No one was more pleased than me when, in my late sixties, I earned my Masters in Education with full certification---and a "highly qualified" status-- in Special Education. I felt I had so much to offer; so many creative ideas for all students with special needs. But--I under-estimated the "new attitude" in education. I'd lived out of the country for ten years and didn't know that Liberals were promoting racism and inequality--- in their push to control America. Ever the crusader, I eventually accepted a teaching position in my hometown of Pine Bluff. I was determined to share my special education expertise with a class of young students, mostly black.
On September 1, 2009, a classroom assistant (call her Nigeria) suddenly started attacking me with nasty words and threats to physically-harm me. She barred me from leaving the classroom by blocking me with her body. She got too close-- in my face--spitting and screaming “I’m not going to take your shit; you don’t know who you’re talking to-- White Bitch. I’ll show you who I am and I don’t take fucking-shit from nobody. I’m better than you! I’m the boss where you’re concerned and you better know it! I’ll whip your ass, Bitch, starting now!"
Another classroom assistant saw/heard everything and quickly took the children down the hall for lunch. A social worker… who had the office next to my classroom… came running in and witnessed most of the incident.
A teacher named Rachel, at the opposite end of the hall, left her classroom to stand outside and listens. And Vicky, an older lady who occasionally worked in my room, said later that she was on the playground when the incident took place… and heard it all.
The Center’s assistant director, hearing Nigeria’s screams and threats, walked in my room and casually escorted Nigeria to his office for a little “talk”. I tried to compose myself. I was shaking uncontrollably, crying, and seemed about to faint. The social worker stayed with me, insisted I drink some water, and tried to calm me.
After a few minutes, still confused and shocked, I went directly to the cafeteria in search of my students. I found my students sitting at our assigned table with Nigeria and the assistant director. The two of them were laughing, smiling and chatting.
I insisted the assistant director speak to me—alone-- in his office. I asked him directly if he was allowing Nigeria to return to my classroom, like nothing had happened. He replied: “I talked with her and everything will be okay. You just over-reacted because you’re older and not accustomed to working with blacks. If you want to stay here, you'll need to practice diversity and work-hard at being a team player."
Education, everywhere, is under a hostage-takeover. Real Teachers are being victimized through daily acts of bullying, attitudes, and racism. Those "in charge" haven’t a clue how to manage out-of-control savages like Nigeria so----they keep allowing liberal- racists to have everything “their” way.
I have the credentials, the experience, and the dedication to teach students OF ALL COLORS with special needs. What I don't have is the patience to deal with liberals controlling education---or with the "new RACIST attitude" among some teachers of color, assistants---or---with radicalized-racist parents.
Four years ago, I found this chapter among my journals and considered it for My Book. In the final cut, only two encounters made it between-the-covers. No, my life hasn’t been dull, boring, or even normal and from time to time--- it bothers me that I seem to attract men who prefer Dominant Women.
You can read all—some--or none of my revelations. They aren’t for everyone. I don’t write for shock-value—but there are times when---I don’t feel the need to censor the truth.
Raised in the South, I read GONE WITH THE WIND... multiple times. With each reading I marveled that Scarlett-- so pretty, confident, and strong-- wanted to win the affections of Ashley, an insipidly-weak man. Unlike Scarlett, I never wanted weak men in my life yet... invariably… they always find me.
They find me where I live—play—work--- and shop. My life is non-fiction. Please know---- I’m not creative-enough--sexually--to make up the scenarios you are about to read:
“I was living in Atlanta, Georgia, at the time of this incident. While browsing for shoes in one of Atlanta’s most popular department stores, I was approached by a man wanting to help me try-on shoes. Dressed in an American Airlines uniform, this man was clearly not--- a shoe salesman. When I questioned his uniform, he explained he was an American Airline Pilot. Feeling uncomfortable, I quickly sat down to try on the shoes I’d pulled from the sale rack. The pilot immediately moved to the empty seat beside me.
Removing the shoes I was wearing, I glanced at my seat mate. He wasn’t looking at me. Instead, he was seriously-studying my feet. He appeared mesmerized as I stood in front of the mirror, trying to decide if I liked the sale shoes well enough to buy them. The uniformed stranger began making comments like, “your feet are lovely and—so slender”….. “You have delicately-curved ankles”…. and… “I’m in love with how your arches caress those heels.”
Perhaps, in the beginning, I was flattered by the attention…but the Pilot’s submissive behavior and weird comments….made me nervous. Muttering something about being late for another appointment, I hurriedly walked away. I’m usually attracted to men in uniform but, not this time.”
THIS NEXT INCIDENT APPEARED IN MY BOOK:
“Running every morning, near the Arkansas River, I began receiving mysterious calls from a man who was following me. From the first phone call, the mysterious caller described my legs and what I'd been wearing-- the last time he saw me running on the bike trail. His voice sounded angry as he described his need for me to stand on his chest, kick him, urinate on him, and strangle his neck with my “powerful long legs”! I taped some of his phone calls and, after playing the tapes for the Little Rock police department, I agree with the Police Chief’s request to meet the strange caller.
Based on the caller's conversations, I perceived him to be a very sick, unstable individual. Sensing my fear, the chief of police assured me that undercover police driving unmarked cars, would follow me to the meeting spot. The police planned to arrest the caller and stop the abusive, possibly-dangerous phone calls.
I arrived at the designated meeting spot. The mystery man pulled up in a late-model Mercedes convertible, got out and walked to my car. Glancing inside to make certain it was me—the mystery man opened the passenger side of my car and climbed in. Immediately six policemen--guns ready--surrounded my car and took control. When I looked into the face of the mysterious caller, I was shocked. I knew his name, his identity---in fact--- I knew the man and his wife. He was a wealthy Little Rock businessman who was married to another Miss Arkansas.”
And, I can’t forget my young student at a Virginia High School:
“The school day was almost-over when the student asked to stay after class to talk with me. Everyone had left the room and this normally-shy young boy blurted out that he dreamed of me pulling down his pants and spanking him until he cried. The more he talked—fantasized--the more excited he became. Fearful of what might happen, I hurriedly-ended our talk saying I was late for a teachers’ meeting. At the time, I was a teacher-- over-sixty-- and he was a 16 year-old student. It was a scary situation that could have gone-crazy in seconds. Believe me. I had no desire to make “Headlines".
So----I will continue to ask the same, basic question: What ever happened to romance, courtship, and traditional love-making? I’ve never be attracted to passive males yet… regardless of my age… there have been males who've fantasized---seeing me as a dominatrix who dresses in black stiletto boots, a tight black-body suit, and uses a black leather-fringed whip to spank my many- male footboys--- my "slaves."
Apparently, some people don’t know-- my life has been a fight-to-the-finish; many don't know why I've had to appear confident, strong, and independent. Now..I can easily admit the truth: All my years have molded me into---- a fiercely-strong woman. Sadly, the most valuable part of me---my heart--- is consistently-over-looked.
My heart remains large and loving. Ever the romantic-- I've spent a lifetime just waiting...hoping.... for the man who will love me in a “classic, romantic, and old-fashion-way.”
Yes…I enjoy making a fashion statement..and...I love wearing my black tights and black boots but---I have absolutely- no interest in owning or using a black whip.
Inflicting pain on others has never been my style.
We're never too old to learn a better way. In this photo--which also appears on my home page--I'm seated beside my Chinese interpreter, Starr, discussing plans for a first-ever International Women's luncheon to be hosted by my Chinese Hotel in Beijing.
After Starr saw this photo ....which appeared in China's leading newspapers.... she cried. It seemed she was embarrassed because she thought her legs looked fat and ugly.That was the day I decided my English classes should also train students to appear more confident, more professionally-poised...and more comfortable in their bodies.
My Chinese students-both male and female- eagerly participated in my "charm" classes as they practiced walking, sitting, modeling, and dancing---while artfully-accompanied by music. I also added an extra class on how to dress-- professionally-- on a limited budget.
At every age, we should know "what to-do" with our hands, feet, and legs....so we appear more confident and self-assured.. Never under-estimate life's possibilities when you project professionalism, confidence, and poise.
We are "selling" ourselves-- everyday----in all areas of Our Lives. Take advantage of every opportunity to sell THE VERY-BEST YOU.
WHO KNOWS?!?!?---SOMEONE MAY BE USING "YOU" AS THEIR ROLE MODEL.
YES! Even the " SAGGY- DRAGGIES" CAN BE FIXED.
Sometimes change is difficult, especially when it's a distracting change that’s a negative. IF you’re “young at heart” but still labeled a Senior Citizen---you may think it’s too-late to change your look.
I developed Silver Polishe to encourage SENIORS to look--to act--and to be--as classy and elegant as-ever. I write about my personal experiences as my lifestyle has changed, my body has changed, my attitude has changed, and certainly--my bank account has changed!
I can't remember exactly when I noticed my grandmother's earlobes were growing bigger-- looking fat and droopy. She didn't wear earrings so they weren't the culprits who were "dragging" her lobes down. A woman who'd never know luxury, never lived on easy-street, my grandmother worked as a secretary at the railroad until she was seventy years old. My grandmother was in her early eighties when she died and-- believe me--- her earlobes were the least of her worries.
In most cases, earlobes are no "big deal" But, they are near the face and impossible to hide. Just imagine my shock when a co-worker at Jenkins Center in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, blurted-out that I should consider having an ear lobe reduction!
Yes, I'd noticed my ear lobes were a little saggy-draggy, but with so much going on in my life, I didn't have time to concentrate on ear lobes. There was a nagging thought that I might have inherited my grandmother's lobes which...wasn't a positive thought.
Anyway, long-story-short....I eventually questioned my co-worker about her experience with ear lobe reduction and---soon-learned it was a quick office procedure performed by a qualified doctor--the cost was cheap—and-- I did it...during my lunch break! I didn't miss even one day of work.
Would I do it again? Absolutely. I recommend it to anyone---male or female---who is the least- self-conscious about saggy-draggy ear lobes. And--there’s great news for men or women with short hair because-- the tiny scars are hidden behind each ear. And---just so you know-- my ear lobes never looked like the woman's lobes in the photo on my home page. But-- bless her heart-- she IS wearing her pearls!!!
If you have questions about any of the stories I share on my website, please email me at: email@example.com
When we feel good on the outside...we’re more motivated on the inside.
I believe in Angels. My life has been a series of connect-the-dots and, each time I listen to the little voice inside, another Angel appears to guide me, to connect me with the next dot. My book is filled with Angels. Just like my number-one Angel—My Father......my Angel-Teacher--Ms. Moore-- is unforgettable:
My fourth-grade teacher, Ms. Mabel Moore, placed the Geography Book in my hands on the last day of school. At the time, I was nine years old, yet my wise teacher realized the seriousness of my Great Wall Obsession. As if anointed to be the Architect of my Fate, Ms. Moore encouraged me to continue THE DREAM by issuing this challenge:
“Grow up, finish school, then go to China and travel The Great Wall. Find all the answers—to all the questions—I couldn’t answer; discover the many secrets hidden there by its builders. You will be responsible for sharing your Great Wall Experience with the World.” My teacher made it sound so easy....like riding a city bus across town.
Forty years later, when the complicated plans were finalized and I was just two weeks away from the first-ever journey of The Great Wall of China—I reunited with Ms. Moore. I found her in a welfare nursing home. Reduced to a wheelchair and barely able to move, she responded to my voice by slowly raising her head and looking in my direction. Weak and unable to speak above a whisper, she said, “Oh, Sally, it’s really you. A sweet nurse read me the article about your plans to travel China’s Wall. I never forgot how you loved that Wall. I’m so happy and I promise to be with you each step of the way.” I hugged the fragile body and marveled at the still-vibrant mind of my long-ago teacher. Our goodbyes were touching-- and teary. I promised to call her as soon as I finished my journey.
Seven months later, after completing All The Wall (the official name of my adventure), I returned to Beijing.
I could hardly wait to call the nursing home and share the news of my Great Wall journey with Ms. Moore. The nursing home receptionist, recognizing my voice, placed me on hold. The next voice I heard was that of the facility’s director. With deep sadness I learned Ms. Moore, my inspiring fourth-grade teacher, had “slipped away” during her sleep. I asked exactly when she died. Then---I learned it was the very day I completed my Great Wall Adventure and….I wasn’t surprised. Like finishing the final chapter of a book, I felt satisfied; at peace. Ms. Moore didn’t need to hear about my complicated journey. Faithful to her promise, she’d been with me—each step of the way.
Follow-Up: And, my daddy was also with me on my Great Wall Journey. His death, almost three years before my Great Wall Adventure, appeared to end any chance that his thoughts would be with me as I traveled China’s Great Wall. But fate, leaving nothing to chance, chose me as the person to receive the clothes my father was wearing—including his shoes and socks—when hospital attendants placed him in a hospital gown. Twenty hours later, my father was dead. Naturally, my mother insisted I return his clothes so she got everything in his pockets. Somehow, she forgot to ask about his socks. But it didn't matter. I had no intention of giving them to her.
Almost three years later, when I started my Great Wall Journey at Jiayuquan—and, seven months later, ended it at Shanhaiquan— my father was with me. Next to my skin and covered by thick jogging socks, I wore the last pair of socks my daddy had worn on his feet. I made sure my daddy traveled The Great Wall of China with me—each step of the way.