We gathered at the church with our immediate family and two best friends, so the church was mostly empty. The preacher performing the ceremony was from my parent’s church, he stood with a solemn expression just in front of the altar. No one thought to lower the lights and I was blinded by their glare as I sat three pews back beside my Mom.
Someone finally took charge, I don’t remember who, and I was directed to the front. My dress, pink over pink, was short - striking just above my knee. His suit brown, perhaps the first one his parent’s had ever gotten for him, and a green shirt. I was shocked by that green shirt, it just didn’t seem appropriate for the occasion.
My best friend stood beside me as my maid of honor. We arranged for his little sister to be flower girl but hadn’t bothered with actually bringing any petals for her to drop. Our wedding rings, plan gold bands to precious for us to trust to my nephew to carry as ring barer. His father’s words still ringing in my ears of our irresponsible in spending money on such nonsense as those rings.
As I stood just in front of the preacher waiting for the service to begin, my mind traveled back over the past two months. His mom’s anger and never ending lament of “How could you do this to me?” His father grim statement, “Well son you’re stuck with her now;” speaking as though I was invisible and not standing there right beside his son as he spoke.
I couldn’t figure out why my parents allowed his father, after long fervent insisting, to take me on that mad trip to Paris, Va (without them) thinking we could “secretly” get married there even though only 17. Or his bringing us into his kitchen and chastising us (me) for telling someone that I was pregnant as though anyone with any awareness couldn’t easily see that I was only gaining weight around my waist. Besides it wasn’t like it was going to be going away.
The Ceremony finally began and was over very quickly. The only sound I remember, the clicking of my knees as I tried to stand still and pay attention to what the preacher was saying.
I signed the marriage license then as he signed his name, I stood just behind him twisting the wedding band round and round on my finger wondering if I just say it right now and take the ring off before we walk out of the church that this craziness would end and we’d not be married. I could just go back to being a senior in high school.
But I didn’t say a word - just stood there in total silence and to this day the one memory that over shadows all others is the deafening silence. The wedding, with no joy, no congratulations, and absolutely no music.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
I Too Have a Dream
My entire life I’ve really struggled with understanding racial prejudice. How is it that the pigmentation in our skins – a detail created by less than a 2% difference in our DNA – can create a situation or mind set that allows a person to think less of a group of people and more of themselves?
In the mid-fifties while I was a little girl, my family moved from the hills of Eastern Kentucky to Huntington, WV. Our house was located directly across the street from a good sized hospital where many of the employees were people of color. This was the first time in my life that I can remember ever seeing anyone who really didn’t look like me and I was totally fascinated. I would set on the front porch with my mother and watch the people as they came and went from work; talking with each other, joking, laughing - with skin that looked to me like chocolate silk. I wanted to get closer, to be able to touch that skin and look directly into their eyes, maybe even talk with them some, but my mother’s answer to that request was, “stop staring Peggy, it’s not polite.”
Before I was in grade school we moved across the Ohio River to Chesapeake, Ohio, which for all intents and purposes was a totally white community. So, the only time I’d see anyone of color would either be on television (usually the news), or on our twice monthly public transportation rides (we rode the City Bus) to town to pay bills and to do a little shopping. As we journeyed, the bus stopped frequently allowing people on and off and it was a mix, a casserole, of skin colors and nationalities. Once again I was totally fascinated. I wanted to get closer – to touch and see. But my Mother’s voice was still loud and clear; “Peggy, stop staring it’s not polite!”
I remember watching Martin Luther King on the news in 1963 as he gave his address “I’ve Got a Dream!” I can still feel the chills and the emotion it brought to me even at the tender age of eight. His words motivated me and I wanted to go and be an active part of the solution instead of part of the problem. It was around this time that I discovered books, so a whole world opened up to me and I remember reading the library out on every book that covered the topic of the Underground Railroad - I identified which of the houses just to the east of us were a part of that road to freedom so many years ago and my active imagination would run through different scenarios of those journeys, the hardship, the hiding in the dark, the perils to both the runaway and those assisting them.
It’s not that I wasn’t aware of prejudice, even though I lived in an entire “white” community and thus didn’t see it in action - I did hear the talk. I heard the conversations that the adults thought were going over my head as I sat on the floor playing jacks. And, I remember all too well the times that I was urged to be quiet when I so desperately wanted to question what I heard, being told that I was just too young to understand… Well I didn’t understand then and I don’t understand now.
I’m not saying that I can understand any person’s or ethic group’s personal struggle, just as they cannot totally and completely understand mine. I’m just trying to figure out why we have to approach our differences in this manner.
Maybe it has more to do with an individual that I recently had to let go from work. You see I supervised her and her supervisor during her short tenure and while it wouldn’t be appropriate to go into the reasons for the dismissal, it never entered my mind to let her go for any reason other than her individual conduct and performance. Yet, now she is saying is was because she is a person of color. She appears to be on a massive campaign (not her first during her employ with us) trying to involve the media and trying to discredit not only me, but my company as well. Never touching on the personal responsibility that is hers based on her actions that has nothing to do with race.
My usual response is to stay quiet, not speak out, not question; because as my Mother used to admonish me, it’s just not polite. But is that the correct response? Is it okay to lay blame where it doesn’t belong, to create reasons that don’t exist just because there is always someone who is going to be willing to listen and believe? I know that the answer to that question is it is going to occur that way because we live in a fallen world after all. But God is in charge and all things work to the good of those who love Him and are called to His purpose. So my prayer today is that God rains multiple blessings on this woman. Blessings of provision and blessings of peace – that He place people in her life that will help her along her walk and that He draw her closer to Him with each and every breath she takes. I ask this for myself as well and that He completely blankets us both in His truth.
In the mid-fifties while I was a little girl, my family moved from the hills of Eastern Kentucky to Huntington, WV. Our house was located directly across the street from a good sized hospital where many of the employees were people of color. This was the first time in my life that I can remember ever seeing anyone who really didn’t look like me and I was totally fascinated. I would set on the front porch with my mother and watch the people as they came and went from work; talking with each other, joking, laughing - with skin that looked to me like chocolate silk. I wanted to get closer, to be able to touch that skin and look directly into their eyes, maybe even talk with them some, but my mother’s answer to that request was, “stop staring Peggy, it’s not polite.”
Before I was in grade school we moved across the Ohio River to Chesapeake, Ohio, which for all intents and purposes was a totally white community. So, the only time I’d see anyone of color would either be on television (usually the news), or on our twice monthly public transportation rides (we rode the City Bus) to town to pay bills and to do a little shopping. As we journeyed, the bus stopped frequently allowing people on and off and it was a mix, a casserole, of skin colors and nationalities. Once again I was totally fascinated. I wanted to get closer – to touch and see. But my Mother’s voice was still loud and clear; “Peggy, stop staring it’s not polite!”
I remember watching Martin Luther King on the news in 1963 as he gave his address “I’ve Got a Dream!” I can still feel the chills and the emotion it brought to me even at the tender age of eight. His words motivated me and I wanted to go and be an active part of the solution instead of part of the problem. It was around this time that I discovered books, so a whole world opened up to me and I remember reading the library out on every book that covered the topic of the Underground Railroad - I identified which of the houses just to the east of us were a part of that road to freedom so many years ago and my active imagination would run through different scenarios of those journeys, the hardship, the hiding in the dark, the perils to both the runaway and those assisting them.
It’s not that I wasn’t aware of prejudice, even though I lived in an entire “white” community and thus didn’t see it in action - I did hear the talk. I heard the conversations that the adults thought were going over my head as I sat on the floor playing jacks. And, I remember all too well the times that I was urged to be quiet when I so desperately wanted to question what I heard, being told that I was just too young to understand… Well I didn’t understand then and I don’t understand now.
I’m not saying that I can understand any person’s or ethic group’s personal struggle, just as they cannot totally and completely understand mine. I’m just trying to figure out why we have to approach our differences in this manner.
Maybe it has more to do with an individual that I recently had to let go from work. You see I supervised her and her supervisor during her short tenure and while it wouldn’t be appropriate to go into the reasons for the dismissal, it never entered my mind to let her go for any reason other than her individual conduct and performance. Yet, now she is saying is was because she is a person of color. She appears to be on a massive campaign (not her first during her employ with us) trying to involve the media and trying to discredit not only me, but my company as well. Never touching on the personal responsibility that is hers based on her actions that has nothing to do with race.
My usual response is to stay quiet, not speak out, not question; because as my Mother used to admonish me, it’s just not polite. But is that the correct response? Is it okay to lay blame where it doesn’t belong, to create reasons that don’t exist just because there is always someone who is going to be willing to listen and believe? I know that the answer to that question is it is going to occur that way because we live in a fallen world after all. But God is in charge and all things work to the good of those who love Him and are called to His purpose. So my prayer today is that God rains multiple blessings on this woman. Blessings of provision and blessings of peace – that He place people in her life that will help her along her walk and that He draw her closer to Him with each and every breath she takes. I ask this for myself as well and that He completely blankets us both in His truth.
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