Don’t Shoot Guns, Shoot Cameras – #WATWB

Image that says we are the world

Welcome back to the monthly bloghop – We Are The World Blogfest – started by author Damyanti Biswas. It is a time to share snippets of good news happening around the world in an effort to diminish the impact of negative news.

How do you help kids that grow up surrounded by gang violence? It is horrifying to think that a gun is more accessible than a camera.

Enter stand-up comedian, actor and producer Rodney “Red” Grant. In conjunction with Yasmin Salina, he founded the program, Don’t Shoot Guns, Shoot Cameras. This program teaches the fundamentals of film making and story telling using film to find their voice.

The program is open to inner city youth between the ages of 12 and 17 enrolled in a Washington, D.C. school.

Grant lost a family member to gun violence and he hopes to help kids find a healthy way in which to express themselves and learn valuable interpersonal and decision-making skills. From the DSGSC website:

DSGSC introduces students (ages 12 to 17) to the fundamentals of film making while incorporating SEL principles  of self-awareness, self-management, responsible decision making, social awareness, and relationship skills. Students will complete DSGSC having gained technical skills to creatively express themselves through film, as well as valuable emotional skills to positively impact their everyday lives.

You can read the news story here.

Want to read more good news or join in the effort to contribute to the spreading of good news throughout the world?

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On Learning to Drive, Part 2

Car driver
We had an old Rambler, but I learned to drive with Mom’s Buick Electra 225. It was a big car and I was not a fan of traffic. Even though I managed to handle the car in Akron traffic, getting my license became less important. I was dating a lot at the time, so I had lots boyfriends who did the driving. There was one dreamboat Dave who drove a baby blue Camaro that matched his baby blue eyes. We ended up best friends rather than boyfriend and girlfriend, but I digress.

My brother ran around with his good friend who drove a Crazy Grape ‘Cuda. There were no ‘cool’ cars in our driveway.

My best friend, Cindy lived only a few houses away had the keys to her mother’s Firebird, so we often went tooling around town on Friday night. Cindy was not a great driver, but I never told my parents that.

Someday I will write the story of my mother’s illness, but not today. In all that chaos, however, I never went to get my license. I joined the Air Force, got married and discharged, gave birth to my daughter, got a divorce, moved to Alaska and eventually remarried. All in the span of seven years. That was a lot of living in a short span of time.

My then husband was in the Air Force. After my son was born, my husband was eventually sent TDY (temporary duty) which found me with two children and no driver’s license. Before he left, I finally – 7 years later – went to take the test for my license. I passed with flying colors.

The first time I would drive alone, was after taking my then husband to the airport. I drove back to the Air Force base alone, with a toddler and a baby in the car. I was scared to death, but somehow things went ok.

A few days later, I loaded my children into their carseats and drove to one of the small Exchange stores on the base. I parked the car away from everyone so getting out of my parking spot would be easier. Imagine my surprise when I walked outside to see a huge motorhome smashed into our car.

It seems the woman driving parked on a bit of a hill and did not engage the parking brake. I am not sure if she left the vehicle in gear, but it had rolled down the hill into my car. Luckily, the motorhome gathered little speed, but it still damaged the car.

I was so naive. I knew nothing about insurance, who to call, what to do about estimates. I called a man who worked with my husband and he came to my aid, suggesting a place to take the car for repairs. Luckily the damage was not bad and the car was drivable.

I hardly recognize that young woman who was me. Dependent, vulnerable and too soft spoken. It is odd to look back and see ourselves in reflection. I have a fondness for that 25 year old young girl, but I’m glad she grew up and found her voice.

In the years to come, I would become a road warrior, taking many road trips between Maine and Virginia and between Florida and the Carolinas. I have had my share of unfortunate events while on the road, but I managed to work through them without much commotion. Lessons learned, I guess.