I Found My Magic

I have known for a very long time that I am not normal. I rarely fit in to social groups; at school I was too smart, at church I was too involved, and everywhere else I just did not belong. In the beginning I didn’t understand, so I tried to fit in. I tried to do what everybody else was doing so that I could be a part of something. I tried to be normal.

After a while, I realized that normal was the same as boring. I spent so many years trying to prove that I was just like everybody else that I lost sight of myself, and in turn felt even more left out than ever before.

But then, then I said yes.

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So, Y'all Really Wanna Arm Teachers?

Yesterday I got cursed out by a 14 year old.

Let me set the scene.

My mother and I were in Walgreens getting random things. My mom needed orange juice and two teenage girls, let’s call them NeNe and DeDe, were trying to get drinks. They were too far back and the girls were tiny, so DeDe climbed in and grabbed as many as she could. My mom and I stood back and waited because the orange juice was in the same case. I was playing 2 for 2 on my phone (judge all you want) and I looked up just as the girls were walking away. NeNe and I made eye contact. NeNe then begins to curse me out, and I mean OUT, y’all.

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Being Your Own...

Y’all already know my taste in men is questionable to say the least. 

On top of that, I am a true romantic at heart. I still want my knight in shining armor to ride up on his stallion and whisk me away. I dream of getting flowers “just because” at work, and grinning from ear to ear when I come home to surprises. 

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Broken Pieces

When I was a little girl I loved puzzles. It could be an actual puzzle from the dollar store, one on my brand new computer that my aunt and grandmother purchased for me, a word puzzle, connect-the-dots, even the one from Cracker Barrel that called me an ig-no-ra-mous if I left more than 3 pegs — anything that I had to figure out, I wanted to do it. 

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For Black Babies...

I teach at a high school in the middle of the hood. 100% of our students are black, and 100% live in or are subjected to poverty on a daily basis. They face traumas that seem unreal, grown folk problems at 14, and reading scores that make my job nearly impossible to do. But there is one thing that stands out to me as the most uphill battle. 

My babies don’t know who they are. 

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Laquasha LoganComment
Not Just Sad

“I am so sick of people saying they’re depressed! That mess is not real!”

That is an actual quote from someone that I had grown to respect as they spoke to my class. I sat, numb, because in my head there was an all-out war happening, and it wasn’t just two sides. 

Nah, they don’t mean that. 

Is that true? Am I overdoing it? 

HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT FOOLISHNESS!

Breathe, Laquasha, breathe. 

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Writing the Vision...

I have always loved to write. I was one of those girls who begged their mother to buy those journals with the cheap locks from the Scholastic Book Fairs and I would put it in my Lisa Frank bag and carry it and my gel pens everywhere. Every. Where. 

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Holding On to My Faith

Over the past few months I’ve read a few Op-Eds about millennials leaving churches but continuing to believe, or about what millennials need out of Christianity, or why we don’t participate in service like folk think we should. I’ve read it, rolled my eyes, and felt stuck between a rock and a hard place.

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Laquasha LoganComment