two moments from yesterday: tears on Jesse Jackson's face, tears in the eyes of the black CNN commentator. reminding me of what I'll never know, costs beyond any mortals reckoning, all simplified to the ease with which a dignified man walked across an open air stage to greet his - and perhaps - our destiny...
when I was a child, just awakening to the greater world around me - say around what you-all call middle school - a new priest came to our town. His name was Malcolm Boyd, and for a few strange years he was our pastor. He was a Jew who had run an agency in Hollywood; his best clients were Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. and boy, I had known then what I know now I would have so asked him questions!! like how did they ever hook up? He converted, and then did a few things that blasted some wonderous cracks in the small town Our Town world around me. He wrote a book: "Are you Running with me, Jesus?" - and thereby effectively coming out to the clergy, the community, and best of all (sic) my mom! Lucky homophobe that she is, the next three priests she got were also gay. She finally struck gold late in life, and is now the happy parishioner of a womanizer.
Anyway, Fr. Boyd also created "the Golden Grape" which was a jazz/heroin club supposedly intended to awaken college students to the life of Christ, but really was a place where he could cool off and hang with a few beatniks. Eventually the church and town caught wise, and the place was closed down. which was fine, because by then Fr. Boyd had become a Freedom Rider. From then on we heard things, read things, saw images of things that the rest of our state (Colorado) knew little of.
As it happened, I started life by the accident of being born in Mississippi while my dad was working in the Corps of Engineers (he actually helped build lake Ponchitrain and the levees, which he said were designed to rupture into what later became the 9th ward - because no one was supposed to be allowed to build there). So my folks had friends and even a little family in that part of the world, and the Civil Rights movement was a little more real to us, and made for some very difficult family gatherings.
All that is just to say, there are no real words to express the truth and beauty of yesterday's national election; nor the tragedy of so many states blindly embracing a different prejudice with an almost lustful hunger to be 'safe' from 'those people'. It's almost as though Americans can't think! oh wait, mostly 'they' can't, and those of us that do so despise those 'other others' that we only are hurt by them, we do not unite to not only break their stranglehold on this would-be democracy but we are far to lazy to anticipate their next move. Thus 'we' are always a day behind 'they' until some hero arises to point out that Change can be ours if only we empower a person, however little known, with the opportunity to lead. may those leaders be found in Florida, California, and all the other 23 states. and soon.
when I was a child, just awakening to the greater world around me - say around what you-all call middle school - a new priest came to our town. His name was Malcolm Boyd, and for a few strange years he was our pastor. He was a Jew who had run an agency in Hollywood; his best clients were Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. and boy, I had known then what I know now I would have so asked him questions!! like how did they ever hook up? He converted, and then did a few things that blasted some wonderous cracks in the small town Our Town world around me. He wrote a book: "Are you Running with me, Jesus?" - and thereby effectively coming out to the clergy, the community, and best of all (sic) my mom! Lucky homophobe that she is, the next three priests she got were also gay. She finally struck gold late in life, and is now the happy parishioner of a womanizer.
Anyway, Fr. Boyd also created "the Golden Grape" which was a jazz/heroin club supposedly intended to awaken college students to the life of Christ, but really was a place where he could cool off and hang with a few beatniks. Eventually the church and town caught wise, and the place was closed down. which was fine, because by then Fr. Boyd had become a Freedom Rider. From then on we heard things, read things, saw images of things that the rest of our state (Colorado) knew little of.
As it happened, I started life by the accident of being born in Mississippi while my dad was working in the Corps of Engineers (he actually helped build lake Ponchitrain and the levees, which he said were designed to rupture into what later became the 9th ward - because no one was supposed to be allowed to build there). So my folks had friends and even a little family in that part of the world, and the Civil Rights movement was a little more real to us, and made for some very difficult family gatherings.
All that is just to say, there are no real words to express the truth and beauty of yesterday's national election; nor the tragedy of so many states blindly embracing a different prejudice with an almost lustful hunger to be 'safe' from 'those people'. It's almost as though Americans can't think! oh wait, mostly 'they' can't, and those of us that do so despise those 'other others' that we only are hurt by them, we do not unite to not only break their stranglehold on this would-be democracy but we are far to lazy to anticipate their next move. Thus 'we' are always a day behind 'they' until some hero arises to point out that Change can be ours if only we empower a person, however little known, with the opportunity to lead. may those leaders be found in Florida, California, and all the other 23 states. and soon.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
anarchie:
Thank you, you are very right about marriage. It's certainly a learning process.
jena:
Never heard of this one.