My journey home--and now back--is almost complete. I have eaten too much Chinese food. I discovered that a foul concoction called "scotch beer" is just as hellish as the name implies.
I have also tried to write while sitting at a Panera and suffering the yammering of yentas complaining about the difficulties of their stay-at-home rich people suburban housewife manufactured drama. The white new money classes who talk in loud tones at mid-tier dining establishments about first world problems for all to hear is mighty entertaining...for a moment, and only for a moment, before it quickly becomes tedium.
In all, those are mild complaints for what was a nice trip home, one that was subsidized by the readers and friends of We Are Respectable Negroes. I appreciate all of your support and wish you only the best for the new year.
[Some personal sharing and random thoughts for the holiday and new year. Do share your own thoughts too, and treat this as more or less an open thread for these days when we are traveling, distracted, and when posting may be light.]
Returning to a childhood home is a life ritual which allows us to reflect on the promises we made to ourselves (and family) those years ago and the dreams of where our lives would be in that far off nebulous future that came into being too fast and too soon. When I return to my childhood home, I always look through old books, pictures, and papers. This is a scavenger hunt of my recent and mid past life. It is also therapy. I hope that I am not the only person who likes--or is that some time of masochism in practice--discovering essays written in high school, "genius" papers from college, or love letters and mixed tapes made for "the one", the person you knew that you would marry when you were 17?
I was laying in my childhood bed, conducting my end of year life inventory, listening to Coast to Coast AM on the radio, and looking through some of books that are still in the bedroom. As much as we grow and change from our teen years to twenty or so years later, the seeds of who we are--or are running away from being--are likely still present there.
For me, Star Wars books sit next to Baldwin and books on military affairs, with random sci-fi and fantasy mixed in with graphic novels and tomes on sex that hide on the bottom of the pile or hidden in recessed shelving. A random book by Rush Limbaugh and one by Thomas Sowell sits behind an overpriced red, vanity press published book called How to Please a Woman Every Time. Page 35 of the latter contains a gem of knowledge. Seek it out. How did those books find each other? Who knows?
Of course, the comic books which (I believed at the time) would bring me great wealth in the future, are stored in Mylar bags and cheap metal file cabinets thought of as stalwart vaults and redoubts when first purchased. Ghetto Nerd financier dreams of how the autographs of Negro League baseball players and comic books would finance a future education and retirement at 40 are fantasies, gone, exposed. The teenage hope of a carefully cultivated fortune in comic books and sport memorabilia remains, quite literally, priceless and so very warm and comforting.
Home always brings questions.
I grew up near where Eli Whitney invented the cotton gin during the 19th century. He thought his invention would help to end slavery. The opposite occurred. The cotton gin actually helped to make slavery in the South a more profitable and stable institution.
Mikhail Kalishnikov died on December 23rd of this year. He invented the AK-47, what is one of the most devastating implements for killing in human history. The AK-47 and its related family of weapons have been the tools of oppressors, criminals, tyrants, liberation movements, and freedom struggles. A child can use the AK-47 to kill with ease; the AK-47 makes killing a childish thing. The gun is a great social leveler.
Mikhail Kalishnikov was proud of his invention. He possessed no guilt over how it has been used to kill millions of people. He died the day before Christmas Eve.
Driving by Eli Whitney's museum, I wondered, was Mikhail Kalishnikov able to catch a ride with Santa Claus to the afterlife--or whatever fate awaited him? Are inventors "good" or "evil" as judged by how their creations were used?
When I was in elementary school, I was given a collection of folk wisdom and African-American history called "The Black Book" . It still sits under an old television. I believe that this gift was intended as either a cure all or intellectual prophylactic against the type of Eurocentric and white American triumphalist teaching that was the norm in most public schools during the Reagan 80's. Little black and brown boys and girls need and should be taught that they are not bystanders in American history and life.
As an adult, I do in hindsight reflect upon the wisdom of giving an eight-year-old kid a book that contained lynching photography. The photos of black World War One soldiers, cowboys, politicians, artists, and random folks just living in a quotidian way helped to offset the horror. The lesson was taught: black folks are not just victims.We are heroes and regular people too. We are great, petty, winners, losers, eccentrics, lovers, fighters, victims, successful, and mercurial weirdos...just like any other group of people, experiences modulated by our own particular struggles as a people.
Little black and brown boys and girls need those lessons about our history and present, perhaps even more in the post-civil rights era, when empty triumphalism and the fact of a Black President mask the semi-permanence of White Supremacy in American life.
The Black Book contains a photo of a lynching. Next to this horrific image is an excerpt from Langston Hughes' poem "Negro":
I am a Negro:
Black as the night is black,
Black like the depths of my Africa.
I’ve been a slave:
Caesar told me to keep his door-steps clean.
I brushed the boots of Washington.
I’ve been a worker:
Under my hand the pyramids arose.
I made mortar for the Woolworth Building.
I’ve been a singer:
All the way from Africa to Georgia
I carried my sorrow songs.
I made ragtime.
I’ve been a victim:
The Belgians cut off my hands in the Congo.
They lynch me still in Mississippi.
I am a Negro:
Black as the night is black,
Black like the depths of my Africa.
Have White Supremacists such as the reality TV show Duck Dynasty's Phil Robertson ever thought about what Christmas was like for black folks during Jim and Jane Crow, American Apartheid, and the reign of the lynching tree?
Robertson's Jim and Jane Crow dreams is one where white racism was love and benign cruelty. White trash like Phil Robertson is not capable of the leap of empathy necessary to try to understand Black Humanity. Thus, Langston Hughes' poetry is a great antidote for a society and culture in which such casual white supremacy is the norm.
The fact of a Black Santa was likely not a point of controversy during Jim and Jane Crow. African-Americans had no choice but to provide our own, as we struggled on the other side of the colorline.
Our homes are archives. Legendary jazz musician Louis Armstrong for example, was very self-aware of his role in American history and cultural politics. He made thousands of audio recordings for "posterity". His home is now a museum. While there they can listen to Armstrong's recordings of his conversations with friends, efforts to seduce his wife, thoughts on music, race, and politics, as well as other assorted topics.
What would visitors learn if your childhood home (and room) was made into a museum? What things did you discover when visiting your family home on this holiday or another time? Were memories kicked loose that you would have preferred remained buried and hidden in the clutter?
26 comments:
Thank you for the personal reflections. That's always nice.
My childhood home has been erased. We moved around a lot. The one home I grew the most in, I remember waking in the middle of the night and being forced to move. Something had happened between my mom and the homeowner (her formerly good friend) and we moved into her boyfriend's one room apartment. I wouldn't find out until years later just what had happened, and even still I couldn't confirm this.
We moved a few more times. Finally I ran away from my mom and her boyfriend in Texas for personal reasons and moved into my dad and stepmom's house in West Virginia. My dad had just gotten in contact with us after 10 years of absence and his home seemed better suited than living with my stepdad and mom. I was happy for the change from a restrictive suburban highway filled choking consumerist experience to an open quiet rural life (though still restrictive and consumerist in other ways).
I still live near my dad and stepmom. They are good people, though I learned many of my lessons on race from them. My mom and stepdad are good people too, though I resent my stepdad for a number of reasons.
I went to college in our hometown. My wife works at the elementary school in our hometown. My younger sister is still finishing high school. My younger brother is in the army stationed in North Korea with his family. My older brother lives in Texas near our mom with his family.
I suppose my visits are always filled with memories with no material objects to attach them to. I haven't visited Texas in ten years now. My parents there moved from their home we lived in when my brother and I left and live in a small apartment inside of my step dad's auto shop.
Sounds as if you had a merry Christmas. We did too. My wife and I visited her family on the Eve and day of and they are always very generous. The holiday is so much different and magically joyful with our two year old son.
It would definitely show some bad decisions and some regrets.
Of course you can gauge improvements or delapidations by looking @your now self but if anyone is as hard on themselves as I am you'll never be satisfied.
I let this serve as a motivator &/or source of inspiration.
I went to my Grandmothers home with my wife and two daughters. My Grandmother is in the early stages of alzheimers and our Christmas was a strange mixture of joy and sorrow. I grew up with my Grandma mostly, she took me from my mother when my mom struggled with a crack addiction. It was...hard...very hard to see her mind slipping away. Christmas past my Grandmother would have family members lined at her door to eat her exceptional cooking. This year, my wife had to save her from burning herself, and the food was just a step above being edible. But, I ate it like it was the best I ever had. In her home she keeps a toy I got for Christmas years ago as a little boy. It was a Robot named Casey that played cassettes and would feign facial expressions like it was mouthing the recording. My mother got a kick out of playing Richard Pryor tapes on it and watching Casey curse like a sailor. I remember opening that gift at my Grandmothers home, and because she preserved it long after I became too cool to play with it, it has become my rosebud. As my family and I discuss how to go forward in taking care of our beloved matriarch I know Casey will be in my home again one day. And I will stare at it, remembering my Grandma as she once stared at it remembering me.
We have to love ourselves too while also being our most difficult critics. In many ways, I count this year as one of my most difficult in recent memory. Others looking outward in would say look at all the good stuff such as x,y, and z. Smiles and cries. Got to balance them.
Memories don't live like people do my friend. Got to make the holidays special for the little one.
You trying to make a ghetto nerd cry with the story about Richard Pryor tapes and talking robots? Protect your Rosebud and love your mom without regrets or apologies brother. Stay strong. Smile. Laugh.
If you haven't, make time to read Terry Teachout's biography of Louis Armstrong, Pops. People who dismissed him as an Uncle Tom are worse than unobservant, they are ungrateful. He was born in the segregated slums of 1901 New Orleans, rose in his career through the mobbed-up nightclubs of Chicago, and became possibly the most beloved entertainer in the world. Do they think that didn't take any guts? Do they think they didn't benefit from his trailblazing?
Louis Armstrong teamed up with Barbara Streisand in the movie "Hello Dolly". They were fantastic together.
I'll never forget the music.
Chanukah started in November this year. I don't get along with the family since Dad died, but it's getting better.
They're not a designer family, but they're all I have, in a way. Mom over decorates, like a child. She's erased the past in that family home of ours. But outside are Dad's rosebushes, orange trees, tangerine trees.
It's another year, and it's gonna be OK.
thank you.
I wonder where your trolls are on posts like this one. They don't feel it prudent to chime in on their personal lives.
Sho' ya' right Ortez. I bet they looking, like that kid trying to get in on double dutch/jump rope.
Everything with this post too real & from the heart & that right there makes our defense impregnable w/o trying.
I digress.
No water for the gremlins.
The wingnuts are having a field day with this one:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WBXeLNsuAgU
What do you guys think?
Although I am not a fan of Republican politics I found it in bad taste for the "liberal" Obamacrats on MSNBC to poke fun of Romney for adopting a black child. Is it just me?
Re: "Is it just me?"
Nope, I'm with ya.
Some people debate whether liberals or conservatives are the biggest racist. Personally I find this like judging which of two men can urinate the farthest. Not exactly a contest worthy of discussion.
Point is "liberals" are supposed to be, well, liberal. I put liberal in quotes because many Obamacrats are only liberal on social issues and conservative on matters of civil rights (NSA spying) and war (justify it on the grounds the Republicans started it).
I don't see the controversy, to be honest.
So MHP found the black Waldo in the white Romney photo; this is a racial scandal? No, the racial scandal is that Mitt Romney, as high up in the LDS church as he is, has an adopted grandson who only just barely (since 1978) would be allowed in Mormon heaven. And rather than discuss how far we progressed from such intolerance to today (and how much further we have to go towards egalitarian tolerance in the future) we're getting our collective panties in a knot over whether or not its OK to recognize that a black baby in a sea of white babies makes for a humorous photo. NON ISSUE, PEOPLE!
I hate to post a conservative link but this accurately captures the racism involved:
http://www.newsmax.com/Newsfront/romney-race-msnbc-media/2013/12/30/id/544475?ns_mail_uid=36030520&ns_mail_job=1551602_12312013&promo_code=16157-1
Excellent point! One that not many people are aware. I assume that by "liberals" you mean Democrats. Imagine if all people with decent sun protection were to abandon both the Democratic Party as well as the Republican Party and still show up at the polls what a difference that could make in saving America, people of the world and the world.
Good sharing. Tell us more about those trees and bushes. We had a garden growing up. Small. But my mom always talks about it. Along w. the tree we planted in honor of our dog snoopy. It grew to be almost a great tree and then the landlord cut it down. Wow. Just writing that makes me a bit sad. Damn.
I for one am glad that I can now get into LDS heaven. I am hedging my bets and trying to get all the options on the table. I am practical that way--I even put some money in my father's suit pocket at his funeral so that he could pay the boatman a tip to get across the river. Loved him. Like me though, he may need a little help.
They are all debating magic anyway, i.e. this religion business. But, some magic makes more sense than others I guess. Alternatively, or is more congruent and internally coherent. Why would they adopt a black child who is cursed with the sin of Ham and w. skin as black as coal? Mighty interesting. Maybe there is some clause that Romney can only ascend to his rightful role as champion/winner of the battle royale of Rapture for the LDS if he has a black kid around?
I wanted to say that.
This'll turn out one of two ways: don lemon or ron christie.
I don't know why Romney would adopt a black child. In my book, as the Republican nominee for president, Romney must be evil incarnate, however, I cannot get myself to ridicule him for adopting a black child.
I think it was distasteful for MSNBC to bring it up for a joke. ultimately it will be at the expense of the black child. 'one of these things is not like the other'
is it proof that the Romney clan has no racial resentment? I seriously doubt it.
I do think, though, that for people to publicly call attention to Keiran like this could develop some resentment from him toward the larger society.
One other thing I think about this is how their family might bring about the issue of race in his life. Will books by black thinkers in the past and present be off limits? A sort of book banning and limitation on his freedom of thought and expression. He will undoubtedly know that he is black. He may develop the same sort of racial resentment toward his biological parents for not having the means to take care of him. Will he overcome that resentment?
Sorry so late to this discussion.
To the consternation of my sisters and I, our childhood home was sold after I left to go to college. The most I can do, as I have done in the past, is drive by there, park on the street in front of the house, sit and let the reel to reel of memories in my head play back. Memories of walking to the corner store with my grandfather, playing, fighting and getting in trouble with my friends.
The other thing is, that house was in what was known back then as "a ghetto" off H Street NE in DC, which is now a gentrified yuppie paradise. The present day reality of that neighborhood is so far removed from what it was when it was 99.999% black as to be fantastic if we were to try back then to envision it as it is today; it would be like trying to envision what the effects of electricity would be like in a fourth dimensional world.
Christmas for us back then was magical. Every year we'd put up the silver tree, put the same ornaments on, and string up the same lights in the window. Not much changed. Since the house belonged to my grandfather, family from far and wide would come to visit, and we'd get to see cousins, aunts and uncles once again. It was a "soul" Christmas, as my mother would blow the dust off the Christmas Albums of Ray Charles, Temptations and Four Tops, Gladys Knight and many others.
I don't dare sit outside the old house at Christmas, as the memories would bring the kind of tears that would make it hard to leave. The new, gentrified neighbors wouldn't possibly be able to understand what it once was, nor appreciate how it was, in many ways, better.
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