway, but quickly shook it off, as he hadn’t mentioned anything. When I entered the house, I noticed how quiet it was and assumed he was sleeping. I began to unpack the groceries, and stopped mid-way to check on him. As I approached our bedroom, I did so silently, so as to not disturb him. I open the door slowly and saw movement in the reflection in the mirror. I turned towards the movement and watch in horror as my husband sexually molested our daughter. My movements, like those of a robot, directed me to the kitchen. I grabbed the knife that I would have used later to cook dinner. I returned to the master bedroom, still motivated by an unknown force, I opened the door on the most heartbreaking sight I have ever experienced. Mechanical movements of my body proceeded to stab her father until my arms hurt. In my rage, I didn’t anticipate the weight from my attack upon him would result in not only him succumbing to death, but also my daughter. The weight and force were too much for my child to bear and when I rolled him off of my daughter, she was not breathing.

Her face, my baby; out loud I screamed for my daughters entry into heaven, for safe delivery of her soul, for her peace. I blamed myself because how could I not know. Had she tried to tell me? Did she not know this was wrong? My baby, I screamed for her to come back to me, for me to be delivered to her. My first-born, so lovely, always beautiful, so inquisitive, happy and funny. I thought I knew love when I met her father, but she taught me heart and engaged my soul. She is my heart, my girl, I will love her forever. The rain stopped and I soon learned that Miami presented opportunities for spiritual cleaning a few times a day. The humid air began to suffocate me so I stood, stretched and took the first steps into my new life.

Fraudulent passport, state identification and degree later, I was in Houston, Texas practicing my new identity as Janelle Pickard. Janelle was slightly younger and adventurous, fueled by a dangerous combination of fearlessness, anger, ambition and adrenaline; I was ready to embark on the ultimate do-over. I was brought back to reality by my stylist, she was telling me that she was finished. In the mirror, I stared at my straight black hair, my sharp bangs and shoulder length cut. The black color was another first, I always thought it would drain my complexion, I was wrong. It was perfection, sitting right there on my head. I paid and tipped well, then headed home to calculate my next moves. Unlike my first time in Miami, I have money, connections and options.

Sweet Endings - Short Story from me to you

As soon as my ass was in the seat, I cried. Silently so that I would not disturb the other passengers, my hoodie pulled closely to my nose, to shield the pain and torment that needed to be released. A seasoned traveler, I was lucky to be assigned the window seat, so I did not need to get up to allow another passenger entry and could let all of my past hopes, fears, insecurities, lust, love and dreams soak up my clothing, sink into my skin and renew my spirits. The flight attendant counted passengers to my left and the one at the front of the plane gave emergency instructions that I knew by heart. As the plane taxied down the runway, a sort of calm swept across my body; it was marked by chills, goose-bumps, a slight dizzy sensation and a feeling of relaxation. This calm was the moment that I settled into my pain.

Waiting for the announcement that it’s ok to use my IPod Touch was my only focus a few minutes into the flight. I wanted to hear a specific playlist, filled with songs about everything from political and social injustices to finding and keeping true love to bitches and hoes and everything in between. A mix of songs that have humorous lines, melodic rhythms, soulful voices and tempos, arrangements and beats that would fill my body. As I imagined the sounds and feelings entering my ears and coursing through my body, I felt myself relax again. Finally, I heard the ding that announced that my immediate need would be met. Earphones on, music playing, I closed my eyes and continued to cry.

As I cried and listened to sounds and searched my thoughts for the moment I knew it was over but was too chicken shit to take action. It was that phone conversation months ago that had initially broken my heart. I was home, awaiting his arrival, when he called. He professed his love for me and for what we had built over the years. He spoke of a future that we would experience, full of everything we wished for. It was a conversation that we have had many times before, but previously, it lacked the verbalized adoration that humans need occasionally. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to believe that he was finally able to be open and honest with me about his feelings, but I knew this side of him was unchartered. He continued to talk, although he was minutes away from home and dinner was plated and waiting, wine already poured. I focused closely on his words, interpreting his tone, the highs and lows in his voice and I could hear between the words he spoke.

When he arrived home, he washed for dinner and joined me at the table. A warm kiss, great conversation accompanied a great meal. A night of lovemaking followed; I considered it one of our best. The next morning, we woke, dressed for work, had breakfast and began our days. Life continued as normal until this morning. He woke me up at 3am, fully dressed. He said that he needed space and that he never loved me, he was wrong. He said that he knew he didn’t love me, was never capable of loving me and only continued the façade because it was easier than being alone. This man woke me up out of my sleep to tell me that the last 6 years that we spent together was a lie. He apologized for misleading me and said that he just needed me to say that we would remain friends. He wanted me to promise that our friendship would not be impacted. He wanted me to promise. Promise? Promise! Promise to him, the man who make conscious decisions to continuously, systematically lie to me. On this flight, in this chair, strapped in to a seat that serves also as a life saving flotation device, I begin to laugh hysterically.

My laugh was bold; it was new, fresh and embarrassing to everyone who heard it. But it was the end of a lie that I didn’t realize I was living. It energized me and I looked forward to the plane landing in Miami so the warmth could lead my next move, because it would be by far, my best move. I ended my laughter, the same way it began to everyone else, abruptly. And I prayed. I prayed for forgiveness and forgetfulness. I prayed for strength and the ability to love again. I prayed for faith, patience in the process of rebuilding and to look good in the bikini I would buy when I landed. And I laughed again at myself. I laughed at the way I looked at him when he sought my hand in eternal friendship. I felt my face, formerly distraught from the hurt, then surprised at the insistence of an on-going friendship with a professed liar, user and abuser. I laughed again as I remembered that I never answered him. Instead, I got up from the bed, opened my laptop and searched for a flight. I found a non-stop from New York to Miami at 9am and purchased the ticket. Behind me, he questioned what I was doing, where was I going. He demanded answers. I remained silent. I packed my purse, laptop and showered. When I began to lotion my body, he sat on the floor below me and told me that he did in fact love me, but I stopped listening. I caressed my body with the sweet smelling lotion and lay back on the bed. I began to love myself with him sitting right there. I heard him when he began to sob and I came to the sound. I picked myself up from the bed and looked down at the man that I love and watched him cry into his hands briefly. I stepped around him, entered my closet and began to dress.

As I dressed, he began to question me again, demanding to know where I was going, how long I would be away and if I intended on speaking to him. The reality of it all would not allow me to speak still, so I remained silent. And when my silence overtook his feelings, he hit me. Open hand, across my face with enough force to knock me into my dresser. I did not anticipate the initial blow or the closed fisted one that followed to my chest. The wind knocked out of me, holding onto the dresser, I was livid. I screamed at him, wanting desperately to understand what he wanted from me after dropping such a bombshell. I yelled for him to explain. He retreated slightly, giving me enough space to open the second drawer of the dresser I used only seconds before as my lifeline between standing upright and hitting the floor. I opened the drawer and felt what I wanted immediately. I retrieved the gun, a gift from my father. I raised it quickly and thought that the next moment would change my life and I pulled the trigger. One shot fired, one bullet through the left side of his chest. Blood sprayed on my face and hands, on my clothes and shoes and he fell from the force of the close range shot.

I felt the warm, wet feeling of blood on my face and wiped it away. I stepped around him again to exit the closet. I entered the bathroom and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t recognize the person, so I cleaned up, applied make-up and prepared to leave. I grabbed the few belongings that I would take with me to the condo in Miami and left for the airport. Again, I felt the sensation of calm sweep across my body. I was on course to begin a new chapter of my life, or as I planned, a new life as a new person.

The Re-Introduction of Love

It was all good just a year ago; or was it really? In some ways my life was much simpler. I operated within an emotionless bubble, fending off all calamities of the heart. Protected by my bubble, which was reinforced with a tough exterior to block against pain, tears and heartache I was able to 'do me'. Engaging many men in this false world, I was always present enough to present myself as a woman capable of love, tenderness and emotional availability, but in reality, I was the opposite. I failed to let men in, maintaining my bubble, my protection from love, which had a connotation of pain.

I watched one particular relationship spark, ignite and eventually implode simply because I refused to let go of what I perceived as my protection. What I discovered however was that the entire time, my false sense of protection or security was a tangled web of control and fear. This discovery was painful in itself because it further highlighted my insecurities, immaturity and the level of selfishness that I operated on.

Through this discovery, I learned a great lesson. I learned that I was actually committing a crime against myself and others; I was not allowing myself the opportunity of really embracing the human experience. The human experience includes change, pain, challenges, etc., and it makes us into the people that we need to be to survive. I learned that without emotions and love, by relinquishing control and being considerate to others feelings, I would be fulfilled.

Everyday is a challenge, however now, I embrace it, and I look forward to being a partner in life and love.

Happily Smiling Wallowing in Ignorance

It took only a few moments, a drop in the bucket of life for me to fall in love with his smile. It took a little longer to fall in love with the imperfect man he is and the imperfect man he strives to be. I recall telling him, more like professing to him my love, intentions and feelings using statements like: 'I am ready to jump with my eyes wide shut'. I knew I was ready before Alica Keys put music to the statement. But, alas, love is dangerous, frightening, enlightening, beautiful and overall the one thing I crave. I crave the good of it as well as the bad. I want to black of love, the white of it and the grey bits.

I felt love with this beautiful black man, like I have never felt before. I want to be my best self to make him proud, willing to do almost anything to see that smile of his. I want him to want me to love him, for him to embrace this connection without reservations, without the self-imposed and maintained walls of protection.

To honestly tell someone how you feel about them takes guts, commitment and strength and I have proven to myself that I am capable of being the person in love that I need to be for myself. And now, as I lay alone in my bed, thinking, wondering, wishing that someone would have the same or similar feelings towards me, I have faith that the perfect situation for me will present itself and when if does I will be ready. Ready to enjoy the surprises, glances, the uptempo beat of my heart and the million dollar smile I'm sure he will have. Because if you can love once without reservations, you can do it again. And I will do it again and it will be the stuff that songs are written about.

Where does all of this Food Come From?

From 1997-2002 I worked on Independence Hall in Philadelphia for the National Constitution Center. Monday – Friday, week after week, year after year, I witnessed the calm, sometimes silent protests of American Farmers who held signs complaining that the government did not care about them or the nutrition of Americans. The protesters claimed that governmental policy benefits corporate America and downgraded the agricultural landscape of the country. At the time, the egotistical thought I had was ‘if this was true, why is there such an abundance of food at the supermarket?’

Well, flash forward to 2010. After years of silent, internal struggles concerning vegetarianism, I am a vegetarian; partaking in the occasional egg, dairy products and fish per physician recommendation. If it was up to me, I would be happy living on home grown ingredients that would combine to make cheese pizza. I made the switch over a two year period. First cutting out all meat except chicken and turkey and then eliminating it all. I will say, bacon is what I miss the most, but I have no desire to ingest it. I made this decision after a day of shopping, which took me to 2 supermarkets in one day. Both markets, regionally leading supermarkets were full with ‘fresh’ meat, poultry, fish, fruits and vegetables. I can clearly recall standing in the meat section in from of the butcher and thinking yet again, ‘how can there be an issue of food shortage and poor farmers if there is so much food’.

Industrialized Agriculture is the delicious answer. Farming that literally produces livestock, poultry, fish and crops based on scientific, economic and political needs. What are the benefits of scientific production of the nutrition of an entire country?

Maximum Production of Food
Contribution to the Economy
Convenience to Consumers
Who could argue with these benefits? Industrialized Agriculture is estimated to feed 6 million people worldwide. However, the actuality of Industrialized Agriculture is the following:

Maximum Production of Food – More livestock, crops and farm raised fish are being ‘produced’ for consumption. This production entails genetic engineering; chickens fully maturing in 45 days instead of 90+days. Cattle ranches holding thousands of cattle in small pens that do not allow for adequate movement or sanitation. Increased production of corn, over 80 million acres of corn crops, to support the mass production of livestock as a vital feed ingredient and to support its increased usage in a multitude of food and industrial products.
Contribution to the Economy – American Farmers are working with a limited amount of space. Space for farming does not increase, it decreases over time. Farmers rely on governmental subsidies to stay afloat. All subsidies provide extra income for the farmers and create a price floor for the commodity. However, based on the lobbyists in Washington, the actual commodities and the value of the subsidy depend on the crop. Currently corn is the top commodity for subsidy payments.
Convenience to Consumers – Consumers can enjoy a wealth of foods (seasonal included) all year round, with almost no lapse in availability. But picking tomatoes early and injecting them with or introducing various chemical cocktails to them, they can ripen in my bathroom medicine cabinet. Customers can get enjoy the chemically treated and factory produced foods that they love with a quick trip to their local market.
Nutritional Safety – Genetically engineered food and livestock being produces in a design of factory production. You’ve seen the photos, chickens in coops that are kept dark literally living in their own filth. Mad Cow disease being passed from livestock to spinach crops through water run-off.
Nothing I have said thus far cannot be found through surface research on the matter; seek and thou shall find. I will leave you with these final thoughts:

In 2005, Four Meat Packaging Giants had acquired production of over 80% of the beef, 60% of the pork and 50% of chickens in American slaughterhouses. These companies supply their biggest customer, the fast food industry and tailor their operations for the purpose of meeting the demand. These companies also have the financial ability to impact policy.
Poor people find it more economical to purchase fast food as opposed to fruits and vegetables. Poor diet leads to increased chances of various health problems and concerns; diabetes, heart problems, respiratory problems, etc. Local, state and federal government spend millions on nutritional programs aimed at low income individuals and families to attempt to keep them happy and drive down medical and RX costs.
Food is different. Have you seen a teenager lately? They are huge, built on a lifetime of consumption of genetically engineered foods, chemicals, 20 time bathed in ammonia meats has changed our children, families and country.
In the end, business is business. Money Talks, Bull-ish Walks. Walmart offers its customers Stonyfield Farms Organic products because they asked for it. A Major US Food Company brought Stonyfield Farms for Billions, but did not take over the management of the company because there is billions to be made in the organic foods industry. So, as a consumer, you have the choice to demand the quality food products you want for your family. Your dollar impacts the production. If we don’t purchase it, they won’t make it.
http://www.foodincmovie.com/about-the-film.php

http://www.foodincmovie.com/reading-list.php

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agricultural_subsidy

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Industrial_agriculture

http://www.wikinvest.com/commodity/Corn

http://www.sustainabletable.org/issues/processing/

Census, Urgency and Accountabillity

Today, I completed the 2010 Census. In ink. In 2010. I read the form about 6 times searching for the web site to complete the Census, the 2010 Census. After I completed the demographic information about the 3 people who inhabit my personal space every day, I was prepared to answer additional questions. According to http://www.census.gov/ (who has a Facebook page and a Blog) the census impacts: People and Households and Business and Industry, by forecasting the populations future needs. This caused me to question how the government or any person for that matter can determine my specific community needs based on my age, gender and ethnicity? I anticipated questions about education and/or employment or career information. Apparently Education will not allow strategic development of appropriate services in neighborhoods. Employment experience would not provide valuable forecasting information about the skills and expertise of a city. In my head echoed voices from my childhood of people in my African American community that said the Census equated to Big Brother knowing your business.

These voices were followed by the Census commercials, which budget estimates place at costing $140 MILLION (http://2010.census.gov/news/pdf/advertising_budget.pdf) telling Americans that the Census would help identify where new schools and jobs were needed. As soon as I thought about the government helping households and industry I thought, what would someone believe my house required. Consisting of a 29 Year-old African American/Black or Negro woman with a 4 year old African American daughter and her 23 Year-old African American brother; Single Black-female, 1 black female of a single parent household, 1 creepy Uncle in the backroom. Who determines what my community receives? Someone who views my Census responses stereotypically?

• Welfare District Budget and Re-Assignment Activities
• Low-Income Childcare Services
• Free-Low Income Health Services
• Increased Small Business Loans Earmarked for Bars, Deli's (specializing in 40 oz. beers), etc.
• Introduction of Half-way Houses and Offender Services

Or will some of the services that are truly beneficial to my household result from my participation in the Census?

• Operating Recreation Center
• Creative Arts School for a 4 year old who is claiming she will be the First Female President that is also a Professional Ballerina.
• Library's, Supermarkets, Public Transportation Routes, etc.
• Jobs
• Access to Small Business Loans
• Student Grant Allowances

As I thought if this it reminded me of what a close friend who will remain nameless (for now) said a few days earlier. She asked, 'Where are all the people who maintain the streets and beautification in the cities nicer neighborhoods'. I looked at her and said, 'It's us'. She looked utterly surprised and I can understand why, our parents and grandparents maintained the neighborhood. Early in the morning the adults got up and maintained their homes and their neighbors homes; during the week and on weekends. Entire families tackled seasonal maintenance on coordinated days throughout the year. The entire community pitched in an collectively took responsibility for their community.

Lacking in our society on so many instances is a lack of accountability to home and family and business and industry. Providing developmental services and not poverty enabling and sustaining programs would re-introduce the values of individual, community values. Values coupled with accountability can lead to developmental opportunities which can lead to the straightening of communities at a grassroots level that with resound in the strengthening of America's workforce. In 2000, the United States Census Bureau employed over 800,000 Americans, the 2010 employment figures have not been finalized, however the anticipated number will top the 2000 figure.

Because the 2010 Census can impact the financial stability of over 800,000 American households directly, so can the decisions made from the responses of Millions of American families. But in addition, if the government fails to provide for a communities needs, that the individuals, households, business and industries living, playing and earning within those communities maintain its wealth of inherently specific human capital.