40 Days and 40 Nights...sabbatical reflections

WHAT I'VE LEARNED…

…That social media is not the boogey man

…That "status updates" can matter a lot

…That "status updates" cannot matter at all

…That tweeting ain't my thing

…That somebody somewhere is always listening

…That social media interaction, like everything else, can be overdone

…That politics really is entertainment

…That my generation was different but not better

…That writing on demand is a job

…That red wine can taste good– but I still have class if I prefer white

…That loves makes a home but nurturing makes a sanctuary

…That my grandparents were homesteaders

…That Martin Luther king broke bread with my momma

…How Aragon ended up with the Elves

…How to start a quilt

…That my abstract painting is too abstract to be artistic

…The cool pleasure of clay in my hands

AND REMEMBERED…

…That time passes quickly

…That I still love basketball

…That I'm still bedazzled by the shining silver screen!

…That I love adventure-not as escape-but as life

…That my thumb's even greener than I thought

…The sweetness of not having to wait in line

…Late night moons

…Dancing til 2 AM

…To wear gloves in the dirt or unpleasant things may result

…That artists express as much as they create

I RECOGNIZE…

…That the love of friends and family are our most precious gifts

…That I'm tougher than I thought

…That I get to control my stress

…How I want to work

…How I don't want to work

…That inspiration and strategy can encourage community

…That only sweat and patience transform community

…That now is the time to plan for later

…That I'm surrounded by a lot of good folks

…That I couldn't recall as much because I was being asked to remember too much

…That water matters

…That the world keeps right on turning…

…That good things come to those who wait

Turbulent Tides: Black Folks and Water

Like a monster wave, the realities of water quality and accessibility came rushing my way during my recent visit to Nicaragua. I couldn't avoid it. The lack of safe clean water threatens the health and livelihood of every man, woman and child there and in most "third world" countries: rotting teeth, bending bones, curling stomachs.  Its microbes transmit to food and clothing. In Nicaragua's most populous areas, it stymies economic growth by thwarting what should be viable industries such as fishing, farming and tourism. 

I know that the greater discomfort-and discovery- was mine. Nicaraguans have adapted to the water they have and what they can and can't do and expect.  But it was indeed a "Damascus moment" for me.

The relationship between African Americans and water is truly complicated.  We respect water but we don't "like" it; we know we need it yet we don't conserve it. For many, water is like a long-term partner who we take for granted: available, useful, expected, but not valued.  Don't take my word for it; ask any of us and we'll be able to name one or more of our family and friends who are afraid of water, don't really "like" water or can't swim.

In this blog I am expressing publically on what might be termed as "family "business – in this context, my family of fellow African Americans (black folks). Yet although a targeted message, I share it openly with my other families – of faith, of sisterhood, of love, of kindred spirit.  And I'd love to hear from you all.

As people of the Diaspora, African Americans hail from lands abundant with water -- a fact that would on the surface make this ambivalence unexpected. And while not an academician with research on this phenomena, I have an inkling of some of what may, deep in our psyche and soul, cause this schizophrenia.

African Americans understand that water represents livelihood and sustenance. We were and remain fishermen and women. We are voracious connoisseurs of the sea's fruits. We depend upon water to keep our bodies and lives clean and refreshed. And for the majority of African Americans of the Christian faith, we respect water as an important proxy for sacred rites of baptism and other religious ceremonies.

Yet for our people water has also represented pain and death. It was from across the water that traders came to practice the lucrative business of slaving. It was over water that African Americans were conveyed, bound, starving and brokenhearted, to begin lives in servitude. It was through treacherous waters we waded to escape armed men and angry dogs.  For others we hoisted water from streams and wells constantly, incessantly, to keep crops nourished, mansions spotless, animals satiated, strangers refreshed and meals prepared -- before exhaustingly repeating this cycle for ourselves.  Initially prohibited to swim for fear of escape and then by legalized segregation and institutional racism, it was in water that we lost many of our kin by downing.  The scars are psychological as well; even today many African American women –and some of our men -- fear water's disclosure of their hair's natural beauty because it is a beauty different from that which western society celebrates.   

It's time for an attitude adjustment.  We African Americans don't have to like water, but we do have to deliberately, intelligently start paying attention to it. For ourselves.  For our children. For our future.   .  Water is essential to our lives…to grow food…keep clean…provide power…control fire. Water helps to preserve our environment  and reduce energy ( which helps in reducing pollution and  fuel. Conserving water now means having water available in the future for recreational purposes, and minimizes the effects of water shortages.  Saving water saves money.

We don't have to become rabid environmentalists (less than 5% of donors and volunteers to environmental causes and organizations are African American), but we do have to understand the boundaries and needs of the earth we share and our responsibility to it.  As neighbors, we are called to be as active and deliberate in our conservation and care.

We don't have to jump into the deep end ourselves, but we have to be sure our children know how to swim (it is estimated that some 60% of African American children cannot swim). To relax. To enjoy. To save their lives.  I don't think I was alone when I viewed the images of the poor, African Americans stranded and killed during Katrina in wondering how many of them might have fared better if they were comfortable in water and could swim.

Of course there are many African Americans who appreciate water and other resources; who conserve and recycle and do many good things for the earth. There are many African Americans who love water and swim like fish. But it's way too few. I can swim and love playing in water. But now that I have lived the alternative, I know I must do more. I'm starting small – with how I brush my teeth, bathe, wash my clothes. Baby steps...starting first with my mind and my mouth—how I think and what I proclaim.

Because if more of us could begin to deliberately change our relationship with water – even if through our children -- then we can begin to value and preserve it. And I believe that this appreciation will grow and evolve…and possibly increase our sensibilities to even more of Mother Earth's provisions and needs.  

It's a love and hate affair -- and the hate threatens us all. 

 

Revelations of a Reluctant Gardener

Like many, I regard beautiful gardens as works of art. My comfort with the earth was incubated early on: at the age of six, I plowed the dirt to fill 36-ounce Maxwell House cans with worms for my grandparents' fishing forays; at 5¢ per can it kept me well stocked in candy!  When I wasn't terrorizing worms or picking produce from their "backyard" (a 3-acre field) I labored at home, side by side with my mother, and witnessed the earthen beauty that could come from hard work and constant attention.  Although secretly thrilled when friends, neighbors and passersby provided compliments, I groused the whole time, never suspecting that I was being subliminally seduced by nature's captivating ecosystem.  

Truth be told, I've always been a reluctant gardener and, despite my history, have had inconsistent relationships with the soil that I have called my own. There are legitimate reasons for this, including concrete-filled urban settings; hostile, unforgiving soil and demanding jobs and travel schedules.  Yet in the past few years, I increasingly find myself on my knees, up to my elbows, wresting with my terrain to produce flora and more recently food.  And I don't know why!

Let me be honest. I do not find gardening therapeutic. I perspire plenty enough without placing myself in Atlanta's brutal summer heat. I've got a tricky back. I don't particularly like dirt under my nails, and I shiver at bugs and yes, even worms (oh the things we will do for money!).  I'm blessed to be in a region still very green and to have the resources to have visited landscapes near and far.

So I've searched my soul to figure out what now makes me so eager and excited about the hard work, joy and pain, and never-ending expense that gardening entails…what it is that keeps me in the dirt.  

Why do I dig?

·         I dig for the beauty…aesthetic delight for my sense and sensibilities. So much of this world is ugly but I have never been so desolate, so taxed, so removed that the touch or smell or feel of a flower cannot elevate me.

·         I dig for the practice…one seed, one bud, one plant at a time; I love the action of moving through it, coaxing and coaching new life and new possibilities. I even like it when I don't do so well, and must frustratingly clip, move or pull up what isn't working. Its ongoing, its real, its active.

·         I dig for the outcome…the colors, the textures, the smells. As one who does not consistently prioritize the end over the means -- believing there are times that the intent is paramount or that it is in the means that the prize is to be found -- in my yard, I'm going for the gold.

·         I dig to exert myself…for the toil that produces my sweat and tanned skin, strong arms and sore muscles. My professional life is very much a cognitive space of planning, meeting, talking, thinking, and writing. In gardening, I use my brawn and the pain I feel the next day are satisfying, building muscles that I don't use consistently.  Even more, my earthen produce is personal and tangible in a way that my professional product is not.

·         I dig for my mother and my grandmother…that their legacy continue in me. In a life and time very different from theirs, I honor this thread, affirming our kinship as solidly as our shared DNA, features and peculiar ways

·         I dig to learn…about so many things like how the sun moves and water flows; about insects, squirrels and birds; about light and shade.  Knowledge I would never gain if I didn't need to. Trivia that not only enables my produce, but interests me and rounds me and even softens me.

·         I dig to gain nuance…understanding when to be gentle and when to be tough.  Mastering the difference between a pinch, a cut and a prune; between tilling and raking; what's too much and what's too little; when to wait. Subtleties that manifest in my decisions and relationships.

My garden is still very much a work in progress, but at least now I get it.  And maybe the next time I'm in Home Depot with the "real" gardeners -- going into full panic at the overflow in my cart and the commitment I am making -- I won't feel so great a perpetrator after all. Maybe I'll smile, understanding why I do what I do, and confident that I will yield just what I need.

Shrimp Plant--attracts Hummingbirds :-)!!

Veggies-tomatoes, peppers, cumcumbers and strawberries

Is It Something I Said?

During my sabbatical I have been exploring the world of social media, seeking to determine its implications for my life and my work.  Late to the "dock", I realize that the ship has sailed: social media has already inalterably changed the way we think, act and communicate. However, I am equally certain that social media is and will remain an evolving, ambiguous, multifaceted medium, its efficacy and enduring impact on society undetermined for a long time to come.

That is how I imagine it should be. Unheralded, phenomenal, world changing stuff doesn't happen overnight with precision and clarity. Take the sewing machine, one of which I used for the first time in 40 years during my recent quilting class at Atlanta's Callonwalde Fine Arts Center.  When invented, the sewing machine was hailed as a technological innovation of epic proportion and impact, but not for the reasons asserted at the time: quickness, accuracy, and application for mass production. Its greatest impact wasn't realized until much, much later: as the first equipment produced for and marketed to women, it revealed a new cohort of consumers.  Gee, today we even buy cars. 

Yet we have already witnessed the many, many cool things social media can do and there is arising a bevy of consumer, academic, practitioner "experts" who analyze its present and hypothesize its future. I've had dozens of conversations about the topic and last week, in San Francisco-a region known for its entrepreneurial residents and technological inclinations-I had many more.  For this week's post, I decided this week to share some of the more pithy and impactful comments of others in the hope that they inspire and/or intrigue you as they did me.

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"The actual process of community organizing has remained the same. However, social media provides platforms that expand access and engagement to help organize- virtual meeting space with the premise that this will expand interest in community issues.  The key question is the goal; more action via the virtual realm or personally? And how does it add up?" James Head, Senior Vice President, San Francisco Foundation

"When determining the most appropriate social media tools, recognize that each has its strengths, which should complement your strengths. However social media is not a substitute for the hard work of relationship building". Albert Ruesga, President, Greater New Orleans Community Foundation

"The more you want to connect, the more you have to share". Megan Swett, Director of Information Technology, Community Foundation for Greater Atlanta

(Because of social media)…"We now live in an 'everyone is smarter than anyone world'".  Darian Rodriguez Heyman, Editor, Nonprofit Management 101; Former Executive Director, Craigslist Foundation

"You must determine up front how much or little of yourself you are willing to share, because what you do share must be the real you, authentic and unedited ". Donna Wise, Principal, Wise Marketing Strategies

"African Americans have never had a large representation or voice and we continue to lose ground. Social media isn't going to do a thing about that." Renee Hayes, San Francisco Grants for the Arts, San Francisco

"You can blend your work and personal worlds-because those who love you understand."  " Open, transparent and agile is the way for future nonprofits."  Beth Kanter, CEO, Zoetica; Author, Beth's Blog; Co-author, The Networked Nonprofit

""The global Diaspora's discourse occurs wherever the Diaspora lives- therefore we must erase the divide between physical space by creating virtual communities. Museums can be that portal."  Grace C. Stanislaus, Executive Director, Museum of the African Diaspora, San Francisco

"I am already a public figure with little privacy in my life, especially when I most need it. I don't want to add another access point." Nicole Taylor, President, East Bay Community Foundation.

"Social media is (can be) a radical disruption of power."  Ben Rattray, Founder and CEO, Change.org– Moderator

"Social media is an opportunity to build offline action with online tools." May Boeve, Director for Partnerships and Policy and Co-founder, 350.org

The answer to social media's influence on the future lays in our collective  intelligence, imagination and courage.  I'm just glad to finally be in on the experiment.

Dear Facebook, Who Am I?

Since April I have been on official sabbatical from work, an amazing opportunity for which I am truly grateful. To make a small inroad into what for me has been unchartered territory, I commited to deliberately and consistently immersing myself in several forms of social media - along with resting and reflecting (still working on the rest part!). Relative to the virtual realm, my objectives were to 1) Experiment with several social media tools to become comfortable; and 2) Begin to understand how the integration of social media tools can improve my efficiency, communication and decision making when back at work (and time is quickly ticking away!) .

Although I signed up for Facebook (two pages), Twitter, and LinkedIN, and started a blog on Blogger, probably not surprisingly, my personal Facebook page has been the most accessible and is where I most interact. It's been fascinating: an international society page; inter/intra cultural forum; motivational seminar; newsroom; classroom; want/help/complaint resource; concert; comedy show (staged and impromptu); high school, college and family reunion; therapy; prayer service and more... all in one convenient click.

Truly, I have not yet figured out who i am in in this world nor how important it is that I do. However while going through some old emails sent by helpful colleagues as i embarked on this quest. One in particular- The 12 Most Annoying Types of Facebookers (http://articles.cnn.com/2009-08-20/tech/annoying.facebook.updaters_1_facebook-users-friend-online-social-networks?_s=PM:TECH) may be "old" news to many but as a newbie, I resonate with the descriptions, and have seen in myself more than one type.

Ouch! Can anyone else relate?

(CNN) -- Facebook, for better or worse, is like being at a big party with all your friends, family, acquaintances and co-workers. Facebook can be a great tool, and an occasional annoyance. What kind of Facebooker are you?

There are lots of fun, interesting people you're happy to talk to when they stroll up. Then there are the other people, the ones who make you cringe when you see them coming. This article is about those people.

Sure, Facebook can be a great tool for keeping up with folks who are important to you. Take the status update, the 160-character message that users post in response to the question, "What's on your mind?" An artful, witty or newsy status update is a pleasure -- a real-time, tiny window into a friend's life.

But far more posts read like navel-gazing diary entries, or worse, spam. A recent study categorized 40 percent of Twitter tweets as "pointless babble," and it wouldn't be surprising if updates on Facebook, still a fast-growing social network, break down in a similar way. Take a CNN quiz: What kind of Facebooker are you? »

Combine dull status updates with shameless self-promoters, "friend-padders" and that friend of a friend who sends you quizzes every day, and Facebook becomes a daily reminder of why some people can get on your nerves. Watch as Facebookers reveal bugbears »

Here are 12 of the most annoying types of Facebook users:

The Let-Me-Tell-You-Every-Detail-of-My-Day Bore. "I'm waking up." "I had Wheaties for breakfast." "I'm bored at work." "I'm stuck in traffic." You're kidding! How fascinating! No moment is too mundane for some people to broadcast unsolicited to the world. Just because you have 432 Facebook friends doesn't mean we all want to know when you're waiting for the bus.

The Self-Promoter. OK, so we've probably all posted at least once about some achievement. And sure, maybe your friends really do want to read the fascinating article you wrote about beet farming. But when almost EVERY update is a link to your blog, your poetry reading, your 10k results or your art show, you sound like a bragger or a self-centered careerist.

The Friend-Padder. The average Facebook user has 120 friends on the site. Schmoozers and social butterflies -- you know, the ones who make lifelong pals on the subway -- might reasonably have 300 or 400. But 1,000 "friends?" Unless you're George Clooney or just won the lottery, no one has that many. That's just showing off.

The Town Crier. "Michael Jackson is dead!!!" You heard it from me first! Me, and the 213,000 other people who all saw it on TMZ. These Matt Drudge wannabes are the reason many of us learn of breaking news not from TV or news sites but from online social networks. In their rush to trumpet the news, these people also spread rumors, half-truths and innuendo. No, Jeff Goldblum did not plunge to his death from a New Zealand cliff.

The TMIer. "Brad is heading to Walgreens to buy something for these pesky hemorrhoids." Boundaries of privacy and decorum don't seem to exist for these too-much-information updaters, who unabashedly offer up details about their sex lives, marital troubles and bodily functions. Thanks for sharing.

The Bad Grammarian. "So sad about Fara Fauset but Im so gladd its friday yippe". Yes, I know the punctuation rules are different in the digital world. And, no, no one likes a spelling-Nazi schoolmarm. But you sound like a moron.

The Sympathy-Baiter. "Barbara is feeling sad today." "Man, am I glad that's over." "Jim could really use some good news about now." Like anglers hunting for fish, these sad sacks cast out their hooks -- baited with vague tales of woe -- in the hopes of landing concerned responses. Genuine bad news is one thing, but these manipulative posts are just pleas for attention.

The Lurker. The Peeping Toms of Facebook, these voyeurs are too cautious, or maybe too lazy, to update their status or write on your wall. But once in a while, you'll be talking to them and they'll mention something you posted, so you know they're on your page, hiding in the shadows. It's just a little creepy.

The Crank. These curmudgeons, like the trolls who spew hate in blog comments, never met something they couldn't complain about. "Carl isn't really that impressed with idiots who don't realize how idiotic they are." [Actual status update.] Keep spreading the love.

The Paparazzo. Ever visit your Facebook page and discover that someone's posted a photo of you from last weekend's party -- a photo you didn't authorize and haven't even seen? You'd really rather not have to explain to your mom why you were leering like a drunken hyena and French-kissing a bottle of Jagermeister.

The Obscurist. "If not now then when?" "You'll see..." "Grist for the mill." "John is, small world." "Dave thought he was immune, but no. No, he is not." [Actual status updates, all.] Sorry, but you're not being mysterious -- just nonsensical.

The Chronic Inviter. "Support my cause. Sign my petition. Play Mafia Wars with me. Which 'Star Trek' character are you? Here are the 'Top 5 cars I have personally owned.' Here are '25 Things About Me.' Here's a drink. What drink are you? We're related! I took the 'What President Are You?' quiz and found out I'm Millard Fillmore! What president are you?"

You probably mean well, but stop. Just stop. I don't care what president I am -- can't we simply be friends? Now excuse me while I go post the link to this story on my Facebook page.

Lesley

Creative Deconstruction: Pottery and Life

Recently I have been exploring some of my creative inclinations, seeing if in any of them I have the talent I always hoped for. It's a bit sobering, testing the reality of what you imagine you could do given the opportunity.  Of the three activities I've tried so far: belly dancing, pottery (hand building, not wheel) and abstract drawing, I love pottery.

I love the clay: feeling it, shaping it, painting it.  I love that with clay you begin with something you can see, touch, and smell. In hand building, the magic lies in the opportunities you have to shape your creation. Opportunities which, in so many ways, mimic life.  In "pinching", when I use my thumb from the inside to shape and mold, my finger becomes my heart that throbs and hurts and sometimes soars. "Coiling" is using rope-shaped pieces for reinforcement, like I feel when my mom and big sis and girlfriends buttress me when I falter. "Scoring and slipping" involves using wet clay to connect, reconnect, alter and amend, and for me parallels my commitment to reflection, prayer and fresh starts.  

Gemini that I am, clay's pliability has made me consider the alternative; how, after and despite the most intense effort and redress, does one deconstruct creativity that has gone awry?  When that which was created is not good?  Or has turned ugly?    

In my dance class, I don't try the moves I can't do well. In painting, I (continuously, incessantly) cover up or wipe clean my work, sometimes tearing up the paper.  Yet in pottery, once I have shaped, painted and fired a piece of work, I have learned that you only have two choices: ignore it or break it. And if you break it, you must smash it up so well that its pieces retain no relation to what once was its whole.

We often go through the same steps when life isn't working the way we like. Many times we ignore what is not right. We try to fix ourselves and the circumstances. We act differently and we change or rewrite the rules. Yet, like pottery, in life there are some situations that, by certain points, at particular times, and in dysfunctional circumstances, must be broken to be fixed…shattered to be made whole.   

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A little about my fellow sculptors, all of whom have attended class together for several years:

The CDC employee, whose political ideology is likely far from my own, who lives in anxiety amidst chaotic, nonsensical political squabbling that threatens her home and livelihood. Who sculpts for her peace of mind and her five year old son…

The talented Argentinean engineer, a man of finite absolutes, who, despite his halting diction, is gregarious and comfortable in this place of abstracts, dust and colors. He recently returned from trip to his native county, checking on his sister who is undergoing her second bout of thyroid cancer…

The quiet, attractive redhead who vigorously "throws" all of her work, which is the process needed to create bowls, plates and large items. She uses unique materials and counsels the engineer comrade on how to support his sister-as she is a survivor herself for five years….

The instructor-a renowned southeast sculptor who has taught at this location for more than five years. Comfortable with herself and her craft, she laments the lack of opportunities for individual artists to grow their work and discipline.  Students from her four classes help her complete her first grant application for funding; as natural as she is in her craft, the art of Microsoft is foreign and frightening…

The restaurateur, who comes in weekly with woes of incompetent staff, facility mishaps and weak patronage. Her greatest pain, however, comes from the recent wedding of her only son to a woman for whom she has become clear about her dislike, who went so far as to select the dress she was to wear to the wedding…

The retired executive who wears his Georgia Tech tee shirt every week and can't stop himself from taking charge and knowing a little bit about everything—except when his pottery goes awry. Then he is reduced almost to tears and shuts up for fifteen minutes at a time…

The friendly, efficient soccer mom, who's keeps life going with her IPAD and phone in one hand and her paint brush in the other. She claims 50+ pieces of self-made pottery in her home (40+ in her attic), which she completes for the peace and surety it provides that her teens do not…

The wholesome, quiet girl-woman, in her first job, first apartment, who lives in north Fulton, works in Smyrna and has never been to Little Five points. She seeks positive ways to stay busy and worries what she'll do this summer since classes will be suspended.

Regular folk. Smart folk. Seeking solace. Living their lives. Playing with clay.

And me.

Creating.

Ugly Babies

There’s nothing quite so disconcerting as an ugly baby. You know it’s true. Babies are supposed to be cute, cuddly, and adorable. Even when we know it’s a stretch, we automatically give them the benefit of the doubt; an upgrade to “lively” or “interesting”.

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Yet…every once in a while,  when we peek below the bonnet, lift the stroller top or find ourselves face to face with the babe whose mother is burping him or her on the shoulder… we glimpse what we do not expect. And as much as we know that we’re all God’s children, that we all deserve love, that there’s time and lots of hope for all of us – when we see an ugly baby we react with just a little shudder. We look away. We move on.

So what’s my point? Recently I was in a discussion with a group of colleagues about the need for strong leadership in public education—particularly in our inner cities. Having spent a substantial portion of my career in and around this world, I’ve got a lot of opinions. We agreed that public school leaders have the same requisite skills for success in any field: strong content knowledge fueled by continuous learning; ability to form effective relationships; solid communications; strong work ethic; intelligence; and creativity.  Because school systems are public enterprises with multiple customers and complex business concerns, public school administrators must know business principles such as human and project management, quality assurance, business management and organizational development to be effective leaders.

Finally, we agreed that there could be no success without the belief that all children can learn. In fact the best educational leaders have a vision that all children will learn and achieve.

And then I proposed what I believe is an absolutely essential qualification that you won’t find listed on the job description, highlighted in a candidate’s job vitae nor discussed in the interview. Required: a love for ugly babies.

Our urban systems are filled with ugly babies-children for whom educational achievement has not been a given; whose families experienced limited academic success; who hail from depressed communities and distressed living environments. These are babies who make others cringe because of all that they don’t bring to the classroom. They can be unkempt. Their mothers and fathers, many of whom were ugly babies themselves, aren’t able to help them and may in fact be hurting them. Their pictures aren’t being carried in many wallets and they haven’t been bounced on many knees.  

So a vision that stops with academic achievement is not enough. The best-and most successful educational leaders, regardless of their tenure, status, contracts or politics, have to able to look at these ugly babies in all their inglorious unsightliness and let them know they are loved.  They must carry these children’s visages in their minds when constituents are yelling, school boards are demanding, teachers are stressing and corporations are exacting. When internal and external support wanes and special projects falter.  

Because here’s the truth: ugly babies and their sometimes ugly parents won’t ever care how much the world can offer to them until they first know how much the world really cares. 

With uncompromising love, however, a metamorphosis can occur. Our lens  sharpen as we realize that our repulsion is not for these babes, but for the reflection of ourselves that we see in them. In ugly babies, we see our neglect.  Our superficiality.  Our abuse.  We feel shame that can propel us to act.

The first action is to love them. Love our ugly babies. Only then can we help them let their beauty shine through.