Friday, July 30, 2010

A Talk With the Elders

I was recently asked to give a speech about the Black community in my little town. The town is celebrating it's 200th birthday, and they wanted to acknowledge the storied history of the Black people in the area. So, they asked me to speak. I still can't figure out what made them do that, but I'm awfully glad they did. I guess because I'm a researcher now, I didn't feel right speaking about something of which I didn't know. I mean, I'm 34 years old. What do I know of the past 200 years in my town? So, I decided to ask a few questions.

My idea was to speak to my elders in an attempt to gather a bit of history about my community. I figured it would make it easier for me to speak about the town with some authority. What I got, though, was an education in life. See, old folks, like children, speak the unedited truth. They do it because they don't have to edit anymore. So when I asked them what my little town was like, they told me more than I asked. They told me how LIFE is supposed to be.

Eighty something year old Black folks have seen a different type of life. They've experienced things that we tend to try to forget ever happened. The very idea that there were jobs and areas, stores and restaurants that were off limits, not because of their means but because of their skin color, was outside of the scope of my understanding. But what was even more interesting to me was that they told these stories with such pride. The pain that they had endured didn't break them. It made them. They say that which does not kill you......Well these were some strong folk.

Being a relatively progressive soul, I have always thought of myself as knowledgeable. I have read my history. I have paid attention. I'm not afraid to say I know more than most about what my people have been through. But that's in the abstract. When you sit down with the people who were there, it changes the view a bit. Seeing tears in the eyes of a man who had endured racism as he pioneered in his work place. Seeing the joy in the face of an old lady speaking about the first Black doctor in her town. Hearing stories about not being served at a lunch counter. When you see it on TV, its like watching a movie. When you shake their hands, it touches you in a different way.

I am a part of that story. My father bought a home in an area that, before him, had never been open to Blacks. In fact, the neighbors even petitioned to buy the house from him. The guy next door put up a fence in the driving rain the night we moved in. As a kid, I never understood why they had lined that fence with grease. It took years to realize that it was so that my brother and I wouldn't climb over. We used to get into fights. We used to be called names. I always knew MY story. But after speaking to my elders, I knew that it wasn't really my story at all. It was our story. And in our story, my little part wasn't that bad. Before my father, it was unthinkable to live in the house that I took for granted as I grew up. My son truly has no idea that there are places in this town that have still never been home to Blacks. He has no reason to think that. But now I know he has reason and need to know it.

Knowing the story has changed me. It has given me a greater respect for my history, my elders, and my life. It has given me a brand new perspective on the state of my community. The bitterness, divisiveness, and entitlement that many of my peers feel is laughable when you consider the pride and connectedness that the elders felt in the face of odds my peers and I could scarcely imagine. Those folks put their heads down and made a way. No matter what. And because they did, I live a life that they could only imagine.

I don't know why they chose me to speak. I'm sure glad they did. I can only hope I did them justice. I can only hope I made them proud. If I live 80 years, I can only hope that I do as much for my community as those elders did for me. I've got work to do.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

When did they take down the sign?

When did they take down the sign? You know, the one that said, "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses." When did they take it down? Because for years folks came. They came by the boat load. To find freedom. And their children were born free. Americans. And now, when a new, darker people, a people speaking a new language have come to find that same freedom, suddenly folks who's parents came to find freedom themselves want to turn off the lamp and close the door. But when did they take down the sign?

Sunday, July 18, 2010

What You Wish For

I've always wanted to be a model. Well, I shouldn't say always. For as long as I've been able to get attention from girls by standing around half naked, I've liked the idea of being a model. That started round about the age of 12. Being the attention starved middle child that I was, I would do just about anything to get attention. It didn't take me long to figure out that there was a negative correlation between the amount of clothing I wore and the amount of attention I got. So an occupation where being half naked was the norm seemed like a good idea to me. As an adult, I pretty much let go of the idea of becoming a model. My need for attention was out weighted by my fear of rejection.

But a funny thing happened a few weeks ago. When I saw a modeling contest online in which my only requirement was to send in a few pictures, I saw my opportunity. I'd be able to say I attempted my childhood wish without actually taking much action. I'd also be able to pass off the rejection that I'd undoubtedly receive as a product of the overwhelming response that internet contests get. But then the unexpected happened.

Now, all of the sudden I'm reliving my childhood fantasy and getting all kinds of attention at the same time. The funny thing is, it's not as fun as I imagined it would be. Although I love all of the attention this little contest has gotten me, being looked at isn't always enough anymore. When I was young, having girls looking and staring was the goal. As an adult, I'd much rather be admired for my mind than my body. But it doesn't work that way. A model gets looked at. That's the point. I guess I should be careful what I wish for.

Monday, July 12, 2010

R.I.P.

One of the most interesting things I ever had to do was write my obituary. We did it as an exercise in one of my counseling classes for grad school. It made me think about what I hope to accomplish in life. It made me think about what I'd like for people to know about me. It read: Dr. Rueben Nathaniel Brock died today at the age of 75. Dr. Brock was most known for the string of Grammy winning albums he released in his early years, but most recently he also won a Pulitzer Prize for photography. Brock wrote and directed several films and was active as a model. Dr. Brock was world renowned for his work with children. A doctor of psychology, Brock was a pioneer in behavior modification through the arts. Brock leaves behind a wife, a daughter, and a son. Brock's son, Rueben, will take over as CEO of Brock Ventures, the multi-billion dollar company that handles Brock's entertainment, education, real estate, and philanthropic endeavors. .......................Give me a minute. I'll get there.