"The computer is fun to play with but why should I learn to do anything else with it?
"School is not important...I'm going to put in my application at the (automobile) plant on Monday!
"What do you mean..I'm not graduating with my class? You didn't teach me anything (of course I have skipped your class since October)! Just give me my makeup work, I'll have it in on Monday...
"What do you mean...copying my term paper word for word from the internet is an automatic F?
"I'll put my cell phone up as soon as I text the answers to your test to my friend across the room...
"The answers on both our papers are the same...there is no way I could have flunked..wait a minute...the questions are different...that's not fair!
"Why should my son have an F...It doesn't matter that he was late to class every day of the semester...so what if he was only there ten minutes a day...of course I got your message on my answering machine..I didn't have time to call you back...
"Yeah, I signed for your syllabus with the class requirements...but I didn't think my kid had to do all that stuff...that's a lot of work....
"I don't care if final exams are next week and its the end of the semester.....our family is going on vacation to Florida...can't you schedule the tests some other time?
"You black teachers don't know anything..you don't have any education...everyone knows black people are dumb (from a "black" parent)....
"I want my child transferred to a white teacher 'cause everybody knows these black teachers are ignorant (from a white parent).....
"All it says is that I have to take the class, it didn't say I have to pass the class!
"I don't care if my daughter is the top student in Honors Spanish IV. She is dropping the class and going to work ......she doesn't need to know a foreign language..she needs to help me pay the bills!
"Yeah...I'm going to engineering school but this is my senior year...I'm dropping Mr. Jones' calculus class...he gives too much homework and I need to have some fun..besides I haven't done any work and I have a failing interim and that will mess up my Grade Point Average...and I'm number 1 in my class...!
"How do you know this student is high on drugs....he comes from a fine family...no I have no idea how a five foot tall, 120 pound male child could throw an oak sudent desk weighing close to 40 pounds the 35 foot length of your classroom and make a dent in the wall.......or why he then fell on the floor and started having convulsions...
(from an elderly principal who skipped the in-service on PCP and its affects on young teenagers....never saw this kid again...he is still in the state hospital...)
"You can'd flunk me just because my homework is written in four different handwritings!"
"My son can't be skipping school...I just dropped him off at the front door...You say you can see him from the window and he is walking away from school...the mounted police officer is walking him back to school...you must be mistaken...hold on a minute, I have another call....I apologize, the police just called me...they picked my kid up walking down the alley behind the school..."
"I know we laid you off on Wednesday...but we don't have anyone else with the right certification to teach your class....so can you come in on Monday (and every day until the end of the semester)!"
"We can't order any more textbooks...your textbook is out of print...I have no idea how you are supposed to teach a class of forty students when they have no books!"
"I'm not going to get upset because my daughter stole your extra textbook off your desk...it wasn't the teacher's edition...that's the book I told her to take..I don't care if it was a personal copy and you paid for it...."
"I know I changed your teaching schedule without asking you, changed your room and gave it to another teacher, cost you the extra pay for chairmanship of the department I moved you out of, overloaded your classes, but I don't understand why you are retiring!"
As the principal unlocks my door (in the middle of class) and asks why I sent a female student home (because her red thong underwear was showing above the waist of her too-tight jeans) "I don't see anything wrong with how she is dressed!"
As the same principal stomps into my classroom during my planning period...glares at the 20 seniors who came in an hour early to finish their homework..."What class is this...why are they out of control!" I pull my glasses down on my nose in imitation of my father, "I't senior study hall and none of them have a class this hour and neither do I!" The principal rapidly back pedals out of the room and disappears down the hall. The seniors finish their homework and keep on talking.
Time passes and I move on.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Brother, I Fixed Your Cigarettes!
My only brother was a generation ahead of me...so much so that when his army commanding officer told him that his mother had had a baby (me) he was ready to argue that the senior officer must have it wrong, surely his sister, who was a year younger than he, had had a baby. I'm pretty sure he was rather shocked when he got home from World War II and there was a toddler walking around the house. Not too long after that, my two year old self got even with him for dissing me. How did I do that? I remember it well....
World War II and its aftermath was a time of world turmoil...not only in the battle zones but also on the home front. My newly widowed father traded his ration coupons for women's stockings for (canned) milk coupons to feed the baby (me). Hill folk have always figured a way to work through hard times. The history books talked about people planting "victory gardens" and I remember asking how these "victory gardens" were different from every day gardens which everyone in the neighborhood planted? I don;t remember getting an answer but then, I really didn't need one. I know, I'm digressing from my story.
Tobacco was rationed during war times and i don't really remember it being too plentiful after the war was ended. At any rate, when my brothr came home he had developed a smoking habit...manufactured cigarettes...not roll your own like many folks did. Think I remember a camel on the package that he kept sitting in the window of his bedroom. On this particuoar day, Daddy had a new rifle and he and my brother were sitting on the garden steps taking target practice against the bull bats that used to flock over for hours. I had been sent in the house and told to stay,. Daddy was not to be disobeyed so I was in the house trying to find a window to watch from. If I sat on my brother's bed, I could see them perfectly, so there I was...watching...and then...I spotted that carton of cigarettes and a large empty ash tray. Very carefully, I opened each pack of cigarettes and then...each cigarette and carefully piled all that tobacco in the ash tray..until all the cigarettes were gone.
Much later, I remember telling Harry, "Brother, I fixed your cigarettes!" The only thing that saved me that day is that Daddy picked me up and carried me the 150 feet down the hill to my grandmother. Daddy didn't smoke cigarettes....he would occasionally light the tip of a cigar...chew the other end flat and throw the whole thing away...so I doubt if he was that upset....but my brother was angry for a long, long time.
World War II and its aftermath was a time of world turmoil...not only in the battle zones but also on the home front. My newly widowed father traded his ration coupons for women's stockings for (canned) milk coupons to feed the baby (me). Hill folk have always figured a way to work through hard times. The history books talked about people planting "victory gardens" and I remember asking how these "victory gardens" were different from every day gardens which everyone in the neighborhood planted? I don;t remember getting an answer but then, I really didn't need one. I know, I'm digressing from my story.
Tobacco was rationed during war times and i don't really remember it being too plentiful after the war was ended. At any rate, when my brothr came home he had developed a smoking habit...manufactured cigarettes...not roll your own like many folks did. Think I remember a camel on the package that he kept sitting in the window of his bedroom. On this particuoar day, Daddy had a new rifle and he and my brother were sitting on the garden steps taking target practice against the bull bats that used to flock over for hours. I had been sent in the house and told to stay,. Daddy was not to be disobeyed so I was in the house trying to find a window to watch from. If I sat on my brother's bed, I could see them perfectly, so there I was...watching...and then...I spotted that carton of cigarettes and a large empty ash tray. Very carefully, I opened each pack of cigarettes and then...each cigarette and carefully piled all that tobacco in the ash tray..until all the cigarettes were gone.
Much later, I remember telling Harry, "Brother, I fixed your cigarettes!" The only thing that saved me that day is that Daddy picked me up and carried me the 150 feet down the hill to my grandmother. Daddy didn't smoke cigarettes....he would occasionally light the tip of a cigar...chew the other end flat and throw the whole thing away...so I doubt if he was that upset....but my brother was angry for a long, long time.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Because You Can????????
Now let me see, a man is caught carrying an assault rifle at an appearance by the President of the United States and he is still walking around freely? A news organization has films of other civilians carrying guns at an appearance by the President of the United States? They are all walking around freely? THERE IS SOMETHING GRAVELY WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE!
In 1963, there was a man in Texas carrying a rifle during an appearance by the President of the United States. That rifle carrier shot and killed the President of the United States. Why? Because he could? That infamous day in history still sticks in my mind and it always will. I was alone in the newspaper office that day. Because of my college class schedule, I reported to the newspaper office at shortly after 11:30. Officially, the office was closed but in order to get my scheduled work hours completed, I went in that day during the lunch break. The office and print shop were quiet...everyone else had gone to lunch. I had story notes to work on and in the quiet of the office, I could stare at the typewriter, get my thoughts together and write. I remember the phone ringing and I thinking it may have been my editor, W. Foster "Pap" Adams, I answered the phone. The voice on the other end of the line asked what I had heard about Dallas...that some one had said the President had been shot, All I could say was that I didn't know for sure and since I was the only person in the office, I could check but as soon as the next person came in, I would call back and let them know.
I remember thinkinbg that this couuldn't be true...shooting a President didn't happen in a civilized world..after all this was 1963...not 1865...people didn't do such crazy stuff...did they? I called my roommate and asked her to bring the portable radio when she left our dormitory room on her way to class. I remember Marguerite arguing with me...she was listening to the news. I remember telling her that it was my damn radio and it had batteries in it...to just bring it when she came by the newspaper office since she had to pass that building on her way to class.
By the time I actually had the radio..it was obviously true,,,not only had someone shot the President of the United States...someone had killed the President of the United States. The news was confirmed and I like many young people (and some not so young people) across the nation was in a state of shock. How could this be? If "they" could shoot and kill John Fitzgerald Kennedy in broad, open, daylight in Dallas, Texas, in front of a crowd.....were any of us safe...anywhere...anyhow? Students banded together in small groups...we desperately needed the proximity of one another...that proximity gave us the illusion of safety,,,maybe we could protect one another,,,more reasonably..we felt an illusory safety in numbers.
That day and every day until John Kennedy was laid to rest in Arlington Cemetery...we clung to each other and to our mentors..our teachers,,,our elder friends. None of us wanted to be alone...we stayed in our small groups..we grieved the loss of innocence,,,the anguish of reality hit hard. Little did we realize that this was only the first of three asassinations that would disrupt our illusion of safety over the next five years.
The governmental powers assured us that our president would be safe..that he would be protected and that we would not experience such a calamity again. I think I actually believed that until it was announced that Lyndon B. Johnson would speak the the University of Kentucky in the spring. Since I had never seen a sitting president, I wanted to attend this speech. Our newspaper went through all the pre scribed steps to get appropriate credentials for me (according to a two page letter from the U.S. Secret Service). The day arrived and I dressed (professionally) to catch the bus from Berea to Lexington. Since I would be catching the last bus in that evening, I grabbed my jeans and a sweat shirt, rolled them up military style (like my brother had taught me) and placed them in my handtooled leather shoulder bag that my father had given me. My camera (that precious Argus C-3 that I had purchased from a photographer friend) was put atop my clothes and locked in my bag. Off I went to the UK field house...to the appropriate press entrance...where I pulled out my credentials...expecting to be searched or at least checked in by the Secret Service. NOBODY checked me in...nobody searched my purse...all I did was walk in. (That's right - I walked in unchallenged, unverified, unchecked and I walked out steaming mad!) I don't remember what President Johnson said that day but I remember telling "Pap" Addams that there was no way I would write a story on the speech but I had plenty to say. That was my first editorial and he gave be my precious by-line....focused pointedly on what I considered a total lack of security surrounding the President of the United States!
Here we are today in the 21st Century. Lunatics are irresponsibly carrying guns and assault weapons near where our PRESIDENT is speaking and they are not arrested...not stopped...allowed to go on about their lunatic way! The 44th President of the United States is a black man and whether a threat is real or merely implied doesn't make a damn bit of difference, Don't hand me that garbage about the Constitutional right to carry a weapon. My father was a gun collector, my brother was a gun collector, I was taught to handle a gun when I was quite young. I don't need to brag about my competence with a weapon and I don't need to carry a weapon in a public place (Of course, I am a black woman...I would have been thrown under the jail house if I had been caught publicly with a weapon.... permit or no permit!) What happened to responsibility,rational thought, and common sense? Why buy the excuse..."because I can!" Many individuals in black communities have had guns stripped from them but these other people can carry guns around our PRESIDENT and nothing is done? There is obviously a disconnect here.
Lets get my position clearly defined. For years I was the gun owner in my house. My father gave me my first gun when I was single and lived in a northern Ohio city. One night some would be thief tried to break in my house. This person was not successful for two reasons. The strong, solid wood door was double bolted and there was a set of sharp teeth barking loudly on the other side of the door.....which imjediately resulted in all the lights in the house being turned on. Immediately...breaking in that house was too risky. The next day I drove home and picked up a shotgun and shells loaded with buckshot. If ever I was forced to load and shoot that gun, the intruder would probably still be alive but in a great deal of pain as the shot was picked out of his torso in the emergency room! There are other factors here that must be considered. Did I know how to use the gun? Yes, and that was a lesson learned from the respnsible adults in my childhood. REMEMBER...THAT GUN IS NOT A TOY! Later in life, when my children were small and I was on the highway between the East Coast and home in the mountains, there was a weapon in my vehicle...a loaded one that I could get to if necessary. Did I know how to use that weapon? NEVER POINT A GUN AT ANOTHER HUMAN BEING UNLESS YOU INTEND TO USE IT! The last gun I owned, I kept for sentimental reasons...it was my father's and since I am now old...he no longeer lives except in memory. The key to gun ownership is RESPONSIBILITY.
I do not think carrying an assault weapon in a crowd, in an urban area is responsible ownership. Personally unless one is a weapons dealer (or an assassin), why own a weapon that is designed to kill other human beings? Why would any sane individual carry a weapon to a political rally? The implied threat is so obvious that a child would run screaming and given the history of the last sixty years in this country, I would be leaving promptly. If I have to carry a weapon to a political rally to feel safe....I don't need to be there and neither does any other rational person. GUNS ARE NOT TOYS nor are they justification for bragging rights. There is a huge difference between sportsmen who own hunting weapons or folk who keep a secured gun to protect the safety of their home and these lamebrains who play "dare me" with their "because I can" excuses. "Methinks something is rotten in Denmark" oh,oh....I mean Arizona!
In 1963, there was a man in Texas carrying a rifle during an appearance by the President of the United States. That rifle carrier shot and killed the President of the United States. Why? Because he could? That infamous day in history still sticks in my mind and it always will. I was alone in the newspaper office that day. Because of my college class schedule, I reported to the newspaper office at shortly after 11:30. Officially, the office was closed but in order to get my scheduled work hours completed, I went in that day during the lunch break. The office and print shop were quiet...everyone else had gone to lunch. I had story notes to work on and in the quiet of the office, I could stare at the typewriter, get my thoughts together and write. I remember the phone ringing and I thinking it may have been my editor, W. Foster "Pap" Adams, I answered the phone. The voice on the other end of the line asked what I had heard about Dallas...that some one had said the President had been shot, All I could say was that I didn't know for sure and since I was the only person in the office, I could check but as soon as the next person came in, I would call back and let them know.
I remember thinkinbg that this couuldn't be true...shooting a President didn't happen in a civilized world..after all this was 1963...not 1865...people didn't do such crazy stuff...did they? I called my roommate and asked her to bring the portable radio when she left our dormitory room on her way to class. I remember Marguerite arguing with me...she was listening to the news. I remember telling her that it was my damn radio and it had batteries in it...to just bring it when she came by the newspaper office since she had to pass that building on her way to class.
By the time I actually had the radio..it was obviously true,,,not only had someone shot the President of the United States...someone had killed the President of the United States. The news was confirmed and I like many young people (and some not so young people) across the nation was in a state of shock. How could this be? If "they" could shoot and kill John Fitzgerald Kennedy in broad, open, daylight in Dallas, Texas, in front of a crowd.....were any of us safe...anywhere...anyhow? Students banded together in small groups...we desperately needed the proximity of one another...that proximity gave us the illusion of safety,,,maybe we could protect one another,,,more reasonably..we felt an illusory safety in numbers.
That day and every day until John Kennedy was laid to rest in Arlington Cemetery...we clung to each other and to our mentors..our teachers,,,our elder friends. None of us wanted to be alone...we stayed in our small groups..we grieved the loss of innocence,,,the anguish of reality hit hard. Little did we realize that this was only the first of three asassinations that would disrupt our illusion of safety over the next five years.
The governmental powers assured us that our president would be safe..that he would be protected and that we would not experience such a calamity again. I think I actually believed that until it was announced that Lyndon B. Johnson would speak the the University of Kentucky in the spring. Since I had never seen a sitting president, I wanted to attend this speech. Our newspaper went through all the pre scribed steps to get appropriate credentials for me (according to a two page letter from the U.S. Secret Service). The day arrived and I dressed (professionally) to catch the bus from Berea to Lexington. Since I would be catching the last bus in that evening, I grabbed my jeans and a sweat shirt, rolled them up military style (like my brother had taught me) and placed them in my handtooled leather shoulder bag that my father had given me. My camera (that precious Argus C-3 that I had purchased from a photographer friend) was put atop my clothes and locked in my bag. Off I went to the UK field house...to the appropriate press entrance...where I pulled out my credentials...expecting to be searched or at least checked in by the Secret Service. NOBODY checked me in...nobody searched my purse...all I did was walk in. (That's right - I walked in unchallenged, unverified, unchecked and I walked out steaming mad!) I don't remember what President Johnson said that day but I remember telling "Pap" Addams that there was no way I would write a story on the speech but I had plenty to say. That was my first editorial and he gave be my precious by-line....focused pointedly on what I considered a total lack of security surrounding the President of the United States!
Here we are today in the 21st Century. Lunatics are irresponsibly carrying guns and assault weapons near where our PRESIDENT is speaking and they are not arrested...not stopped...allowed to go on about their lunatic way! The 44th President of the United States is a black man and whether a threat is real or merely implied doesn't make a damn bit of difference, Don't hand me that garbage about the Constitutional right to carry a weapon. My father was a gun collector, my brother was a gun collector, I was taught to handle a gun when I was quite young. I don't need to brag about my competence with a weapon and I don't need to carry a weapon in a public place (Of course, I am a black woman...I would have been thrown under the jail house if I had been caught publicly with a weapon.... permit or no permit!) What happened to responsibility,rational thought, and common sense? Why buy the excuse..."because I can!" Many individuals in black communities have had guns stripped from them but these other people can carry guns around our PRESIDENT and nothing is done? There is obviously a disconnect here.
Lets get my position clearly defined. For years I was the gun owner in my house. My father gave me my first gun when I was single and lived in a northern Ohio city. One night some would be thief tried to break in my house. This person was not successful for two reasons. The strong, solid wood door was double bolted and there was a set of sharp teeth barking loudly on the other side of the door.....which imjediately resulted in all the lights in the house being turned on. Immediately...breaking in that house was too risky. The next day I drove home and picked up a shotgun and shells loaded with buckshot. If ever I was forced to load and shoot that gun, the intruder would probably still be alive but in a great deal of pain as the shot was picked out of his torso in the emergency room! There are other factors here that must be considered. Did I know how to use the gun? Yes, and that was a lesson learned from the respnsible adults in my childhood. REMEMBER...THAT GUN IS NOT A TOY! Later in life, when my children were small and I was on the highway between the East Coast and home in the mountains, there was a weapon in my vehicle...a loaded one that I could get to if necessary. Did I know how to use that weapon? NEVER POINT A GUN AT ANOTHER HUMAN BEING UNLESS YOU INTEND TO USE IT! The last gun I owned, I kept for sentimental reasons...it was my father's and since I am now old...he no longeer lives except in memory. The key to gun ownership is RESPONSIBILITY.
I do not think carrying an assault weapon in a crowd, in an urban area is responsible ownership. Personally unless one is a weapons dealer (or an assassin), why own a weapon that is designed to kill other human beings? Why would any sane individual carry a weapon to a political rally? The implied threat is so obvious that a child would run screaming and given the history of the last sixty years in this country, I would be leaving promptly. If I have to carry a weapon to a political rally to feel safe....I don't need to be there and neither does any other rational person. GUNS ARE NOT TOYS nor are they justification for bragging rights. There is a huge difference between sportsmen who own hunting weapons or folk who keep a secured gun to protect the safety of their home and these lamebrains who play "dare me" with their "because I can" excuses. "Methinks something is rotten in Denmark" oh,oh....I mean Arizona!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The Family of Man
Our family is of mixed blood and I choose not to get into a discussion of just how “mixed” we are. That ultimately does not matter, We are who we are. The defining word is FAMILY and if you are murky of thought enough to step on the toes of one of my family members, I just may have to step back on yours (on your foot, not on your family members)! That is the essence of family .... we all hang together for survival purposes or we hang separately and do not survive. It seems to me that this credo is also a significant part of the foundation that underscores the United States of America. There is a viciousness of spirit afoot in these political times that frankly exemplifies a callousness of spirit …an inability to be in the least sensitive to the feelings of others, an inability to exhibit anything other than the ultimate selfishness, a totally ego driven monologue!
Homeless people ( and that could easily be you or me or almost anyone we know) are being arrested for being on the streets of many cities and yet, they have no place to go, One of my sons watched a police car (from a nearby small town) pull into the city and immediately pull over to the curb. From the bar separated back seat, a thin man with his pitiful belongings contained in a (what was once) an olive green military rucksack was put out of the car. The policeman executed an illegal u-turn and returned in the direction of his community of origin. His former passenger stood for a moment on the city sidewalk and then finally picked up his rucksack and trudged off in the general direction of one of the local homeless shelters. If he was hungry, he dare not be caught asking for food..if so…he would be arrested for illegal vagrancy in that particular urban jurisdiction. If he had no verifiable address, he could not even ask for food stamps or even a survival welfare payment…what could he do? This old fellow with the rucksack was not as lucky as the elderly man who stopped me one day as I came out of Arby’s in the down town area (of the same city) and asked, oh so quietly, if I had enough money to get him something to eat. Luckily on that day, I had a twenty in my jeans pocket which I handed to my son with the request that whatever the elder man wanted, would be purchased. To my surprise, the elder asked for only a child’s meal. Quietly I told him that he would have anything he wanted that he did not have to take the cheapest meal on the menu. Very gently he replied that this was all he needed…that he really couldn’t eat any more. He got his food, my son and I went our way as the elder man went his way. I have never seen him since that day but I often find myself wondering about him and wondering if I could have done more. He could so easily have been a member of my family or anyone else’s family. He belonged to someone...somewhere.
During the Great Depression ... a lone man came down the holler (hollow to you non Appalachians) to my grandparents house. He walked along the creek through the pasture and crossed the bridge between the hen house and the smoke house , then knocked on the kitchen door. My grandparents opened the door, invited him in and asked if he was hungry. They fed him from the family’s food that day and seated him at the kitchen table. He had only one other request. He’d noticed that the family had a barn and a hayloft. He had been sick for several days as he rode the freight train and he was tired. Could he sleep in the hay loft that night? It would be warm and safe and spring nights in the mountains can be cold. The grandparents agreed that this would be no problem and did he need a blanket or two. He stayed several days and nights but ... just never seemed to get any better. Finally, one fateful morning when Grampa went to carry him food, he found that the stranger had died during the night. The family elders gathered together and decided that they would treat him as a member of the family and if this being so…if ever a family member was lost and broke and far from home…maybe someone else would take them in. The old ones went to the top of the mountain to the family cemetery and dug his grave. They gathered everyone together to speak Words over the stranger and laid him in the ground near the great-grandparents. As a child, I often asked Granny who this stranger was. Her only reply was that they had never asked his name…they only knew that he needed help and they were willing to help. Every Decoration Day of my childhood Granny made sure that flowers were put on the stranger’s grave just like on the graves of the rest of the family.
The wealth of our family has always been in one another…not in dollars and coins. Granny was a giant at 4 feet 11 inches and her teachings have come down through the generations. Probably the most important lesson she taught us was to be civil with one another, to never deliberately try to inflict hurt (physical or emotional) on each other or on any other human being. That lady had no tolerance for bigotry (and she had very good reasons) or for intolerance. We didn’t have to agree with one another but we did have to think, to reason, to be civil with one another because after all, “God Doesn’t like UGLY!”
Arguments are not won by distorting the truth or by lying. You don’t spread rumor or innuendo and you don’t threaten bodily harm on one another. Another statement Granny used to say was “You are your brother’s keeper!” I never realized how unique her perceptions were and as a child I probably never valued her teachings as much as I do now. I am tired of these people who will not reach out a hand to help others, who think they are too good to help the homeless, or people without health insurance, or the poverty stricken mother with small children, or even the immigrant family who came to this country seeking a better life. Seems like I want to remind these folk that unless you are a person descended from the Native American standing on the shore watching the ships arrive…we are all immigrants illegal or legal! Did anyone’s ancestors ask the Native American for permission to settle here? I thought not!
Homeless people ( and that could easily be you or me or almost anyone we know) are being arrested for being on the streets of many cities and yet, they have no place to go, One of my sons watched a police car (from a nearby small town) pull into the city and immediately pull over to the curb. From the bar separated back seat, a thin man with his pitiful belongings contained in a (what was once) an olive green military rucksack was put out of the car. The policeman executed an illegal u-turn and returned in the direction of his community of origin. His former passenger stood for a moment on the city sidewalk and then finally picked up his rucksack and trudged off in the general direction of one of the local homeless shelters. If he was hungry, he dare not be caught asking for food..if so…he would be arrested for illegal vagrancy in that particular urban jurisdiction. If he had no verifiable address, he could not even ask for food stamps or even a survival welfare payment…what could he do? This old fellow with the rucksack was not as lucky as the elderly man who stopped me one day as I came out of Arby’s in the down town area (of the same city) and asked, oh so quietly, if I had enough money to get him something to eat. Luckily on that day, I had a twenty in my jeans pocket which I handed to my son with the request that whatever the elder man wanted, would be purchased. To my surprise, the elder asked for only a child’s meal. Quietly I told him that he would have anything he wanted that he did not have to take the cheapest meal on the menu. Very gently he replied that this was all he needed…that he really couldn’t eat any more. He got his food, my son and I went our way as the elder man went his way. I have never seen him since that day but I often find myself wondering about him and wondering if I could have done more. He could so easily have been a member of my family or anyone else’s family. He belonged to someone...somewhere.
During the Great Depression ... a lone man came down the holler (hollow to you non Appalachians) to my grandparents house. He walked along the creek through the pasture and crossed the bridge between the hen house and the smoke house , then knocked on the kitchen door. My grandparents opened the door, invited him in and asked if he was hungry. They fed him from the family’s food that day and seated him at the kitchen table. He had only one other request. He’d noticed that the family had a barn and a hayloft. He had been sick for several days as he rode the freight train and he was tired. Could he sleep in the hay loft that night? It would be warm and safe and spring nights in the mountains can be cold. The grandparents agreed that this would be no problem and did he need a blanket or two. He stayed several days and nights but ... just never seemed to get any better. Finally, one fateful morning when Grampa went to carry him food, he found that the stranger had died during the night. The family elders gathered together and decided that they would treat him as a member of the family and if this being so…if ever a family member was lost and broke and far from home…maybe someone else would take them in. The old ones went to the top of the mountain to the family cemetery and dug his grave. They gathered everyone together to speak Words over the stranger and laid him in the ground near the great-grandparents. As a child, I often asked Granny who this stranger was. Her only reply was that they had never asked his name…they only knew that he needed help and they were willing to help. Every Decoration Day of my childhood Granny made sure that flowers were put on the stranger’s grave just like on the graves of the rest of the family.
The wealth of our family has always been in one another…not in dollars and coins. Granny was a giant at 4 feet 11 inches and her teachings have come down through the generations. Probably the most important lesson she taught us was to be civil with one another, to never deliberately try to inflict hurt (physical or emotional) on each other or on any other human being. That lady had no tolerance for bigotry (and she had very good reasons) or for intolerance. We didn’t have to agree with one another but we did have to think, to reason, to be civil with one another because after all, “God Doesn’t like UGLY!”
Arguments are not won by distorting the truth or by lying. You don’t spread rumor or innuendo and you don’t threaten bodily harm on one another. Another statement Granny used to say was “You are your brother’s keeper!” I never realized how unique her perceptions were and as a child I probably never valued her teachings as much as I do now. I am tired of these people who will not reach out a hand to help others, who think they are too good to help the homeless, or people without health insurance, or the poverty stricken mother with small children, or even the immigrant family who came to this country seeking a better life. Seems like I want to remind these folk that unless you are a person descended from the Native American standing on the shore watching the ships arrive…we are all immigrants illegal or legal! Did anyone’s ancestors ask the Native American for permission to settle here? I thought not!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired!
These are my last comments on the Gates incident and the title above expresses my most heart felt sentiments. Unlike my president who thinks that bringing the principals into a face to face discussion of what happened in Cambridge, MA, I no longer believe that there will be positive results from that conversation. The after incident brouhaha has illustrated even more divisions in our society than I would have wanted to believe. The racial split is too obvious, the class split is a little more sheltered from site and the cops versus "them" (whoever "them" may be), is the most disturbing and infuriating.
Some time ago, shortly after my husband and I had bought our first home, a neighborhood kid (a 13 year old with an extensive juvenile record) broke into the house with three other youngsters. When they were unable to steal the stereo system that my husband had so carefully put together over a period of years, the kids grabbed newspaper, placed it in the middle of the bed and started a fire. Unfortunately for the juvies, a veteran Toledo detective had spotted the kids breaking in the house. As he sat in his car, he checked out home ownership and figured out what was going on. He watched the juveniles come out of the house (carrying nothing because they couldn't untangle the stereo system wires which were carefully taped together) and spotted smoke coming from the second floor. He radioed the fire department (which luckily was two blocks away) and because of his vigilance, the house was saved from total destruction. His professionalism saved our first house from total destruction. The next day, he and one other officer presented picture of several young men and simply asked if we knew any of them. I identified all four quite easily...they were neighborhood kids....who saw me almost every day. In spite of the fact that a detective had caught them in the act, not a single one of those kids ever came to trial because someone in the legal system identified them as "poor misguided, misunderstood miscreants." That officer did his job, the legal system did not. Do I identify hims as a bad cop or a racist? No, I do not. We thanked him for doing his job (much to his embarassment) but we had no complaints.
I was young and naive in those days. I actually believed police were supposed to "protect and serve" and that they were present to protect the boundaries of common decency in our neighborhoods. Of course, I knew about Bull Connors and his water hoses. What young adult of the civil rights era did now know about racist, bad cops? The turmoil of the 60's in a sence led to a quieter time in the 70's when we were trying to sort out the lessons we had learned from those teachable moments.It was ten years later when I ran into a cop that not only lied but was willing to write the lie in his report and go to court and swear to his lie. That time I was pulled over in a speed trap on US 52 in southern Ohio. When I went to court, I managed to proved my innocence. For appearing in court, I was fined seven dollars in court cost and the so-called speeding ticket was torn up. (I have always figured that the court costs were charged because I argued with the judge which had nothing to do with the cop.) That particular cop may or may not have been a racist but...he was definitely a liar. The speed trap incident bothered me for a long time because one of my best friends from childhood was the daughter of the police chief in the small West Virginia town where I grew up. I did not want to believe that a cop could be so unethical...it wasn't supposed to happen.
Before my daughter was born, her father and I went to a friend's house for dinner. He and his wife lived in an apartment near the University of Toledo and we had been friends for quite some time...in fact, we had gone to their wedding. As we putt-putted to our home inthe Old West End in our 70 VW beetle, two Toledo cops pulled us over. I am sure they both caught my schoolteacher glare as I asked why we had been stopped. They asked if we had come from the university area and when we answered yes, they indicated that there had been a robbery in that area a few minutes before and the thieves had absconded in a VW beetle. They then (politley) asked if they could search the car. I shrugged my shoulders and told them to go ahead. Our trunk was filled with miscellaneous stuff from my old apartment. I sat there and watched them pull everything out piece by piece. Let's face it, thieves do not bother with area rugs and assorted books and dishes. After they were satisfied that we were not the thieves, they apologized and started to leave until I folded my arms and suggested that since they had taken everything out of my trunk, they should put everything back! They looked kind of sheepish but they did as I asked. Because they were white and I was black, should I call them racists? No...there was no reason to go that route...they were simply doing their job.
I relate these incidents to simply say...every contact a black person has with a police officer is not negative. After all our neighbor, who was then our local police chief, shared our grief when our son died. He could have cared less that he was white and we were black. He was simply our neighbor (and no this is not a small town, it is a small city). Would I call him a racist? NO, not unless I want to sound like a fool and that is what I would be.
However, on Martin Luther King day nearly six years ago, I ran into a cop who was not only a racist, he was definitely profiling and he was a liar. Without going into any details, his lies tripped him up. The more he tried to explain himself (after the fact) the more his inconsistencies tripped him up. (Does this sound familiar?)
I will not go into details except to say that when a person puts on that badge and picks up that gun, that person needs to understand not only himself/herself but the people he (or she) comes into contact with on a daily basis. The officer that truly understands his/her community and the people in that community, the better a police person he or she will be. That officer is to be respected. The officer who is ego-involved, who misrepresents the truth on a police report, who is on a power trip, who does not respect the cultures within the community, who lets his contempt for people of different (religion, race, culture, life-experience) show does not need to wear the badge...ever. I really don't care if the cop is male, female, black, white, pink, purple or polkadotted, gay or straight. Defending the mistakes of a fellow cop when you know that a mistake was made..contributes to a negative view of all who wear the badge (and the black female cop with her vitriolic defense of an error
in judgment as well as the black male cop who did the same needs to examine her/his relationship with the greater community of minorities). Do me and the rest of us old black folk...STAY OUT OF OUR NEIGHBORHOODS....you don't have the life experience to understand what we see amd have seen in the last forty plus years of our adult lives.
Some time ago, shortly after my husband and I had bought our first home, a neighborhood kid (a 13 year old with an extensive juvenile record) broke into the house with three other youngsters. When they were unable to steal the stereo system that my husband had so carefully put together over a period of years, the kids grabbed newspaper, placed it in the middle of the bed and started a fire. Unfortunately for the juvies, a veteran Toledo detective had spotted the kids breaking in the house. As he sat in his car, he checked out home ownership and figured out what was going on. He watched the juveniles come out of the house (carrying nothing because they couldn't untangle the stereo system wires which were carefully taped together) and spotted smoke coming from the second floor. He radioed the fire department (which luckily was two blocks away) and because of his vigilance, the house was saved from total destruction. His professionalism saved our first house from total destruction. The next day, he and one other officer presented picture of several young men and simply asked if we knew any of them. I identified all four quite easily...they were neighborhood kids....who saw me almost every day. In spite of the fact that a detective had caught them in the act, not a single one of those kids ever came to trial because someone in the legal system identified them as "poor misguided, misunderstood miscreants." That officer did his job, the legal system did not. Do I identify hims as a bad cop or a racist? No, I do not. We thanked him for doing his job (much to his embarassment) but we had no complaints.
I was young and naive in those days. I actually believed police were supposed to "protect and serve" and that they were present to protect the boundaries of common decency in our neighborhoods. Of course, I knew about Bull Connors and his water hoses. What young adult of the civil rights era did now know about racist, bad cops? The turmoil of the 60's in a sence led to a quieter time in the 70's when we were trying to sort out the lessons we had learned from those teachable moments.It was ten years later when I ran into a cop that not only lied but was willing to write the lie in his report and go to court and swear to his lie. That time I was pulled over in a speed trap on US 52 in southern Ohio. When I went to court, I managed to proved my innocence. For appearing in court, I was fined seven dollars in court cost and the so-called speeding ticket was torn up. (I have always figured that the court costs were charged because I argued with the judge which had nothing to do with the cop.) That particular cop may or may not have been a racist but...he was definitely a liar. The speed trap incident bothered me for a long time because one of my best friends from childhood was the daughter of the police chief in the small West Virginia town where I grew up. I did not want to believe that a cop could be so unethical...it wasn't supposed to happen.
Before my daughter was born, her father and I went to a friend's house for dinner. He and his wife lived in an apartment near the University of Toledo and we had been friends for quite some time...in fact, we had gone to their wedding. As we putt-putted to our home inthe Old West End in our 70 VW beetle, two Toledo cops pulled us over. I am sure they both caught my schoolteacher glare as I asked why we had been stopped. They asked if we had come from the university area and when we answered yes, they indicated that there had been a robbery in that area a few minutes before and the thieves had absconded in a VW beetle. They then (politley) asked if they could search the car. I shrugged my shoulders and told them to go ahead. Our trunk was filled with miscellaneous stuff from my old apartment. I sat there and watched them pull everything out piece by piece. Let's face it, thieves do not bother with area rugs and assorted books and dishes. After they were satisfied that we were not the thieves, they apologized and started to leave until I folded my arms and suggested that since they had taken everything out of my trunk, they should put everything back! They looked kind of sheepish but they did as I asked. Because they were white and I was black, should I call them racists? No...there was no reason to go that route...they were simply doing their job.
I relate these incidents to simply say...every contact a black person has with a police officer is not negative. After all our neighbor, who was then our local police chief, shared our grief when our son died. He could have cared less that he was white and we were black. He was simply our neighbor (and no this is not a small town, it is a small city). Would I call him a racist? NO, not unless I want to sound like a fool and that is what I would be.
However, on Martin Luther King day nearly six years ago, I ran into a cop who was not only a racist, he was definitely profiling and he was a liar. Without going into any details, his lies tripped him up. The more he tried to explain himself (after the fact) the more his inconsistencies tripped him up. (Does this sound familiar?)
I will not go into details except to say that when a person puts on that badge and picks up that gun, that person needs to understand not only himself/herself but the people he (or she) comes into contact with on a daily basis. The officer that truly understands his/her community and the people in that community, the better a police person he or she will be. That officer is to be respected. The officer who is ego-involved, who misrepresents the truth on a police report, who is on a power trip, who does not respect the cultures within the community, who lets his contempt for people of different (religion, race, culture, life-experience) show does not need to wear the badge...ever. I really don't care if the cop is male, female, black, white, pink, purple or polkadotted, gay or straight. Defending the mistakes of a fellow cop when you know that a mistake was made..contributes to a negative view of all who wear the badge (and the black female cop with her vitriolic defense of an error
in judgment as well as the black male cop who did the same needs to examine her/his relationship with the greater community of minorities). Do me and the rest of us old black folk...STAY OUT OF OUR NEIGHBORHOODS....you don't have the life experience to understand what we see amd have seen in the last forty plus years of our adult lives.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Why Can't We Communicate?
The brouhaha about Dr. Gates continues into the third day and I find myself answering the question, “Why are we so far apart? Why do we disagree so much on the reactions of both man?” Before we can answer the questions as to why the divergent viewpoints, there is a more critical question….WHO are the disagreeing parties?
Several years ago I was standing in the hall way of the high school where I worked until my retirement. Since it was my so called “free period” (translation –I wasn’t scheduled to teach) I was monitoring the hall. The white (and I use this racial description merely to establish parameters) kid coming down the hall was probably a freshman, he obviously hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet . Since the young man wasn’t one of the habitual hall walkers, I stood quietly against the wall and waited for him to come closer. About that time, the principal, a tall black (again I am establishing parameters) man, bolted out of his office door and in the manner of large school principals confronted with too man children in the hall, immediately started yelling at the kid.
“Why are you in the hall? Where are you supposed to me? Where is your pass? Why aren’t you looking me in the eyes?” At that point I came off the wall, raised my voice a notch and in a tone of urgency, “Mr. Williams, I need to see you a moment…NOW.” Since I rarely raise my voice, the principal caught the fact that I needed an immediate action so his next comment to the kid in the hall was, “You wait right here, I need to see this teacher.”
Very quietly I spoke to the principal. “Stop yelling at that student, You have scared him to death. He is NOT disrespecting you or your authority…he is trying his best to be respectful ….and polite!” Now that I had his attention, I could continue. “You are asking him to look you in the eyes and if he does, that is extreme disrespect!”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand….?”
“This kid is Appalachian and well bred Appalachian children never look an adult in the eyes, especially one who is chastising them. If a kid makes that mistake, they expect to be backhanded and I do mean backhanded immediately!” I waited a second for my message to sink in…then continued, “I know……because my four foot eleven inch (Appalachian) grandmother would already have used her left hand on my face!” The principal looked at me and then asked, “Are you serious?” I nodded and said quietly, “As serious as a massive heart attack.” The principal looked at me questioningly and I nodded in the affirmative.
Mr. Williams wheeled around and turned back to the kid, “Come on my man and walk with me for a few minutes. I need to go in the cafeteria and get something to eat…..I didn’t eat breakfast this morning. Now, you sit right here and wait for me.” The tall man went back into the kitchen and came back with his coffee, a milk, an orange juice and two sausage and egg sandwiches. He kept one sandwich and the coffee and gave the rest to the kid. “Sit here with me a minute while we eat and then, I’ll walk you back to class. You are not in trouble. Whose class are you supposed to be in…don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” The instance had moved from a “he’s picking on me” scenario to a male bonding routine and the anger on both sides had been diffused. Because the principal trusted my judgment, I had been able to intervene in a situation which could have had very negative results. Because the adult male was listening and trying to bridge the gap between two cultures, he had gained the student’s respect and trust, a trust that would continue until the student left school…because that kid knew he could ask to see “Mr. Williams” if there was a problem and the man would listen (and not overreact).
What happened in Dr. Gates situation was a little more complicated. Any black man and many other men of minority cultures understood exactly what happened (without further explanation) and the extreme out of context disrespect shown by the Cambridge cop. Sadly it appears that the cop either does not know what he did wrong or does not care! Ironically when the chief of police says that his officer had actually taught a class on “racial profiling” at the police academy…..the majority of black men around me reacted with “Sure, he did. He probably taught them how to profile!” Sad but true.
My family lives in a small mid-western city. A few years ago we had a chemical accident in our town, an accident that required the town to be evacuated because of excessive smoke and fumes. My husband and I had been out in our neighborhood, about three or four blocks from home when the smoke began to cover the sky. We turned the car around and headed home. When we came to the four-way stop down the street, a police car pulled up behind us. In my rear view mirror, I watched the cop on his radio and said to my husband…”There’s a cop behind us and he is running our license plates. Don’t look back, let’s see what happens.” I knew the second the cop got a reply because he suddenly peeled out and made a sudden left hand turn into the next alley….which took him away from us. That officer had common sense enough to check facts before he did something with negative results.
If Crowley had backed out of the situation and apologized to Dr. Gates as soon as he verified his identity, the incident would not have escalated into the national news. Instead Crowley’s ego went into power trip overdrive. Why do I come to this conclusion?
1. Age difference – A 60 year old college professor who is in his own
house expects to be treated with respect, not with Gestapo tactics
and threats. Any cop coming to my door had best stand on my stoop
and wait until he is (or isn’t) invited in and if he hasn’t had time to
go through the amenities, his explanations should be prompt and
logical.
2. If this cop is such an expert on racial profiling (and I doubt he is) ,
He should have immediately understood how his posturing and presence would appear to Dr. Gates. The fact that he didn’t is cultural unawareness (remember the “he’s not looking me in the eyes..” response of the principal).
3. Testosterone overdrive- (or I’m gonna show this nigger who’s boss)!
At this point Crowley knew (or should have known) he had overstepped his bounds but he was hell bent on being “in charge.” The minute Dr. Gates asked for a name and badge number (which is his right), Crowley knew (or should have known) the situation had been reversed. Instead testosterone overdrive escalated (again, I’m gonna show this nigger who’s boss).
4. FOP support- Oh come on! Do you really think any union is going to
admit publicly that one of its members screwed up? As a former union steward and board member, I know better. The private communication might be “How could you do something so stupid?” but publicly, the union is probably not going to criticize its member. However, this situation is very dicey, the union is walking a very thin line.
5. I also have to say, this. The “I tried to save Reggie Lewis” excuse
sounds too much like the “some of my best friends are black (white, pink, purple and/or polka dotted)” cliché. Frankly, if these people of different ethnicities and cultures were your friends, you would know better than to deliberately take actions which would be offensive to them.
My final reaction has to be that racism and a lot of other “isms” are “as American as apple pie.” This country is supposed to be a melting pot of cultures, languages , and peoples. Too often we focus on the ways that we are alike and tend to forget that the ways we are different are just as important. Whether you choose to be a teacher, a preacher, a police officer, a social worker or whatever…..understanding the different cultures and languages that make up this country are endemic to the success of you job.
The English as a Second Language teacher who had Moslem students copying phrases from an English language Bible was just as (culturally) wrong as she could be and couldn’t figure out why the children’s parents were angry. After all, she didn’t do anything wrong! REALLY! Think about it!
Several years ago I was standing in the hall way of the high school where I worked until my retirement. Since it was my so called “free period” (translation –I wasn’t scheduled to teach) I was monitoring the hall. The white (and I use this racial description merely to establish parameters) kid coming down the hall was probably a freshman, he obviously hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet . Since the young man wasn’t one of the habitual hall walkers, I stood quietly against the wall and waited for him to come closer. About that time, the principal, a tall black (again I am establishing parameters) man, bolted out of his office door and in the manner of large school principals confronted with too man children in the hall, immediately started yelling at the kid.
“Why are you in the hall? Where are you supposed to me? Where is your pass? Why aren’t you looking me in the eyes?” At that point I came off the wall, raised my voice a notch and in a tone of urgency, “Mr. Williams, I need to see you a moment…NOW.” Since I rarely raise my voice, the principal caught the fact that I needed an immediate action so his next comment to the kid in the hall was, “You wait right here, I need to see this teacher.”
Very quietly I spoke to the principal. “Stop yelling at that student, You have scared him to death. He is NOT disrespecting you or your authority…he is trying his best to be respectful ….and polite!” Now that I had his attention, I could continue. “You are asking him to look you in the eyes and if he does, that is extreme disrespect!”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand….?”
“This kid is Appalachian and well bred Appalachian children never look an adult in the eyes, especially one who is chastising them. If a kid makes that mistake, they expect to be backhanded and I do mean backhanded immediately!” I waited a second for my message to sink in…then continued, “I know……because my four foot eleven inch (Appalachian) grandmother would already have used her left hand on my face!” The principal looked at me and then asked, “Are you serious?” I nodded and said quietly, “As serious as a massive heart attack.” The principal looked at me questioningly and I nodded in the affirmative.
Mr. Williams wheeled around and turned back to the kid, “Come on my man and walk with me for a few minutes. I need to go in the cafeteria and get something to eat…..I didn’t eat breakfast this morning. Now, you sit right here and wait for me.” The tall man went back into the kitchen and came back with his coffee, a milk, an orange juice and two sausage and egg sandwiches. He kept one sandwich and the coffee and gave the rest to the kid. “Sit here with me a minute while we eat and then, I’ll walk you back to class. You are not in trouble. Whose class are you supposed to be in…don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” The instance had moved from a “he’s picking on me” scenario to a male bonding routine and the anger on both sides had been diffused. Because the principal trusted my judgment, I had been able to intervene in a situation which could have had very negative results. Because the adult male was listening and trying to bridge the gap between two cultures, he had gained the student’s respect and trust, a trust that would continue until the student left school…because that kid knew he could ask to see “Mr. Williams” if there was a problem and the man would listen (and not overreact).
What happened in Dr. Gates situation was a little more complicated. Any black man and many other men of minority cultures understood exactly what happened (without further explanation) and the extreme out of context disrespect shown by the Cambridge cop. Sadly it appears that the cop either does not know what he did wrong or does not care! Ironically when the chief of police says that his officer had actually taught a class on “racial profiling” at the police academy…..the majority of black men around me reacted with “Sure, he did. He probably taught them how to profile!” Sad but true.
My family lives in a small mid-western city. A few years ago we had a chemical accident in our town, an accident that required the town to be evacuated because of excessive smoke and fumes. My husband and I had been out in our neighborhood, about three or four blocks from home when the smoke began to cover the sky. We turned the car around and headed home. When we came to the four-way stop down the street, a police car pulled up behind us. In my rear view mirror, I watched the cop on his radio and said to my husband…”There’s a cop behind us and he is running our license plates. Don’t look back, let’s see what happens.” I knew the second the cop got a reply because he suddenly peeled out and made a sudden left hand turn into the next alley….which took him away from us. That officer had common sense enough to check facts before he did something with negative results.
If Crowley had backed out of the situation and apologized to Dr. Gates as soon as he verified his identity, the incident would not have escalated into the national news. Instead Crowley’s ego went into power trip overdrive. Why do I come to this conclusion?
1. Age difference – A 60 year old college professor who is in his own
house expects to be treated with respect, not with Gestapo tactics
and threats. Any cop coming to my door had best stand on my stoop
and wait until he is (or isn’t) invited in and if he hasn’t had time to
go through the amenities, his explanations should be prompt and
logical.
2. If this cop is such an expert on racial profiling (and I doubt he is) ,
He should have immediately understood how his posturing and presence would appear to Dr. Gates. The fact that he didn’t is cultural unawareness (remember the “he’s not looking me in the eyes..” response of the principal).
3. Testosterone overdrive- (or I’m gonna show this nigger who’s boss)!
At this point Crowley knew (or should have known) he had overstepped his bounds but he was hell bent on being “in charge.” The minute Dr. Gates asked for a name and badge number (which is his right), Crowley knew (or should have known) the situation had been reversed. Instead testosterone overdrive escalated (again, I’m gonna show this nigger who’s boss).
4. FOP support- Oh come on! Do you really think any union is going to
admit publicly that one of its members screwed up? As a former union steward and board member, I know better. The private communication might be “How could you do something so stupid?” but publicly, the union is probably not going to criticize its member. However, this situation is very dicey, the union is walking a very thin line.
5. I also have to say, this. The “I tried to save Reggie Lewis” excuse
sounds too much like the “some of my best friends are black (white, pink, purple and/or polka dotted)” cliché. Frankly, if these people of different ethnicities and cultures were your friends, you would know better than to deliberately take actions which would be offensive to them.
My final reaction has to be that racism and a lot of other “isms” are “as American as apple pie.” This country is supposed to be a melting pot of cultures, languages , and peoples. Too often we focus on the ways that we are alike and tend to forget that the ways we are different are just as important. Whether you choose to be a teacher, a preacher, a police officer, a social worker or whatever…..understanding the different cultures and languages that make up this country are endemic to the success of you job.
The English as a Second Language teacher who had Moslem students copying phrases from an English language Bible was just as (culturally) wrong as she could be and couldn’t figure out why the children’s parents were angry. After all, she didn’t do anything wrong! REALLY! Think about it!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
In His Own Home!
Here we are, in the year 2009. We have lived through a myriad of experiences from blatant segregation to an on the surface much more free America and yet..and yet …it is the same old, same old face of racist behavior that rises and bites us like the coiled serpent it has always been.
Several states away, a fellow black Appalachian comes home from an overseas business trip. He is tired and probably looking forward to the peace and quiet of his home, the comfort of his favorite chair or the comfortable spot in his bed which translates to a restful time before he has to face the re-emergence of his daily work. Now he is confronted with a weather warped front door. His key snaps the lock open but the door will not budge. I can only imagine the profane comments running through his head as he drops his luggage on the front stoop of his house, grabs his cane and stalks to the back door, accompanied by the driver who ferried him home form the airport. Again, he applies his key and the door opens. Thank heavens, he is back on his own turf, in his own house. Now comes the struggle to get his traveling luggage inside. In frustration he stomps to the front door and with the help of the man who helped get his luggage inside, he finally manages to force the front door open. At that point, he thanks the driver for his assistance, perhaps offers the obligatory tip and reaches for the phone to call the people responsible for the maintenance of his home. Probably the only thought in his head is to get someone there to fix the door…a issue that needs to be settled before much needed rest and down time can be addressed.
As he talks on the phone, a stranger’s voice addresses him, What idiot can this be in his house? Who would dare just walk in? He turns and then here stands some cop in his house, What the hell! Instead of identifying himself, this intruder demands the identify of the homeowner. Now, he must rummage in his pockets for the driver’s license, for his work I.D. because this upstart youngster wears a uniform with a badge. Aha!, there is the required documentation complete with photo and address. But the stranger is still yapping like a puppy. The elder man returns the request, ‘Who are you and what is your badge number?” The yapping puppy walks away without giving the required information. The elder man’s temper rises at this total lack of respect and he walks toward the door…raising his voice…again asking for the identifying data. Like a yapping puppy, the cop turns and threatens the elder. OH NO! THAT IS NOT DONE…in our hills, in our community, in our own homes. The elder knows he is no criminal, no outcast of society, no suspicious person out of his appropriate surroundings. At that point confrontation was inevitable and the battle was joined.
The ensuing confrontation between Dr. Henry Louis Gates and this quasi control freak cop hits the newspapers and the internet and the shouting begins, There probably isn’t a black person of middle age in America who didn’t understand the scenario of what happened in Cambridge, Massachusetts. We didn’t have to be there because all of us have either had or know someone who has had, a confrontation with a culturally ignorant, insensitive individual hiding behind a badge and a gun. Because my hair is gray and I am on the downhill slide of 100 years, am I supposed to be afraid of a cop’s uniform? Forget that, it is not happening. It didn’t happen in my first 50 years and it is not happening now. All cops are not power crazed individuals or even racists but life has taught me that a significant percentage of people with deep psychological issues in relating to minority individuals gravitate to that profession. Hiding behind badge and gun allows these people to suspend common sense and act upon the wild fantasies of their bigotry. Sometimes they survive for years and then, luckily, for the rest of us there are some who are tripped up by their bigotry and false perceptions of their fellow man. Those are the cops who get fired for their aberrant behavior. Unfortunately, not enough of those individuals are weeded out. In the 21st century there are a whole lot of Bull Connors types still out there.
The bogus apology coming from the Cambridge Police Department ( in my opinion) needs to be tossed out the with bathwater. I sincerely hope that Dr. Gates takes the whole issue to court!
Several states away, a fellow black Appalachian comes home from an overseas business trip. He is tired and probably looking forward to the peace and quiet of his home, the comfort of his favorite chair or the comfortable spot in his bed which translates to a restful time before he has to face the re-emergence of his daily work. Now he is confronted with a weather warped front door. His key snaps the lock open but the door will not budge. I can only imagine the profane comments running through his head as he drops his luggage on the front stoop of his house, grabs his cane and stalks to the back door, accompanied by the driver who ferried him home form the airport. Again, he applies his key and the door opens. Thank heavens, he is back on his own turf, in his own house. Now comes the struggle to get his traveling luggage inside. In frustration he stomps to the front door and with the help of the man who helped get his luggage inside, he finally manages to force the front door open. At that point, he thanks the driver for his assistance, perhaps offers the obligatory tip and reaches for the phone to call the people responsible for the maintenance of his home. Probably the only thought in his head is to get someone there to fix the door…a issue that needs to be settled before much needed rest and down time can be addressed.
As he talks on the phone, a stranger’s voice addresses him, What idiot can this be in his house? Who would dare just walk in? He turns and then here stands some cop in his house, What the hell! Instead of identifying himself, this intruder demands the identify of the homeowner. Now, he must rummage in his pockets for the driver’s license, for his work I.D. because this upstart youngster wears a uniform with a badge. Aha!, there is the required documentation complete with photo and address. But the stranger is still yapping like a puppy. The elder man returns the request, ‘Who are you and what is your badge number?” The yapping puppy walks away without giving the required information. The elder man’s temper rises at this total lack of respect and he walks toward the door…raising his voice…again asking for the identifying data. Like a yapping puppy, the cop turns and threatens the elder. OH NO! THAT IS NOT DONE…in our hills, in our community, in our own homes. The elder knows he is no criminal, no outcast of society, no suspicious person out of his appropriate surroundings. At that point confrontation was inevitable and the battle was joined.
The ensuing confrontation between Dr. Henry Louis Gates and this quasi control freak cop hits the newspapers and the internet and the shouting begins, There probably isn’t a black person of middle age in America who didn’t understand the scenario of what happened in Cambridge, Massachusetts. We didn’t have to be there because all of us have either had or know someone who has had, a confrontation with a culturally ignorant, insensitive individual hiding behind a badge and a gun. Because my hair is gray and I am on the downhill slide of 100 years, am I supposed to be afraid of a cop’s uniform? Forget that, it is not happening. It didn’t happen in my first 50 years and it is not happening now. All cops are not power crazed individuals or even racists but life has taught me that a significant percentage of people with deep psychological issues in relating to minority individuals gravitate to that profession. Hiding behind badge and gun allows these people to suspend common sense and act upon the wild fantasies of their bigotry. Sometimes they survive for years and then, luckily, for the rest of us there are some who are tripped up by their bigotry and false perceptions of their fellow man. Those are the cops who get fired for their aberrant behavior. Unfortunately, not enough of those individuals are weeded out. In the 21st century there are a whole lot of Bull Connors types still out there.
The bogus apology coming from the Cambridge Police Department ( in my opinion) needs to be tossed out the with bathwater. I sincerely hope that Dr. Gates takes the whole issue to court!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)