Teach. Preach. Model love in the face of so much ugliness.
When 9/11 happened, I volunteered with the local chapter of the Red Cross. My reasoning was that I didn't want my nephew to come to me at some point in the future and ask what I did when America was under attack. I was 38 at the time and too old and out of shape to consider a military career. Being a wimp didn't help. either.
Volunteer orientation was packed and offered some unintentonally funny moments. The Red Cross Wonk Lady who addressed us at first looked around the room and said something she'd obviously been saying over and over for the past two weeks:
"I am glad everyone wants to help and we all feel a lot of things about the attack on The World Trade Center. You need to know that we will not be sending volunteers to New York. They have enough people who are trained to handle this kind of emergency. You will be working in the Nashville area, most likely on blood drives."
Around the room, there were a few people groaning. Helping at home was fine with me. I'd evolved into a to-the-bone homebody, so I was happy to not go to New York.
Red Cross Wonk Lady continued:
"I'm sorry if that is disappointing news to some of you. If you don't think this a fit, you can go with no judgement from us."
At that point, a Lithe Young Thing wearing a gauzy shift stood up and waved her hand.
"Excuse me." She took a deep breath and looked mournfully at Red Cross Wonk Lady. "I HAVE to go to New York! just have to!"
Red Cross Wonk Lady's lips parted. We all saw she was forming the question we were asking ourselves. Before she could say it, the Lithe Young Thing continued, this time louder and with more emphasis:
"YOU HAVE TO SEND ME TO NEW YORK!" Pause. "I'm an actress!"
Red Cross Wonk Lady did not respond. She simply looked through the Lithe Young Thing and continued with her presentation. Lithe Young Thing stood there, stunned that her passion did not move them to load her precious self on a plane full of artists, dancers, and playwrights hellbent on saving New York. There's a part of me that is hoping she's looking back on this and cringing and another, kinder part of my id that hopes she's forgotten this.
I bring this up because it's a good bet there are people begging anyone who will listen to send them to Minneapolis. * You know, it is just as meaningful to let Minneapolis know we stand with them here in Nashville. It is also meaningful to both literally and figuratively carry water for the next generation. This may sound weird coming from someone who grew up in a white suburban family, but my parents taught me about The Black Panthers. They took me to Centennial Park to see Africanist and Latin drum ensembles. The taught me about my own family and our sometimes problematic forebears. Slave owners and Christian fundie abolitionists sometimes shared branches of my family tree. A cousin by marriage used his fame to work to make East Tennessee literate. (Cousin Alvin, you would have adored Miz Dolly!)**
There is something just as sacred and serves as much of an act of social justice to pass on a love of learning and a desire to continue our traditions to our children. We need to act as guardians of our language, our stories, our history, our music. our food, our art, our crafts, our gestures, our dance, our beliefs...all of it is there for us to learn from. We need to ask Auntie about that special sweet potto pie, or what it was like when people can home from the war, who ate squirrel brains and eggs and how mean was that old horse in the back forty? and how neighbors came to each other's aid. We can't afford to lose any of this. What we sometimes forget is those stories were sometimes useful teaching tools. It's all important and it is its own form of resistance in a world where education is being pithed of its importance. Nurturing creation is also an act of caring.
Resistance can be found in acts that foment peace and deeds that are done in love.
*A few years later, I did travel coordination for Katrina and Rita relief. Gurl, I got stories!
**When I took a job working at an inpatient psychiatric trauma unit, my mother told me I was continuing a grand family tradition of working with the certifiable. My great-great-great grandfather rode with General Hood, an uncle served under Patton, and there I was working in a psych unit.
When 9/11 happened, I volunteered with the local chapter of the Red Cross. My reasoning was that I didn't want my nephew to come to me at some point in the future and ask what I did when America was under attack. I was 38 at the time and too old and out of shape to consider a military career. Being a wimp didn't help. either.
Volunteer orientation was packed and offered some unintentonally funny moments. The Red Cross Wonk Lady who addressed us at first looked around the room and said something she'd obviously been saying over and over for the past two weeks:
"I am glad everyone wants to help and we all feel a lot of things about the attack on The World Trade Center. You need to know that we will not be sending volunteers to New York. They have enough people who are trained to handle this kind of emergency. You will be working in the Nashville area, most likely on blood drives."
Around the room, there were a few people groaning. Helping at home was fine with me. I'd evolved into a to-the-bone homebody, so I was happy to not go to New York.
Red Cross Wonk Lady continued:
"I'm sorry if that is disappointing news to some of you. If you don't think this a fit, you can go with no judgement from us."
At that point, a Lithe Young Thing wearing a gauzy shift stood up and waved her hand.
"Excuse me." She took a deep breath and looked mournfully at Red Cross Wonk Lady. "I HAVE to go to New York! just have to!"
Red Cross Wonk Lady's lips parted. We all saw she was forming the question we were asking ourselves. Before she could say it, the Lithe Young Thing continued, this time louder and with more emphasis:
"YOU HAVE TO SEND ME TO NEW YORK!" Pause. "I'm an actress!"
Red Cross Wonk Lady did not respond. She simply looked through the Lithe Young Thing and continued with her presentation. Lithe Young Thing stood there, stunned that her passion did not move them to load her precious self on a plane full of artists, dancers, and playwrights hellbent on saving New York. There's a part of me that is hoping she's looking back on this and cringing and another, kinder part of my id that hopes she's forgotten this.
I bring this up because it's a good bet there are people begging anyone who will listen to send them to Minneapolis. * You know, it is just as meaningful to let Minneapolis know we stand with them here in Nashville. It is also meaningful to both literally and figuratively carry water for the next generation. This may sound weird coming from someone who grew up in a white suburban family, but my parents taught me about The Black Panthers. They took me to Centennial Park to see Africanist and Latin drum ensembles. The taught me about my own family and our sometimes problematic forebears. Slave owners and Christian fundie abolitionists sometimes shared branches of my family tree. A cousin by marriage used his fame to work to make East Tennessee literate. (Cousin Alvin, you would have adored Miz Dolly!)**
There is something just as sacred and serves as much of an act of social justice to pass on a love of learning and a desire to continue our traditions to our children. We need to act as guardians of our language, our stories, our history, our music. our food, our art, our crafts, our gestures, our dance, our beliefs...all of it is there for us to learn from. We need to ask Auntie about that special sweet potto pie, or what it was like when people can home from the war, who ate squirrel brains and eggs and how mean was that old horse in the back forty? and how neighbors came to each other's aid. We can't afford to lose any of this. What we sometimes forget is those stories were sometimes useful teaching tools. It's all important and it is its own form of resistance in a world where education is being pithed of its importance. Nurturing creation is also an act of caring.
Resistance can be found in acts that foment peace and deeds that are done in love.
*A few years later, I did travel coordination for Katrina and Rita relief. Gurl, I got stories!
**When I took a job working at an inpatient psychiatric trauma unit, my mother told me I was continuing a grand family tradition of working with the certifiable. My great-great-great grandfather rode with General Hood, an uncle served under Patton, and there I was working in a psych unit.
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