Roy's Miracle

Recently I was invited by my friend Sheila to speak at her husband Roy's graduation." Roy's the only graduate and it'll just be a small group of family and friends," she said.  "I know it's not what you're used to, but it would really mean a lot to us." I was already over scheduled, but everything else would have to wait because it's not everyday that I get to witness a miracle.

It all began in the late 1950s when Roy was unable to obtain his high school diploma. Growing up in the rural south in the late 1950s taught African Americans many life lessons, but the lessons Roy had to learn were bitterly hard. He fled his home at a young age in order to seek a better life, and a better life he did find. One that included a wife, Sheila, who loved and supported him, seven beautiful children, and more family and friends than he could have ever imagined. Although he knew that God had protected him and blessed him all of these years, there was still something missing:  his high school diploma.

Over forty years later Sheila began to make his dreams come true. Together they found an online program that would allow him to earn an actual high school diploma and not a GED. In the evenings after work, he would study and his entire family encouraged him during those times when he thought he could not go on.

It was only at the end of this story that I entered the picture and I played such a small part, but it touched me in a big way. I got to see first hand what faith, love and courage were all about.

Before the ceremony Roy was insistent that we practice, so I slowly donned my full academic regalia and waited for instructions. Sheila pressed a button and Pomp and Circumstance played from mini-speakers connected to her phone. Before marching around the small room, Roy said apologetically "I know you've done this a million times before." I listened to him and smiled and followed Sheila who had assumed the role of Commencement Marshal. In my peripheral vision I saw Roy wiping tears from his eyes as he took it all on.

Later when I got up to speak I was able to look into the faces of those who came to share this moment with Roy and Sheila and I saw how proud they were of him, but more importantly I saw how proud he was of himself. Not only was he about to receive his diploma forty-plus years after he should have received it; he was graduating with honors (he had earned a 3.6 grade point average)!

I work on a university campus and take for granted the degrees on my wall and the cap and gown that I have to wear twice a year during commencement. I barely even remember my own graduations-and I did it three times for three different degrees, but Roy's ceremony will stay with me forever as a cherished memory. I was humbled because I've taken my own experiences for granted and had failed to pay attention to how important every achievement was. Roy had accomplished something amazing and I wanted to pay attention this time. I wanted to honor him for never giving up on himself even when others had written him off. I wanted to bear witness to the love that Sheila had that made her put everything else on hold to help him achieve his dream, and  I wanted to acknowledge that something amazing had taken place.

After I spoke I sat down trying hard to fight back the tears. Then Sheila got up, this time as a devoted wife and not the person in charge, and showed the audience the class ring that she was able to design after learning that the high school Roy would have graduated from had closed many years ago and she explained the significance of the color of his cap and gown. A benediction was given and the ceremony was over.

But Roy's life was just beginning. He had achieved the one thing he wanted more than anything else and it was miraculous!

Choose Whether to Wither or to Grow

What would happen if for just one day we were to let the world see how incredible we really are? Would others shrink from our radiance and withdraw into their own chrysalis of insecurity and fear? Or would they lean into our brilliance the way flowers reach for the sun? Would our magnificence radiate for all to see?
It makes me wonder what it is about this human pilgrimage that makes us believe that this heavy suit of flesh must dull our experience? We beat ourselves down until we are merely an empty shell. We are spiritual beings and we are made in the image of the divine. Shouldn't that in itself be cause to celebrate?
I, for one, am tired of playing small. I've lost patience with trying to position myself just so in order not to offend. 
The truth is I'm ready to offend. I want to shake things up and push up against the edges. That is, after all, how the caterpillar becomes a butterfly. It's not my job to make people comfortable and I no longer assume that responsibility. Like the caterpillar, if I stay in this small, safe place I will eventually wither and die. Just as the butterfly was always within the caterpillar, my brilliance is deep within me yearning to come forward and so is yours.
It took a woman much younger than I (who is wise beyond her few years) to remind me that I have two choices: to wither or to grow. I choose to grow because I realize that she and so many others are looking to me to be all that I can be so that they know that it is safe for them to be who they are destined to be. 
As I write this I wonder who in your life is watching you play small? Who is it who knows all that you are capable of becoming yet watches you choose to be less than you really are? I know in my life it's Z and many others.
I have no idea whether or not it is painful for the caterpillar to molt into a butterfly, but I do know that it has been a painful process for me to cast aside other's opinions of me and feel comfortable being who I am without apologies. I also know that an important stage of this transformative process requires the caterpillar to completely dissolve away. All of its old self must disappear before the new self can emerge. 
That is what I think holds so many of us back. We hold onto things that are dead or are in the process of dying when we must release them in order to grow. I have not metamorphosed yet, but I am growing and I am learning to be okay with letting go and letting the process happen. I now understand that I don't have to do anything. I just have to be. And in this being-ness I become... 

I Don't Eat Shit

Why do people keep giving me their shit to eat and then call me ungrateful when I tell them that I don't eat shit?
They serve it up on beautiful plates and expect me not to notice that what they've given me is not what I've asked for? The flowers on the table and the soft music playing in the background do not disguise what's actually being offered. I'm too old to pretend that I don't notice the smell.

You see when I was younger, I was content with make believe. I enjoyed taking mud from the yard and pretending it was a pie. It was fun draping a towel around my shoulders and pretending I was  Wonder Woman. But I'm much too old for that now.

Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm just growing cantankerous as I age because I'm tired of half-baked, mammy-made, broke down, second-hand versions of the truth. I'm just sick of sorry.

More than that, I'm tired of being told that my expectations are too high and that there is something wrong with wanting. It is not that I lack gratitude because I appreciate all that I have, but I need for the charade to stop.
There's no need to promise me the moon if you don't own real estate there.
Please don't share a golden dream with me if when I hold it to the light I see where the color is chipping off.

Just tell me the truth. Tell me what you can do. Nothing more, nothing less. Let me know your limits and your capabilities. Stop pretending like you can fly because when I run along beside you I'm going to expect you to soar. Long ago I learned how to fly and if you were honest with me, I would spread my wings and carry you along, too.

I learned so much from eating dirt and pretending like I was Wonder Woman.
I learned that dirt isn't shit although sometimes it looks the same.
And I learned that it wasn't Wonder Woman's cape that made her a superhero, it was her Lasso of Truth. Don't you remember that anyone held by the Lasso had to tell the absolute truth?

That's what I want.
To wrap you in my Lasso of Truth and hear for once what you can really do.
Not what you would do if "this were that" or if somehow things were different.
I want to sit at the table and if it is shit let's not pretend it's anything but that. Instead of eating it, let's come up with a plan on how to turn it into what we desire and then we can feast upon that.

Following My Own North Star

Like so many women I know where I want to go, but the path that leads there is unfamiliar. As I look at all of my options spread before me like cards on a dealers table, I'm almost afraid to choose one because of the consequences of choosing wrongly. There are just no easy answers, so sometimes I don't bother asking the questions. What's comforting is that I know I am not alone in this dilemma because all too frequently I hear other women express the same concerns.

Although the sky appears dark, I can see my North Star twinkling if I focus and look in the right direction. I know if I gaze upon it long enough the way will become clear to me. The challenge, however, is that in order to follow where my North Star leads, I must leave all that I know behind. 

Although there may be things I don't like about where I am, it is familiar. I know the location, the players, and the game. What will happen when I set out on the new adventure and it leads me to perilous places? Do I have what it takes to wade through murky waters and cross large expanses of barren land? Will I know how to communicate with others who seemingly speak an unknown tongue and will they embrace me although I am a foreigner?

What happens if the world is really flat and I fall off? Will all of the people who warned me that my dreams were too big cluck their teeth and whisper behind my back "that's what happens to women who forget their place."

Right now I can only gaze up at the night sky and imagine the worlds that await me. One day soon I will walk naked into the night toward my shining star. When it’s time to travel, I must listen carefully to the wind for the whispered directions from those who’ve set out on the journey before me. Surely they will tell me what lies ahead. And when I arrive at the place where my North Star leads, I will lay stones to commemorate the lessons I’ve learned along the way and the parts of my self that needed to die. Then I will begin sending word back to the women who are waiting to follow. 

All My Ex's Live in Texas (Well, Actually Indiana But That Didn't Rhyme)

All my ex’s live in Texas

And Texas is the place I’d dearly love to be

But all my ex’s live in Texas

Therefore I reside in Tennessee

For the past few days my daughter has been walking through the house singing the George Strait country hit "All My Ex's Live in Texas." I think it might be because there is an AT&T commercial currently airing on TV featuring that song, but whatever the reason it has me thinking about my ex's. Although they are not living in Texas, they are out there somewhere and they are testament that I had to kiss a few toads before I found a prince.

Probably the funniest story that I have about an ex boyfriend is the one who went to the store and bought things for breakfast-a breakfast that he expected me to cook-and after we got into an argument, he took the bacon out my refrigerator presumably to have another woman cook it!

And then there was the ex who sold all of my stuff so he could get high, which was not funny at all. I was so naive that I didn't even realize he was using drugs. When I think about him, I realize how narrowly I escaped a bullet. He was tall and handsome and promised me the world, but thankfully I got away from him when I could. A handsome face and a sexy body aren’t worth spending a life in misery.

Oh, and there was the model who spent more time in the mirror than I did. He had the IQ of a pencil, but he was pretty to look at.  As long as we didn’t talk much things were good. I do have to admit he had an annoying habit of mentioning all of the women who were in love with him. Not! As far as I was concerned they could have him. Maybe they could help him moisturize, hi-light and wax. Maybe they could also help him get his GED because he was one french fry short of a Happy Meal.

Don’t get me wrong, there were some nice guys through the years but they became ex’s for a reason. Should our paths cross again I would  genuinely be happy to see them and hear about the direction their lives have taken, but I would also be happy to say goodbye knowing that we now live thousands of miles apart.

"What's Up My Niggah? Oh My God That's So Ghetto!"

For the past few months my daughter has been embroiled in a cyber war with a group of girls who she used to cheer with. The drama began when my daughter was given an award at the Varsity Cheer Banquet that stated she would be the most likely to "convert the team into ghetto girls..." This probably could have been ignored if these same girls had not spent all season mocking everything that my daughter and the other African American cheerleader said. I ignored the times my daughter came home in tears because she couldn't make them understand that they made her feel different and apart from the group. I thought things would get better.

I have moved my daughter to a new school and explained to her what ignorance really is, yet it continues-as recently as today.

What troubles me the most is that these young ladies are unable to see how hurtful their words are. They actually think it is okay to make the word ghetto synonymous with African American culture and in the past they they haven't seen anything wrong with saying "What's up my niggah?"

It really troubles me that these young women break their necks to "get with" black athletes, but they snub their noses at the beautiful black girls who are these boys' sisters. They ask insulting questions like: "why is your hair like that?" and "you CAN'T be all black!" As if there is only one way for blacks to be.

Perhaps what irks me the most is that there continue to be people in the African American community who find this acceptable. They throw around "my niggah this" and "my niggah that" without understanding that we're nobody's niggers. Have we forgotten how hurtful this word is? What made us forget that black men would have their testicles cut and stuffed down their throats  before being tied up to the highest tree? Did they forget the shame that came with being called "niggah bitch" because you were born a Negro female?

 What's absolutely ignorant is that people say "well we mean  it affectionately when we call each other niggah." There was, is, and never can be anything affectionate about a word filled with so much hate. EVER.

And the word ghetto is NOT synonymous with Black. As a matter of fact, during the Holocaust Jews were rounded up and forced to live in ghettos. So when I see a young Jewish girl talking on her cell phone or doing something else that Jewish teenagers do should I say "That's so Ghetto." I think not.

What's ironic is that my daughter has never lived in the ghetto. My husband and I earned advanced degrees so that we could maximize our earning potential. We chose neighborhoods that were diverse so our children could learn about cultures. As a matter of fact the home we bought when our children were toddlers was a mini-United Nations. We had a Vietnamese family across the street, a white family to the left of us, a Korean family to the right, an Indian family two doors down, and a Middle Eastern Jewish family behind us. It was wonderful to watch the children grow up together and embrace their differences.

I am blessed by the differences of the people who I have met throughout my life. I am thankful for my first gay friend who loved me when I didn't love myself. He thought I was beautiful just the way I was. I am thankful for my friends of different faiths who have taught me that God is bigger than I was taught to believe. I am thankful for my White friends who have shown me that we humans are more alike than different.

I truly feel sorry for these young ladies because they don't seem to have this. At least not yet. And I fear that it may be too late before they realize that words are very, very powerful and that the childhood song "sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt" was absolutely a lie. Words don't hurt. They can destroy.

Surviving the Rip Currents in Life

“Enlightenment for a wave is the moment that wave realizes that it is water. At that moment, all fear of death disappears.“

                                                                        --Thich Nhat Hanh

With the grace of God I have accomplished a great deal in life, but when I tell my story I prefer to focus on the parts where I struggled. To me those moments when I felt  that I would forever be lost at sea can be a light house to another person. I truly believe it was through those difficult times that I realized exactly what I was made of. 

There was a time in my youth when I believed that I was unwanted. I thought my birth was a mistake and everywhere I looked I saw evidence to support that. Since my father only made three appearances in my life: at my conception, just after my birth and then again on my seventh birthday, I believed that I was unnecessary, irrelevant, immaterial.  Somehow I believed that the whole world would be better off without me and that I was taking up space that was needed by someone who was worth so much more than me.  Whenever someone would give me a compliment I would question the motive: Why did he say I was pretty? What did he want from me? She likes my shoes. Was that a veiled insult?

What’s ironic is that I found myself attracted to people who did not value me. People who put their needs before my own and who made me apologize whenever I dared utter that I needed more.  Often I contemplated death, actually welcomed it because I thought it would be a way out. But it was only when I realized that death wasn’t a promise. It is life that is the promise, that I surrendered.

Like the wave, I realized that I had originated from the very thing that I was about to crash into. I was made of something so much larger than me and although I didn’t understand it, it just felt right in my Spirit. But this realization didn’t come easy. There were currents along the way that hurled me so far away from where I wanted to be that I had no way of knowing how to cope with the heartaches and disappointments. My life felt like one big tsunami and the more things happened the more it confirmed that I was a mistake. There were unhealthy relationships, illnesses, deaths, rejections, disappointments and despair. I didn’t want to live, but I was too afraid to die.

Many of you who are familiar with my writing or who have heard me speak before know that as a child I nearly drowned. That experience, along with another one here on the World’s Most Famous Beach, taught me a lesson that has kept me a float all the days of my life: how to survive when caught in a current.

Funny how we are out in the waters of life enjoying the gentle rhythm when we feel something grab hold of us and we realize we are being pulled away from where we want to be. Instinctively we want to fight. We want to thrash against the current in order to return to the shore. When we get the diagnosis, when we lose the baby, when we learn that it was all a lie, when the promise wasn’t what we expected it to be and we’re left trying to make sense of it all we want to fight. We wear ourselves out fighting back in our own strength. We panic when we realize we're facing something that is pulling us away from where we think we ought to be.

Anyone who lives near the ocean knows that the last thing we should do when caught in a rip current is panic. We must relax and conserve our energy so that when it passes we can swim back to the shore. You see rip currents will never pull us under, only away from where we think we're supposed to be.  When we fight and try to swim against a rip current,  we are pulled out to the deep and we are too exhausted to make our way back. You see rip currents are not insurmountable and eventually we will get to the end if it and  can make our way back. Unfortunately sometimes we are so focused on where we want to be that we fight where the current is trying to take us. It may just be slightly up shore, but it’s a new destination yet we resist.
Perhaps what is so frustrating is that when we come crawling out of the water, we try to hurry and clean up in order to conceal what we've just experienced instead of warning others and sharing our triumphant stories.