Powerful Words, Freedom and This Past Week

I have a weakness for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I know I am not alone in this. We are almost at the 50 year mark of his death, but his words still make me want to be a better person. To do more. To make change. To be part of the solution. To speak out. To act.

I have a weakness for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I know I am not alone in this. We are almost at the 50 year mark of his death, but his words still make me want to be a better person. To do more. To make change. To be part of the solution. To speak out. To act.

This morning, I attended a breakfast at the University of Missouri – Kansas City. It is named “The Freedom Breakfast”, and for the last 23 years it has not only celebrated the achievements of Dr. King but it has fully recognized the African-American leaders in our city who have made a difference in the quality of life – not only at the university but in the city as a whole. Today, however, it was the words of Chancellor Leo Morton that riveted me to my chair. He alluded to the fact that life is different now than it was in the early ’60’s. Sure, it’s better, he stated, bit it’s more difficult as well. There may no longer be big huge signs that say “Whites Only” or “No Blacks”, but sometimes, sometimes the meaning is still hanging in the air. Elusive. Secretive. Sneaky.

Words are powerful things. I never met Dr. King, but his words still sing through time. He and Abraham Lincoln may be the greatest speech writers of all time. Hands down. I can’t really walk through the Lincoln Memorial without crying. President Lincoln just holds on to the arms of his chair like he’s about to launch out of it to hand me a tissue. I wasn’t too far down the Freedom Trail in Alabama this summer when I had to pull the car over. Some fool had put a portion of a speech of Dr. King’s on a billboard. They should know that driving and crying are dangerous partners.

At the breakfast this morning, we were asked to sing along to the Black National Anthem. I knew the words without reading the program. Honestly, I never really knew this was the Black National Anthem. I knew it as a song you sing at rallies for equal rights, equal pay, fair labor practices and human rights. Today the words struck me as those that could have been sung at the “commitment ceremony” I attended this past weekend for friends who achieved the blessing of their church after 22 years together. These friends are not protected by the laws that secure my husband and me in marriage, nor are they officially allowed to use the word “married” to describe themselves, but the 3-minute ovation they received would and should marry anyone.

I see a great and continuing need for action and change. I will be a part of it. I have to be. And not just because Dr. King said, “We are not makers of history, we are made by history.”

Sing along with me now:

Lift every voice and sing, ’til Earth and Heaven ring, ring with the harmonies of liberty;
 
Let our rejoicing rise, high at the listening skies, let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
 
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us, sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
 
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun, let us march on ’til victory is won.

 

Sloane

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Packing It All Away

I was packing the last two boxes of holiday decorations. I save the packing of the ornaments for last. They usually come off the trees on a Sunday, migrate to the dining room table for removal of the hooks, and, a few days later, I start putting them back into the tissue paper they hailed from just a month and a half before.

I was packing the last two boxes of holiday decorations. I save the packing of the ornaments for last. They usually come off the trees on a Sunday, migrate to the dining room table for removal of the hooks, and, a few days later, I start putting them back into the tissue paper they hailed from just a month and a half before.

I was putting the finishing layers – three per box – into both boxes at once and said to my husband and son, “If I dropped dead tomorrow, you guys would never open these again, would you?” They were only one room away, clicking busily on their computers, when the dove-tailed answers hit. “No.” Maybe one of them mumbled, “Probably not.”

These boxes hold memories. When I unpack them right after Thanksgiving, they rest on the dining room table – out of their protective wraps – while I stare at them and repair unglued joints. I remember tiny hands that made some, and this year I revisited memories of a long gone sister and the two things I have that she made as a child. I walk leisurely down memory lane during the busiest month of my year.

A few days later, when the three of us go to hang them all, I take a few minutes to point out several to my son that have real significance – my grandmother’s stitches, my great-aunt’s crochet work, his grandfather’s paint strokes, and his aunt’s ability with clay. I try not to overwhelm and have learned that four shout outs one night a year is the maximum for possible retention.

 

I don’t really know if the boxes would ever be opened by the two men I live with. A woman would open them if left in her care. She would wait a year. Or more. Then, one cold morning, she would brace herself with a box of tissues and her courage and rip those suckers open. She would visit each piece like a tongue lingers on tooth pain. Delicately, so as not to wince, moan or cry out.

I packed it all away. Again. The entire process is cathartic to me. I have many people to visit with at my dining table all year long at a myriad of events, celebrations and holidays. But the places and the people I can’t have back come delicately to me in December in the form of pinecones, angels, dogs, and snowmen. I touch them all. Hang them up to breathe. Live with them. Then, I let them go.

Sloane

p.s. Full disclosure: This is not our tree featured with my son and me in the photo. This tree graces the lobby at The Rep every year during the seasonal run of “A Christmas Carol”. We visit it.

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Copyright Casey Simmons and S. Sloane Simmons. People who steal other people's words & thoughts are asshats. Don't be an asshat.