Who is my child's role model?

As often happens when a famous actor or athlete misbehaves, the public cries foul and complains about their bad example. Now apologies are being demanded from Serena Williams for her temper tantrum during her semi-final match against Kim Clijster. Serena, apparently should be mindful at all times of the little girls who look up to her.

I don't accept Serena's claim of passion for the game as an explanation or excuse for her bad behavior. Like John McEnroe said after the game, "I cannot defend the indefensible." She was a bad sport and behaved like a 2-year-old. But her bad behavior - which started with her destroying her tennis racket; long before she berated the lines woman - was an opportunity for parents to teach. It was a chance for them to point to what Serena did wrong and to talk about what she should have done differently. For parents who aren't willing to absolve their parental roles to famous strangers with questionable morals, it was an opportunity to teach a great lesson about sportsmanship and respect for others.

From Miley Cyrus' photo faux pas, to Beyonce's preference for as little clothes as possible on stage, to Michael Vick's dog madness - people our children recognize, and even admire, are often in the news for exercising poor judgment. With each incident, we worry about the effect on our children. These 'role models' are castigated for abdicating their responsibility for our children.

What about taking responsibility for our own children? What about teaching them right from wrong so that they can recognize inappropriate behavior when they see it? Part of the lessons we should be teaching our children is that everyone is fallible. We can admire people's work and accomplishments - even as we decry their bad behavior. Our children, with our guidance, should be able to do the same.

Serena should apologize - to her opponent, to the game officials, and to the people who paid to see her play. Not to my kids though, they are my responsibility.

Roots

When asked where I'm from my answer has always been "Jamaica." After I moved to the Northeast, I started saying "We just moved from Florida, but I'm originally from Jamaica." Jamaica is where I spent most of my life; where my family has roots and land.

Recently my 6 year-old son asked me "Mommy am I Jamaican?" My husband would love for him to think of himself that way, but in that moment I thought it was important to help him forge his own identity. I told him he is not Jamaican, but of Jamaican parentage. That seemed to satisfy him - for a while.

Some time later he asked, "Where am I from? Florida?" I said "Yes; Miramar, Florida." His next question, "If we live in New Jersey for a long time will I be from New Jersey?"

My not-yet-first-grader is already struggling with his identity. To a child that age, a year is a long time. His memories of our old house, his old schools, his old friends, are all beginning to dull. I understood and began to feel his concern.

We may very well move again in a few years. We may spend as much time in the next state as we do in this one. We leave behind, no land, no relatives, very little history. Where will my sons' roots be planted? Will they feel rooted at all? How will they identify themselves?

As my husband and I watched the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, we saw people weeping for their great personal and material losses, but vowing to return to New Orleans from the places they took refuge. My ever-practical husband couldn't understand why they would want to return to 'the bowl.' I understood. New Orleans is what they knew. It had been their home for many generations. Their roots were planted firmly there.

Neither he nor I have any plans to return permanently to the land of our birth, but I still had a strong, stomach-twisting emotional reaction when my parents recently decided to sell my childhood home . None of us have lived there for many years, but I still unhappy about the sale. I felt like I was losing a chunk of my foundation.

To feel like you are losing bits of your roots - to a hurricane, to migration, to whatever - is painful. What must it feel like to not have roots at all?

Racist my ass

In high school you may have joined the Inter-School Christian Fellowship because the group reflected your Christ-centered values. If you left Jamaica for a college state side you may have joined a social or advocate group representing Caribbean students to get you a sense of home. Who ever thought seeking interaction with those who share common beliefs, race or heritage could be thought of as prejudiced?

Supreme Court nominee Judge Sonia Sotomayor is being harangued by Republicans Newt Gingrich, Rush Limbaugh and Tom Tancredo for being proud of her Puerto Rican heritage and for her membership in Hispanic civic and professional organizations. Gingrich and Limbaugh have called Judge Sotomayor racist. Tancredo has taken it a step further and likened La Raza, a Hispanic advocacy group of which she is a member, to the Klu Klux Klan.

These rants from the right have been revolting, offensive and just plain dumb. Students and professionals everywhere belong to organizations that represent their sex, country of origin and race. The suggestion that all those people are racist or sexist because they self identify as women, Black, Hispanic, Native American - or whatever - is ridiculous. The arguments are so ludicrous as to make me think that Tancredo and the others could not possibly believe it themselves.

Unfortunately for the Republican Party - which I have to be sure has some level heads - these are the voices that are getting the air time. (Likely because their bizarre suggestions make sensational television.) Today, they are voices and faces of the GOP. As the party's face, they are alienating, not only Hispanics (who, ironically, they need to win elections), but every other group that can recognize true racism.

To oppose Sotomayor's nomination based on disagreement with her judicial philosophy is one thing. To unfairly label her a racist, to attack the reputation of a venerable civil rights group, is desperate. It is cowardly. It is, clearly, the old rusty kettle calling the new shiny pot black.