My chat with my father

This morning I wanted to talk to my dad about all the church burnings of the past week.  I wanted to be soothed, but I also wanted some perspective.  My father is a "retired" A.M.E minister who grew up in the Deep South.  I thought the events of the last few weeks would be familiar territory for him.  When I called he didn't pick up, so I decided to check in with my brother instead.  

I just stared at his response.  What could that possibly mean???  I never got an answer.  My brother is a roofer, and he was probably straddling someone's roof at the time.  The more I pondered, the more I thought of the recent police shootings, and I wondered if those events scared this particular brother of mine, who could easily be described as a "big, scary, black guy."  Tall, very muscular, and VERY dark after a summer of roofing homes and businesses.  Even I'd be afraid of him if I met him in a dark alley - that is, if I didn't know I could scare him away by brandishing a bare foot in his face.  He hates feet, for whatever reason.  My other brother barely looks black at all - he's very light skinned, almost as light as my mother was.  But I wouldn't want to meet him in an alley, either - he is small, but muscular, with a temper.

So, this was a prelude to the conversation I had with my father.  I was feeling greatly disturbed after reading about the fire at Mt. Zion A.M.E Church in Greeleyville, South Carolina - ironically, the same name of the church where we grew up.  At this moment, the authorities believe that lightning probably struck the church, as heavy storms had rolled through and at least 4 lightning strikes were noted in the vicinity.  But last night we didn't know this, and what a coincidence for yet another church to be burning!  

I finally got a hold of my dad, and the first thing I asked was, "So, what do you think about these church fires?"  His answer was simple. "It's nothing new."  I wasn't sure what kind of answer I was expecting, but I admit to being a little surprised by his somewhat matter-of-fact, non-emotional response.  "This is what it was like back then.  We've seen all this before."    I was kind of amazed by his rational calmness.  He didn't scream and shake his fists at the heavens.  He just calmly stated what is, what was, and what may be inevitable and accepted it as a possible reality.  I envied that calm.  Perhaps it comes with age and experience.  

Next question:  "Do you think this is the beginning of something?"  His answer - "Yes."

Oh.  Well, there's a little jump in the stomach.  He continued to say that if white people continue to speak out against this, it won't become something bigger - translate: if there is not widespread support for injustice, things will get bad.  He said "it used to be" in the south that if you did something people didn't like, you would just disappear.  And maybe a little later they would find you hanging in a tree, or they wouldn't find you at all.  "I don't think that's going to happen again," he said, "but if it does we're going to have a big problem because people aren't going to stand for it. If white people continue to speak out, then we'll be okay. This is nothing new. This is what it was like back then. I'm not scared, I'm just cautious."  Again, that calm, rational tone.  I quietly wondered what it felt like like when the "whites" weren't speaking out.  He went on to say that some people still aren't willing to accept that things have changed and are continuing to change.  

The destruction of churches and places of faith for political reasons or to scare a group of people is not a new phenomenon. History books are ripe with these stories - it's old news. This is just one story in a long line of stories about humanity repeating a sordid, sad story.  Sadly, this makes me feel better. This is not about me, my family, my community or the color of my skin.  It's about fear, which can lead to hate.  Fear of what?  Fear of change, destabilization, loss of power/influence, fear of the unknown, and more.  As human beings, when we fear the loss of the things we hold most dear - no matter what they are - a primal response takes over.  What we do next, of course, is what defines us as people.  Hate or love.  Help or hurt.  Change or... or what?  

Next question:  "Should we be scared?"  My father said, "No, just be cautious.  Ben, too."  That's The Hubby.  Most of you know he's a white guy.  It's sad to say that "mixed" couples are still frowned upon by some.  I told my dad that I really don't run into any "problems", and that most of the dirty looks and flack I've ever received was from other black people.  He wasn't surprised.  I asked, "If we've been through so much, why do we treat each other like that?"   We talked a little about some issues some younger family members have had.  He said, "A lot of these young kids haven't been taught anything about the civil rights movement.  They don't understand what's going on. They haven't been through this. They look at white people and think they're the enemy."  

We went on for a little while longer before I let him go.  I had called because I wanted to be soothed - not today!  But I am left with a lot to think about, and a lot to admire about my father and his generation.  In much of the news coverage I have seen over the past few weeks, I've noticed a great sea of calm, wisdom, and experience from those aged 60 and over.  Many see the signs, and they know what could follow.  Many look into the flames of burning buildings, get up the next day, and put on their Sunday best and begin the hard work of forgiveness and rebuilding.  Many stare into the faces of people who hate their very existence and don't even flinch.  Where does this type of courage and strength come from?  I know for many, including my father, it comes from their faith.  In conversations about death, I've heard him say on many occasions, "I'm ready" - not because he wants to die, but because he has no fear of it and is confident about what lies ahead.  I envy that strength and confidence.  And, quite frankly, the vision of watching a group of 60 and 70 year olds stare down the KKK (who is becoming more openly active again) is pretty badass and inspriational, in my opinion.

I ended the conversation to let him get ready for a bible study he was leading - so much for being retired.  He holds these in his living room, and I joked with him and said that maybe he should pat everyone down when they came in the door.  He laughed hard.  I wasn't really kidding all that much, honestly. 

What did I learn?  We cannot live in fear. We just can't. We have to be ready to face whatever may be in front of us, and be wise enough to learn from the past.  And we all have to be willing to change - whether it means learning to love your neighbor, or learning to forgive.

They Came to Dinner, and They're Not Leaving

Like many people, I've had a number of conversations with friends and colleagues about the horrific murders in Charleston last week.  We've talked of the shock and the senselessness of it, and how, in the end, nothing of any substance will be done in reaction to it.  In a conversation with a friend yesterday, we shared our disappointment in the reaction of much of the greater church - prayers are ascending for sure, but we both asked the question:  What is the greater church going to change about itself in response to this loss of life?

I asked myself the same question last week.  We happened to be on vacation when I read about the shootings.  I felt a particular closeness to this event, as my father is a retired A.M.E pastor that still leads Bible study on a weekly basis.  In the living room of his house...disturbing images came to my mind.  I grew up in an A.M.E. church and imagined what it would have been like and how it would have changed all of our lives if a stranger had come in and shot up the place.  I imagined what it would have been like sitting in those chairs at Bible study, after welcoming the young stranger into our midst, to see him pull out a gun and point it in my direction.  I imagined the disbelief and the shock, and I truly can only imagine the devastation of the community that is left behind as they grieve this event that has forever changed their lives.

This evening I watched "Guess Who's Coming To Dinner" with Katherine Hepburn, Spencer Tracy, and Sydney Poitier.  If you haven't watched it, you should.  It's good stuff.  Dr. John Prentice, played by Poitier (black guy, if you didn't know) fell in love with and is planning to marry a young woman named Joey Drayton (white girl).  The movie tells the story of how they spring the news on their parents just a short time before they are all to meet for the first time at dinner at the Drayton home.  This may not seem like a big deal to most of you but considering this was premiered in 1967, you can bet your boots it was controversial.

I was struck by the scene with Tillie, the maid (who you may recognize as Louise Jefferson from The Jeffersons - black woman), and John Prentice.  She had previously shown her displeasure to her employers in waiting on the young, black doctor and gives him a hard time - a very hard time - using very harsh words with respect to the young lady she worked hard to help raise.  The gist of her argument - he'd better not do anything to mess with that.  And if a black man wanted to marry a white woman in 1967, something good was being messed with.

The scene reminded me of a similar situation in the movie "Django Unchained", which is set in the Old West and Antebellum South.  Django, played by Jamie Foxx (black guy) is trying to rescue his wife from the clutches of a horrible plantation owner, played by Leonardo DiCaprio (white guy).  I found the movie brutal and extremely offensive.  The scene that gave me pause, however, was when the "butler" of the plantation, played by Samuel L. Jackson (black guy), refuses to wait on Django, who is a guest in disguise at the plantation.  Jackson's character calls Django out for being uppity and stepping out of his place.  He refuses to wait on someone who is no better than himself, no matter how fancy his dress.  In both movies, I found myself asking the same question:

Why do we treat each other this way?

Are we jealous of those who look like us who seem to have made out better in life?  Do we resent the uneducated black person because they may reflect poorly on us to others?  Do we frown upon the light-skinned person - the "high yellow heifer", as I was called as a child - because they fraternize so easily with whites?  Do we dismiss the dark-skinned person as a non-person because they will never "blend in" with the rest of society?  The answer is yes to all of these things, and to many more

What does this have to do with Charleston?  For me, everything.  I think we are often hardest on those closest to us, and this is true for myself.  I have been hard on and judgmental of black culture for many reasons, and some of these reasons have a lot of validity.

This has to change.

I have said, as many others have, that if you put yourself in bad situations - like committing crimes and running from the police - you run a greater risk of losing everything, including your life.  I was appalled by the horrible police shootings of the past year (there are so many to pick from) when unarmed black men (mostly) were shot by negligent police officers.  But there was always a small part of me that said, "But I'm not surprised."

This has to change.

Like many others, my shock and horror at these events faded after a few weeks, and I went on with my life.  Until I saw the video of those kids at that pool party in Texas.  Until I read about those people losing their life because they decided to go to Bible study last week.

I have to change.  I don't know what that change will look like.  But I do know that I am a part of the problem with humanity I complain about.  And that has to change.

The tide always wins

It started with one word.

FEEL

Nothing else, just that one word.  A man walked around the word, dragging his stick in the sand. Deepening, clarifying, until there was no mistaking it. 

FEEL

We watched while we sipped our morning coffee, which eventually turned into breakfast, which eventually turned into afternoon coffee with cards. 

And he was still there.  But now there were more words.

I AM BLESSED
FEEL THE BLESSINGS

People strolled by as he continued to tinker, to perfect.  Dogs ran after thrown objects, children squealed with glee as the cold water washed over their feet.  

Soon, there was another letter.

J
I AM BLESSED
FEEL THE BLESSINGS

What was next?  We couldn't help walking out to the balcony to take occasional glances.  Was he going to spell Jesus?  Well, that would be kind of obvious.  A quick glance said no - you could clearly see the beginning of a U forming in the sand.  Hmm. 

Hours passed and cards continued.  Snacks were eaten.  Little boys quarrelled.  Some adults smacked hands in victory, while others threw their cards down in disgust.  The sun warmed the air, and the sound of the ocean was a constant comfort in the not-too-distant background.  

And there were more words.

JUST SAY
I AM BLESSED
FEEL THE BLESSINGS

The thought was finished.  Passersby stopped to consider his words as the tide began to come in.  The man attempted to reform the words as the water washed them away.  He was diligent, this stranger, and patient.  No movement was rushed or panicked - just deliberate.  We commented on it as we played, and continued with our fun.

Between hands, we'd stretch and find another snack or rest our butts from the hard chairs.  There was always time for a quick check of our strange friend's progress outside.

I AM BLESSED
FEEL THE BLESSINGS
JOY IS LIFE

The tide wins, as it always does.  The water washes the words away, much as life often does.  The ocean remind us that blessings don't last forever.  That stranger reminded us that even though change is inevitable, we keep working and looking for blessings, even if they wash away right before our eyes.