I spent the day in Atlanta yesterday. I was in and around the Little Five Points area. There was the usual representation of all the diverse character types that you see in the city, from the Gothic scene type kids, to the moms from the suburbs like me.
It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and the temperature was just right. The day was an overall great day. There was one thing that I saw, however, that bothered me immensely. It was the large number of people that appeared to be homeless.
The number seemed much higher than I am use to seeing when I'm in Atlanta. They seemed to be everywhere that I looked. Some of them were walking the streets and pushing carts and mumbling quietly to themselves. Some were standing silently, as if lost in thought, and others were in the streets shouting, and spreading the word. whether it was God's word or their own I couldn't be sure.
I know that many people see them and say things like, "it's their own fault", "they should get a job", or "they don't want help" and other comments like these.
Maybe the people who say these things believe them. Maybe it makes them feel better to believe them, or maybe on some level they are true. I don't know, but I do know that I can't just use an off the cuff comment such as these to dismiss these people from my mind. For whatever reason their images stay with me.
I do small things to try and help homeless people when I see them. I have given them money and food, I have taken blankets to a homeless man I found living in Oakland Cemetery, and I once nearly lost an arm trying to get my coat off and out the window to give it to a homeless women while I was in a moving vehicle.
The things I've done are so small and they do little to ease my mind as far as worrying about the lives of these people.
When I look at them I can't help but wonder what their story is. I know that some stories are those of addiction, abuse, or mental health issues, and these are terrible, but I'm sure that some are even more heartbreaking than that.
when I see them I am always drawn to their eyes. Maybe it's my search for their story that leads me there, I'm not really sure. I have seen a sadness and pure sorrow in some of them that is so deep it comes so close to tangible it brings an ache to my heart.
I have seen a hollow emptiness in some of their eyes that seems to reach their souls and speaks of such hard times and experiences they are beyond being voiced or even thought about.
I can't help but think about the fact that these people were someones babies, who at one time were hopefully, held, rocked and loved. They were small children who ran and laughed and played. They were just led down a different path than most of us at some point along the way.
There's not really very much that I can do to change the plight of these people, but when I see one of them,"I can hear my grandmother in my ear saying "there but by the grace of God go I".
Remembering these words will keep me doing little things for the homeless ones as I come into contact with them, and I will pray for their safety and happier endings to their stories.
Whether their stories change or stay the same, I was raised to believe that when we cross Jordan "a king and a beggar on it's shore will stand side by side". This reminds me that when it's all said and done our "stories" might not be all that different.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
"Tomorrow Really Doesn't Always Come"
There are many times when I actually say out loud at work that I love my job. I work with special needs students, on the high school level. It gets difficult on many days, but I have never gone home wishing that I did another type of work.
The truth is, I just feel as if it's what I'm suppose to do. I have served many disabilities in the eleven years that I've been at the school where I am. As a matter of fact, I believe I have served just about every disability that the County I work in serves.
There is one downfall to the job I have, and that is that sometimes the students don't live very long lives. I have been to more than a couple of funerals for some very precious young people, who had fought the fight long enough.
I have had one of these students in particular on my mind this month. Not only because this will be the first Christmas that his parents have had to spend without him, but because his birthday was December 4Th.
He was in my class the entire time he was in high school and I grew to love him deeply. He was such a character. It never mattered what was going on, he always wanted to tell you how to do things, and on occasion with his advice came a little attitude.
When the attitude would present itself, he would be told by either myself, or the other woman that I worked with, to take himself outside the classroom into the hall. He would inevitably ask "how long do I have to stay outside?", at which point we would reply, "until your attitude gets better, or Jesus comes, that works for us either way".
He had a girlfriend that was in my class the entire time that he was. They had been friends since elementary school and he would break up with her on and off all the time, keeping her in tears. Their relationship came with all of the usual high school drama, and I believe they loved each other very much.
This young man went through so much while he was here. There was always one surgery after the other, for one thing or the other. The last surgery he had was to amputate both of his legs. His life was full of adversity to say the least.
He called me several times from the hospital and we would talk about any and everything he could think of, and I went to visit him there as well.
I always try to do all that I can for all of the students that I come in contact with, when I am given the chance. I have been known to follow them after graduation, just to make sure that they are doing okay. I have taken them to dinner, gone to graduations in other counties, mailed them gifts, made Easter baskets, delivered them to their homes, and checked on them with phone calls, just to list a few things.
One Saturday night last March, I was given the chance to do something really big for one of them. I got a call from the young man's mother that I have been telling you about. When I answered the phone, she said "Arlene, if you want to see him, you'd better come on over. I don't think he'll be here long." I told her that I would be there as soon as I could on Sunday, but that I couldn't come right then, because I was keeping my granddaughter.
Before I hung up the phone, I said to her, "please tell him that I love him, and I'll see you both tomorrow." Three short hours later that grieving mother took the time to pick the phone up and call me to say that her son was gone."
The gift that mother tried to give me was huge. The opportunity to be there with her that night as her son left this Earth to be with Jesus. My God, I don't think I would want to share that time with anyone, and yet she called me so that I wouldn't miss seeing him one last time.
I can't help but think, that for all of the little things that I've done for my students over the years, when given the opportunity to do something that really would've mattered, not only to me, but to him and his mother, I screwed it up.
As I stood by his family, at his graveside, the day of his funeral, my heart felt so heavy. Not only from the loss of this person that I loved, and the sadness that surrounded the entire day, but with the weight of the guilt that I was carrying, because I hadn't been smart enough to know, without such a lesson as this one, that tomorrow really doesn't always come.....
The truth is, I just feel as if it's what I'm suppose to do. I have served many disabilities in the eleven years that I've been at the school where I am. As a matter of fact, I believe I have served just about every disability that the County I work in serves.
There is one downfall to the job I have, and that is that sometimes the students don't live very long lives. I have been to more than a couple of funerals for some very precious young people, who had fought the fight long enough.
I have had one of these students in particular on my mind this month. Not only because this will be the first Christmas that his parents have had to spend without him, but because his birthday was December 4Th.
He was in my class the entire time he was in high school and I grew to love him deeply. He was such a character. It never mattered what was going on, he always wanted to tell you how to do things, and on occasion with his advice came a little attitude.
When the attitude would present itself, he would be told by either myself, or the other woman that I worked with, to take himself outside the classroom into the hall. He would inevitably ask "how long do I have to stay outside?", at which point we would reply, "until your attitude gets better, or Jesus comes, that works for us either way".
He had a girlfriend that was in my class the entire time that he was. They had been friends since elementary school and he would break up with her on and off all the time, keeping her in tears. Their relationship came with all of the usual high school drama, and I believe they loved each other very much.
This young man went through so much while he was here. There was always one surgery after the other, for one thing or the other. The last surgery he had was to amputate both of his legs. His life was full of adversity to say the least.
He called me several times from the hospital and we would talk about any and everything he could think of, and I went to visit him there as well.
I always try to do all that I can for all of the students that I come in contact with, when I am given the chance. I have been known to follow them after graduation, just to make sure that they are doing okay. I have taken them to dinner, gone to graduations in other counties, mailed them gifts, made Easter baskets, delivered them to their homes, and checked on them with phone calls, just to list a few things.
One Saturday night last March, I was given the chance to do something really big for one of them. I got a call from the young man's mother that I have been telling you about. When I answered the phone, she said "Arlene, if you want to see him, you'd better come on over. I don't think he'll be here long." I told her that I would be there as soon as I could on Sunday, but that I couldn't come right then, because I was keeping my granddaughter.
Before I hung up the phone, I said to her, "please tell him that I love him, and I'll see you both tomorrow." Three short hours later that grieving mother took the time to pick the phone up and call me to say that her son was gone."
The gift that mother tried to give me was huge. The opportunity to be there with her that night as her son left this Earth to be with Jesus. My God, I don't think I would want to share that time with anyone, and yet she called me so that I wouldn't miss seeing him one last time.
I can't help but think, that for all of the little things that I've done for my students over the years, when given the opportunity to do something that really would've mattered, not only to me, but to him and his mother, I screwed it up.
As I stood by his family, at his graveside, the day of his funeral, my heart felt so heavy. Not only from the loss of this person that I loved, and the sadness that surrounded the entire day, but with the weight of the guilt that I was carrying, because I hadn't been smart enough to know, without such a lesson as this one, that tomorrow really doesn't always come.....
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
"Fighting Clothes"
I was once placed in a long-term substitute teaching position where I taught four English classes and one sociology class for a few months. With this position also came an advisement class.
Advisement is like an extended homeroom class. It is to be used as an opportunity to help the students that are placed in your care with anything that they might need, be it academic, or personal. The students that were placed in my advisement class were between the ages of fifteen and sixteen.
One morning when I was grading papers, I overheard a conversation between a group of girls in my class, as they waited for the bell to ring. These girls were talking loudly, and making no effort to keep me from hearing what they were saying.
Conversations between girls this age would normally hold no interest for me, but this particular one caught my attention, when it became focused on violence. They began to talk about the fights they had been in, and they stated that to get into a fight they had to be wearing their "fighting clothes" . They discussed this as well as how to use your high heeled shoe to beat someone in the face.
The final straw came when one of them said "one time when I had put a razor blade in my mouth to fight, I forgot and talked, and my mother had to take me to the emergency room for stitches."
That did it! I could no longer keep my mouth shut. I looked up at the girls and said "you have got to be kidding me! If I had exhibited that type of behavior when I was your age, my mother would have been beating me while I bled to death." "Let me also add that if I were to open my closet door, and look inside, I would have no idea what would constitute a fighting outfit."
They responded by saying, "you know, some dickies", as if they were simply informing me, in case I should ever need to know.
I doubt very seriously that I did any good when I lectured those girls that morning, but I did, at least, let them know that I was devastated by the things that they were saying.
I told them that I felt sorry for the young gentlemen of their generation. I said that I felt this way because, I was sure that they would be hard pressed to find a lady to marry.
I assured the girls that I doubted very seriously that the young men would want razor blade toting, dickie wearing, thugs to take home to meet their mothers, not to mention, to later become the mothers of their children.
The girls just looked at me as though they were shocked that I found their behavior so troubling, and that I also believed decent young men would as well. They did, however, change the topic of their discussion, and the bell rang shortly thereafter to dismiss them from my classroom.
I have, in the past, because of behavior such as this, stuck my head in the counseling office door to suggest a new elective entitled "Being a lady 101" and I have also kindly suggested that it be mandatory.
I did lecture this particular group of girls with everyone in the rest of the class listening, hoping they might learn something as well. (It was after all, advisement.)
I did what I could that morning to get these girls to take a good look at their attitudes and their behavior. Do I think they listened to me? No, probably not, but I do find comfort in the fact that I tried.
The filthy language and violent behavior of some of the young women today upsets me to the very core of my being.
I know that all young girls are not like this particular group. Some are still being taught to behave like ladies. One great example is that a good friend of mine and his wife sent their daughter to a class at the YMCA entitled "Perfectly Polished" not all that long ago. God bless the two of them for that. It gives me hope.
As for the other girls, I'm just going to pray for them. I'll pray for their safety, and I'll pray that God will give them enlightenment. I'm sure he knows, like I do, that they desperately need it.
Advisement is like an extended homeroom class. It is to be used as an opportunity to help the students that are placed in your care with anything that they might need, be it academic, or personal. The students that were placed in my advisement class were between the ages of fifteen and sixteen.
One morning when I was grading papers, I overheard a conversation between a group of girls in my class, as they waited for the bell to ring. These girls were talking loudly, and making no effort to keep me from hearing what they were saying.
Conversations between girls this age would normally hold no interest for me, but this particular one caught my attention, when it became focused on violence. They began to talk about the fights they had been in, and they stated that to get into a fight they had to be wearing their "fighting clothes" . They discussed this as well as how to use your high heeled shoe to beat someone in the face.
The final straw came when one of them said "one time when I had put a razor blade in my mouth to fight, I forgot and talked, and my mother had to take me to the emergency room for stitches."
That did it! I could no longer keep my mouth shut. I looked up at the girls and said "you have got to be kidding me! If I had exhibited that type of behavior when I was your age, my mother would have been beating me while I bled to death." "Let me also add that if I were to open my closet door, and look inside, I would have no idea what would constitute a fighting outfit."
They responded by saying, "you know, some dickies", as if they were simply informing me, in case I should ever need to know.
I doubt very seriously that I did any good when I lectured those girls that morning, but I did, at least, let them know that I was devastated by the things that they were saying.
I told them that I felt sorry for the young gentlemen of their generation. I said that I felt this way because, I was sure that they would be hard pressed to find a lady to marry.
I assured the girls that I doubted very seriously that the young men would want razor blade toting, dickie wearing, thugs to take home to meet their mothers, not to mention, to later become the mothers of their children.
The girls just looked at me as though they were shocked that I found their behavior so troubling, and that I also believed decent young men would as well. They did, however, change the topic of their discussion, and the bell rang shortly thereafter to dismiss them from my classroom.
I have, in the past, because of behavior such as this, stuck my head in the counseling office door to suggest a new elective entitled "Being a lady 101" and I have also kindly suggested that it be mandatory.
I did lecture this particular group of girls with everyone in the rest of the class listening, hoping they might learn something as well. (It was after all, advisement.)
I did what I could that morning to get these girls to take a good look at their attitudes and their behavior. Do I think they listened to me? No, probably not, but I do find comfort in the fact that I tried.
The filthy language and violent behavior of some of the young women today upsets me to the very core of my being.
I know that all young girls are not like this particular group. Some are still being taught to behave like ladies. One great example is that a good friend of mine and his wife sent their daughter to a class at the YMCA entitled "Perfectly Polished" not all that long ago. God bless the two of them for that. It gives me hope.
As for the other girls, I'm just going to pray for them. I'll pray for their safety, and I'll pray that God will give them enlightenment. I'm sure he knows, like I do, that they desperately need it.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
"Judge Not"
I am a Christian, and I try very hard to be a good one. I admit that I fail miserably on some days, but I do what I can. I know that no one is perfect and we all sin, and I also know that some people are better christians than others.
There is one thing, however, that I can't understand, and that is why so many Christians worry about not doing things like; stealing, killing, drinking, smoking, and using the Lords name in vain, but that whole "judge not lest ye be judged" thing never enters their minds.
It must be that they don't think about it, or I suppose it could be that they don't think it counts all that much. At any rate, I have met plenty of these judgmental people in my life. I have personally heard some of them declaring other people passengers on the Hell train.
I have been the target of one of these type Christians on more than one occasion, but there is one incidence that sticks out in my mind. I won't reveal the name of the person I'm talking about, but I will say that it was a co-worker.
There were three or four of us standing around one morning talking about religion and beliefs and those sorts of things. I wasn't all that involved in the conversation, to tell you the truth, because I am one of those individuals who believes that discussing religion or politics at work is dangerous.
I became more involved, however, when one of the individuals doing most of the talking decided to look at me and make it personal. I made a simple comment about how I had done my share of wrong in my life, and that I was sure God had some things to discuss with me.
This woman actually looked at me and said "I know I wouldn't want to be behind you in line on judgment day".
When I recovered from my initial shock, I am ashamed to admit that I momentarily "layed my religion down" as one of my other co-workers likes to say.
I looked at her and said "Honey, I don't blame you, because I'm sure when I get there God and I will be awhile, but maybe you'll get lucky and there will be an express lane for people like you...Unless, of course, that whole judging other people thing counts, at which point you're going to be screwed."
Needless to say, when I walked off, she was the one left wearing the shocked expression. Like I said, I really don't understand why some people feel so comfortable judging other people, and I probably never will.
I do know, however, that I felt badly about the way that I responded to her comment that day, because my response made me appear as bad as she did, and, because I was just raised better than that.
Next time, and I'm sure there will be one, I've decided on a new plan. I'm taking the high road and I'm just going to close my eyes and pray for myself some patience. If I can manage it...I think the Lord will be proud.
There is one thing, however, that I can't understand, and that is why so many Christians worry about not doing things like; stealing, killing, drinking, smoking, and using the Lords name in vain, but that whole "judge not lest ye be judged" thing never enters their minds.
It must be that they don't think about it, or I suppose it could be that they don't think it counts all that much. At any rate, I have met plenty of these judgmental people in my life. I have personally heard some of them declaring other people passengers on the Hell train.
I have been the target of one of these type Christians on more than one occasion, but there is one incidence that sticks out in my mind. I won't reveal the name of the person I'm talking about, but I will say that it was a co-worker.
There were three or four of us standing around one morning talking about religion and beliefs and those sorts of things. I wasn't all that involved in the conversation, to tell you the truth, because I am one of those individuals who believes that discussing religion or politics at work is dangerous.
I became more involved, however, when one of the individuals doing most of the talking decided to look at me and make it personal. I made a simple comment about how I had done my share of wrong in my life, and that I was sure God had some things to discuss with me.
This woman actually looked at me and said "I know I wouldn't want to be behind you in line on judgment day".
When I recovered from my initial shock, I am ashamed to admit that I momentarily "layed my religion down" as one of my other co-workers likes to say.
I looked at her and said "Honey, I don't blame you, because I'm sure when I get there God and I will be awhile, but maybe you'll get lucky and there will be an express lane for people like you...Unless, of course, that whole judging other people thing counts, at which point you're going to be screwed."
Needless to say, when I walked off, she was the one left wearing the shocked expression. Like I said, I really don't understand why some people feel so comfortable judging other people, and I probably never will.
I do know, however, that I felt badly about the way that I responded to her comment that day, because my response made me appear as bad as she did, and, because I was just raised better than that.
Next time, and I'm sure there will be one, I've decided on a new plan. I'm taking the high road and I'm just going to close my eyes and pray for myself some patience. If I can manage it...I think the Lord will be proud.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
"She's AWOL Lieutenant"
My husband has a job that places him in charge of a few people that not only listen to what he's saying most of the time, but also choose to comply. They call him Lieutenant. Understandably, this has led him to develop a certain sense of confidence in knowing, that when he gives an order it will be followed.
What he failed to understand one night, when giving a directive to our sixteen year old daughter, was, 1. She doesn't work under him, and 2. When you are a teenager some things just seem worth the risk. (like disobeying an order from your father for instance.)
On the particular night that I am referring to, he and I were sitting in our living room when our daughter, who hadn't gone to school that day, came strolling through. She had her hair rolled and had her make-up perfectly applied, lip gloss included.
My husband glanced up and saw her and casually asked , what are you doing? She responded ever so sweetly by saying "I'm getting ready to go to a party at Robby's house." My husband then informed her that she knew the rule. No school, no anything else.
She looked at him and said "You can't be serious! You have to let me go!" She then preceded to list all of the reasons that she would be socially ruined if she was unable to attend the party. He looked at her and said simply, "I'm sorry Lauren, but you're not going."
Needless to say, the water works began. She spouted off a few disgruntled comments, and stormed into her room. I heard her slam and lock her door, and then she turned her radio on loud enough for the neighbors to enjoy it with her.
After about fifteen minutes had passed, I told my husband that I thought he should go and check on her. He said "she's just mad. She'll cry herself to sleep and be over it in the morning." I told him that I just had a feeling, but he assured me that he had it under control.
Several minutes went by and the something's not right feeling kept gnawing at me. Finally I stood up and said "do what you want Lieutenant, I'm going to pick the lock." I grabbed a hair pin and popped the lock open on her door.
When I stepped into the room the first thing I saw was the curtain blowing in the breeze. I shouted into the other room saying "you might want to get up Lieutenant, you've got one awol."
The look on his face when he reached her room was one of total shock and disbelief . He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that she actually had the audacity to not only go out the window, but to blatantly disregard what he had told her. I couldn't help but look at him and say "no problem, you've got this, right Lieutenant?"
While he was standing there trying to process it all, I went out to try and find her. My search was futile, so I had no choice, but to return to the house and wait for her. She came home right on curfew and through the front door acting as though there wasn't a problem.
She was placed on a few weeks restriction by her father, and just as a precautionary measure, her uncle and I nailed her screen onto her window. I did, however, being the good mother that I am, place a post-it note on the screen that read "in case of fire press hard!
Lauren must have learned her lesson, because it never happened again, but the real lessons that night may have been for the Lieutenant. Those lessons being that a mother's intuiton is a wonderful thing, and that if you aren't careful and you get over confident about your ability to handle your teenager, they can put stupid on you real quick...
What he failed to understand one night, when giving a directive to our sixteen year old daughter, was, 1. She doesn't work under him, and 2. When you are a teenager some things just seem worth the risk. (like disobeying an order from your father for instance.)
On the particular night that I am referring to, he and I were sitting in our living room when our daughter, who hadn't gone to school that day, came strolling through. She had her hair rolled and had her make-up perfectly applied, lip gloss included.
My husband glanced up and saw her and casually asked , what are you doing? She responded ever so sweetly by saying "I'm getting ready to go to a party at Robby's house." My husband then informed her that she knew the rule. No school, no anything else.
She looked at him and said "You can't be serious! You have to let me go!" She then preceded to list all of the reasons that she would be socially ruined if she was unable to attend the party. He looked at her and said simply, "I'm sorry Lauren, but you're not going."
Needless to say, the water works began. She spouted off a few disgruntled comments, and stormed into her room. I heard her slam and lock her door, and then she turned her radio on loud enough for the neighbors to enjoy it with her.
After about fifteen minutes had passed, I told my husband that I thought he should go and check on her. He said "she's just mad. She'll cry herself to sleep and be over it in the morning." I told him that I just had a feeling, but he assured me that he had it under control.
Several minutes went by and the something's not right feeling kept gnawing at me. Finally I stood up and said "do what you want Lieutenant, I'm going to pick the lock." I grabbed a hair pin and popped the lock open on her door.
When I stepped into the room the first thing I saw was the curtain blowing in the breeze. I shouted into the other room saying "you might want to get up Lieutenant, you've got one awol."
The look on his face when he reached her room was one of total shock and disbelief . He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that she actually had the audacity to not only go out the window, but to blatantly disregard what he had told her. I couldn't help but look at him and say "no problem, you've got this, right Lieutenant?"
While he was standing there trying to process it all, I went out to try and find her. My search was futile, so I had no choice, but to return to the house and wait for her. She came home right on curfew and through the front door acting as though there wasn't a problem.
She was placed on a few weeks restriction by her father, and just as a precautionary measure, her uncle and I nailed her screen onto her window. I did, however, being the good mother that I am, place a post-it note on the screen that read "in case of fire press hard!
Lauren must have learned her lesson, because it never happened again, but the real lessons that night may have been for the Lieutenant. Those lessons being that a mother's intuiton is a wonderful thing, and that if you aren't careful and you get over confident about your ability to handle your teenager, they can put stupid on you real quick...
"Old Time Religion"
I was thinking today about the church that I was raised in . It was a small church in Symrna, Georgia. The name of it was Spring Street Baptist Church.
The church was so small that every member knew each and every one of the other members. This was a church not at all like the large ones that are built today. I had a friend who attended one of those large churches that are around these days. He went to that church each and every time the doors were open for three years, and when he passed away, not a single soul knew it.
My brothers and sisters and I all went to Sunday school, Sunday church services (morning and night), Wednesday night services, and in the summer, Vacation Bible School there. We were in all of the Christmas plays, and my twin sister and I sang in front of the congregation for the first time when we were only four years old. The song was Victory In Jesus, and I remember being a nervous wreck.
I remember that the congregation was made up of people that all seemed more like family than just simply members of the church. Looking back, I think it was just as it should have been.
We had an older couple there, I'll call them the Stones, that always controlled the thermostat in the church. I think Mr. Stone must have been the caretaker, but I'm not sure. I do know one thing, however, and that is that if Mrs. Stone was cold the heat came on, and If Mrs. Stone was hot, then and only then, the air conditioner was turned on.
We had the same deacons and Sunday school teachers for as long as I can remember, and everything there on most days always seemed to flow along in a gracious manner, and with a christian spirit.
Don't get me wrong, once in a while something would happen that would cause controversy, and people would talk.
There was one elderly widow lady there who would always sit on the front pew. She would , when the spirit moved her, as my grandmother would say, "go to shoutin'". I'll call her Mrs. Smith. She was without a doubt the most enthusiastic member of our church.
There was another elderly couple who also sat on the same pew with Mrs. Smith, and I'll call them the Deans. The Deans always sat quietly and just listened to the service.
The controversy began when Mrs. Dean passed away. Mrs. Smith and Mr. Dean continued to sit on the same pew, the only difference being the space that was left between them by the absence of Mrs. Dean. I'm not sure how long the time frame was before the vacant spot between the two was no longer left empty, because the two had closed the gap. I do know that it couldn't have been very long, because I heard some of the older women in the church talking about how it was "just a shame" that Mr. Dean didn't have more respect for his late wife.
Shortly after the controversy began Mr. Dean married Mrs. Smith, and the older members of the church began calling her Smith/Dean. (No Mrs. included, and I am pretty sure it was always said when Mrs. Smith wasn't there to hear it). This was probably the most scandalous event that ever happened while I was there.
In my church, just like in all places where large groups of people have gathered, people talked. The preacher was a good one, and like all good southern Baptist preachers, was on occasion known to preach a fire and brimstone sermon where he told it like it was. The services were always meaningful and the old gospel hymns were wonderful to hear.
The majority of that congregation have "gone on to be with the Lord", as they would say, the preacher among them, and the last time I walked out of that church I was following the pall bearers who were carrying my grandmother. My grandfather had preceded her in death and my mother never felt as if she could go back there and see their pew completely empty, so we didn't.
I miss that church and most of the people who spent all those Sundays with me worshiping the Lord. I can still hear them singing the verses of Just As I Am, always followed by a prayer to close the service, and I know that I am a better person for having gone to church there.
I don't go to church like I should anymore, but when I do I seldom hear the old hymns that I love, nor that kind of preaching. As for me, I'd rather hear The Old Rugged Cross, and see the preacher dabbing his brow with his white handkerchief after putting the fear of God into a few people who just might need it.
I guess it's just proof that eventually change comes to all things including churches, but I can't help but feel as if this particular change hasn't been such a good one.
The church was so small that every member knew each and every one of the other members. This was a church not at all like the large ones that are built today. I had a friend who attended one of those large churches that are around these days. He went to that church each and every time the doors were open for three years, and when he passed away, not a single soul knew it.
My brothers and sisters and I all went to Sunday school, Sunday church services (morning and night), Wednesday night services, and in the summer, Vacation Bible School there. We were in all of the Christmas plays, and my twin sister and I sang in front of the congregation for the first time when we were only four years old. The song was Victory In Jesus, and I remember being a nervous wreck.
I remember that the congregation was made up of people that all seemed more like family than just simply members of the church. Looking back, I think it was just as it should have been.
We had an older couple there, I'll call them the Stones, that always controlled the thermostat in the church. I think Mr. Stone must have been the caretaker, but I'm not sure. I do know one thing, however, and that is that if Mrs. Stone was cold the heat came on, and If Mrs. Stone was hot, then and only then, the air conditioner was turned on.
We had the same deacons and Sunday school teachers for as long as I can remember, and everything there on most days always seemed to flow along in a gracious manner, and with a christian spirit.
Don't get me wrong, once in a while something would happen that would cause controversy, and people would talk.
There was one elderly widow lady there who would always sit on the front pew. She would , when the spirit moved her, as my grandmother would say, "go to shoutin'". I'll call her Mrs. Smith. She was without a doubt the most enthusiastic member of our church.
There was another elderly couple who also sat on the same pew with Mrs. Smith, and I'll call them the Deans. The Deans always sat quietly and just listened to the service.
The controversy began when Mrs. Dean passed away. Mrs. Smith and Mr. Dean continued to sit on the same pew, the only difference being the space that was left between them by the absence of Mrs. Dean. I'm not sure how long the time frame was before the vacant spot between the two was no longer left empty, because the two had closed the gap. I do know that it couldn't have been very long, because I heard some of the older women in the church talking about how it was "just a shame" that Mr. Dean didn't have more respect for his late wife.
Shortly after the controversy began Mr. Dean married Mrs. Smith, and the older members of the church began calling her Smith/Dean. (No Mrs. included, and I am pretty sure it was always said when Mrs. Smith wasn't there to hear it). This was probably the most scandalous event that ever happened while I was there.
In my church, just like in all places where large groups of people have gathered, people talked. The preacher was a good one, and like all good southern Baptist preachers, was on occasion known to preach a fire and brimstone sermon where he told it like it was. The services were always meaningful and the old gospel hymns were wonderful to hear.
The majority of that congregation have "gone on to be with the Lord", as they would say, the preacher among them, and the last time I walked out of that church I was following the pall bearers who were carrying my grandmother. My grandfather had preceded her in death and my mother never felt as if she could go back there and see their pew completely empty, so we didn't.
I miss that church and most of the people who spent all those Sundays with me worshiping the Lord. I can still hear them singing the verses of Just As I Am, always followed by a prayer to close the service, and I know that I am a better person for having gone to church there.
I don't go to church like I should anymore, but when I do I seldom hear the old hymns that I love, nor that kind of preaching. As for me, I'd rather hear The Old Rugged Cross, and see the preacher dabbing his brow with his white handkerchief after putting the fear of God into a few people who just might need it.
I guess it's just proof that eventually change comes to all things including churches, but I can't help but feel as if this particular change hasn't been such a good one.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
"Responsibility Gone Wild"
I have not always been as responsible as I became after my marriage and the birth of my two children. I use to be completely free to do whatever I liked and I will say that I made good use of that time.
I have been on top of speakers dancing at the Limelight, an Atlanta nightclub. I have thrown my dress and pantyhose out of a moving car window while changing into jeans and a t-shirt on I-75 south. (I couldn't go home wearing a dress and heels and have my parents ask where I'd been. I suppose I could have gotten them from my friend the next day , but I can report that alcohol has been known to interfere with logic.)
There are other examples I could give since my children and husband aren't going to ever read this but those should give you enough of an idea.
There was no problem for me at first with the settling down and being the responsible caregiving worker bee that I became, until one night when I was at a family birthday dinner for my brother.
The first incident was when my father looked down at my opened toed shoes and saw my toe ring. He said "What's that hon? It looks like they've got you banded like a homing pigeon." This was, of course, in reference to my always having to be constantly on the ready for anything at all my children and husband might need, including things as minor as a glass of tea.
Later that evening I got a second dose of outside opinions on how I was viewed by others when my silbings, husband, and children, began discussing my personality. They were saying things like "you can always find Arlene because she's always where she's suppose to be." "She won't call in sick to work unless she's dying." "Mom is so by the book and takes care of everyone".
They were chuckling about all of the individual comments and having a great time. To their credit they did say that they were glad I was the way I am because they could always depend on me when there was a problem that needed to be taken care of.
They had no idea how disturbing this conversation was to me. All I could think was oh my God! I am in the worst rut anyone has ever been in. I am in danger of losing my mind. Suddenly I wanted to do something that would shock each and everyone of them just to prove that I could.
I was determined at that point to get out of the box. I just didn't know what I was going to do yet. Ideas began to race around in my mind, but compared to how earth shattering I wanted whatever I did to be, the ideas seemed weak, Then it happened.
I had just left a class I had been taking that summer, one Friday afternoon, and there it was, a tattoo shop. Suddenly every iota of sense that I had once retained left my body. I whipped in the parking lot like something wild. I parked and got out of the car and hurried inside. I knew on some level that I had to be quick because I only had a narrow time frame before Jiminy Cricket started talking in my ear.
I marched myself right up to the counter and announced to the man standing there that I wanted to get a tattoo. He looked at me and semi-smiled, okay smirked, and asked of what?, and where I'd like it. I hadn't thought that far ahead so I just glanced quickly at the wall and pointed to the smallest red rose that I could find. I said "I want that one." He took me behind the counter and after I made sure he was opening brand new needles (you can't be too careful) we were ready to get started.
I kicked my high heels off, pulled my skirt up a little bit, and put my foot up on the table. I pointed to my left ankle and said "I'd like it right there please." He applied the outline for it, and I began having an internal freak-out. I just shut my eyes and thought about all that my family had been saying, and it was done.
The next thing I knew I was walking out of the shop stunned at what I had done, wearing a gauze pad on my left ankle, and carrying a small round tin of ointment marked "Tattoo Goo".
I got into my car and began to tell myself that I had better get it together. It was done now, and if I wanted to be effective with shocking everyone with my behavior I had better be ready to own it.
Needless to say by the time that I got home I was beside myself, and Jiminy Cricket was running amuk in my mind. I was 35 years old and all I could think was what in the world are my mama and daddy going to say?, And my kids? Good Lord, what have I done? I went straight to my bedroom , shut the door, and called my mama.
I said "I lost my mind this afternoon, and I've gotten a tattoo. I need you to please call daddy for me and tell him what I've done before he sees it." My declaration was met with a deafening silence. When she finally spoke she said "Arlene, you are a grown woman, living out on your own with a family and decisions like that are yours to make." I told her that I knew all of that, and then begged her to call him for me anyway, and asked her to call me right back after she'd done it. That was the longest five minutes of my life. When she called back it was with the news that my father had just declared me middle-aged crazy.
I got similar reactions from the rest of the family and my husband found it quite amusing. When I was going to the mailbox the next day one of our neighbors saw the bandage on my ankle and asked, what happened? My husband looked at her and said "she got a tattoo", then he said "I know, there goes the neighborhood". Oh yes, he's a real riot. Not to mention that shortly after I had gotten it there was a blood drive at work and I had to admit to my co-workers that my tattoo wasn't old enough yet for me to give blood. (Evidently there's a six month rule) I also had an experience where one of the football players at school shouted out at me, while I was in front of the classroom, "Mrs Foster, repent while there's still time!" I almost died. The other students, of course, found this to be hilarious.
Was it worth it? No, it was not. I remember that it was not each time that I put on a dress or a skirt and I have to reach for my dark tights to cover it up. It's only about an inch and a half in size but it's there nevertheless. Every now and then when I'm taking a bubble bath, I lift my leg up out of the water and I still feel a little shocked by it's being there. I am not saying that my tattoo is the biggest thing on my list of regrets, but it is out of character for me.
Since then, I 've learned that getting out of the box can mean doing lots of things, none of which have to be permanent. I have also learned that being responsible and dependable aren't the worst attributes that one can have either.
Everyone lives and learns. I just suppose that some lessons in life come with reminders that are physically evident. My children are grown now and I get out of the box on occasion and have fun. I drink now and then, I laugh, I go out with my friends, but..... I avoid tattoo shops.
I have been on top of speakers dancing at the Limelight, an Atlanta nightclub. I have thrown my dress and pantyhose out of a moving car window while changing into jeans and a t-shirt on I-75 south. (I couldn't go home wearing a dress and heels and have my parents ask where I'd been. I suppose I could have gotten them from my friend the next day , but I can report that alcohol has been known to interfere with logic.)
There are other examples I could give since my children and husband aren't going to ever read this but those should give you enough of an idea.
There was no problem for me at first with the settling down and being the responsible caregiving worker bee that I became, until one night when I was at a family birthday dinner for my brother.
The first incident was when my father looked down at my opened toed shoes and saw my toe ring. He said "What's that hon? It looks like they've got you banded like a homing pigeon." This was, of course, in reference to my always having to be constantly on the ready for anything at all my children and husband might need, including things as minor as a glass of tea.
Later that evening I got a second dose of outside opinions on how I was viewed by others when my silbings, husband, and children, began discussing my personality. They were saying things like "you can always find Arlene because she's always where she's suppose to be." "She won't call in sick to work unless she's dying." "Mom is so by the book and takes care of everyone".
They were chuckling about all of the individual comments and having a great time. To their credit they did say that they were glad I was the way I am because they could always depend on me when there was a problem that needed to be taken care of.
They had no idea how disturbing this conversation was to me. All I could think was oh my God! I am in the worst rut anyone has ever been in. I am in danger of losing my mind. Suddenly I wanted to do something that would shock each and everyone of them just to prove that I could.
I was determined at that point to get out of the box. I just didn't know what I was going to do yet. Ideas began to race around in my mind, but compared to how earth shattering I wanted whatever I did to be, the ideas seemed weak, Then it happened.
I had just left a class I had been taking that summer, one Friday afternoon, and there it was, a tattoo shop. Suddenly every iota of sense that I had once retained left my body. I whipped in the parking lot like something wild. I parked and got out of the car and hurried inside. I knew on some level that I had to be quick because I only had a narrow time frame before Jiminy Cricket started talking in my ear.
I marched myself right up to the counter and announced to the man standing there that I wanted to get a tattoo. He looked at me and semi-smiled, okay smirked, and asked of what?, and where I'd like it. I hadn't thought that far ahead so I just glanced quickly at the wall and pointed to the smallest red rose that I could find. I said "I want that one." He took me behind the counter and after I made sure he was opening brand new needles (you can't be too careful) we were ready to get started.
I kicked my high heels off, pulled my skirt up a little bit, and put my foot up on the table. I pointed to my left ankle and said "I'd like it right there please." He applied the outline for it, and I began having an internal freak-out. I just shut my eyes and thought about all that my family had been saying, and it was done.
The next thing I knew I was walking out of the shop stunned at what I had done, wearing a gauze pad on my left ankle, and carrying a small round tin of ointment marked "Tattoo Goo".
I got into my car and began to tell myself that I had better get it together. It was done now, and if I wanted to be effective with shocking everyone with my behavior I had better be ready to own it.
Needless to say by the time that I got home I was beside myself, and Jiminy Cricket was running amuk in my mind. I was 35 years old and all I could think was what in the world are my mama and daddy going to say?, And my kids? Good Lord, what have I done? I went straight to my bedroom , shut the door, and called my mama.
I said "I lost my mind this afternoon, and I've gotten a tattoo. I need you to please call daddy for me and tell him what I've done before he sees it." My declaration was met with a deafening silence. When she finally spoke she said "Arlene, you are a grown woman, living out on your own with a family and decisions like that are yours to make." I told her that I knew all of that, and then begged her to call him for me anyway, and asked her to call me right back after she'd done it. That was the longest five minutes of my life. When she called back it was with the news that my father had just declared me middle-aged crazy.
I got similar reactions from the rest of the family and my husband found it quite amusing. When I was going to the mailbox the next day one of our neighbors saw the bandage on my ankle and asked, what happened? My husband looked at her and said "she got a tattoo", then he said "I know, there goes the neighborhood". Oh yes, he's a real riot. Not to mention that shortly after I had gotten it there was a blood drive at work and I had to admit to my co-workers that my tattoo wasn't old enough yet for me to give blood. (Evidently there's a six month rule) I also had an experience where one of the football players at school shouted out at me, while I was in front of the classroom, "Mrs Foster, repent while there's still time!" I almost died. The other students, of course, found this to be hilarious.
Was it worth it? No, it was not. I remember that it was not each time that I put on a dress or a skirt and I have to reach for my dark tights to cover it up. It's only about an inch and a half in size but it's there nevertheless. Every now and then when I'm taking a bubble bath, I lift my leg up out of the water and I still feel a little shocked by it's being there. I am not saying that my tattoo is the biggest thing on my list of regrets, but it is out of character for me.
Since then, I 've learned that getting out of the box can mean doing lots of things, none of which have to be permanent. I have also learned that being responsible and dependable aren't the worst attributes that one can have either.
Everyone lives and learns. I just suppose that some lessons in life come with reminders that are physically evident. My children are grown now and I get out of the box on occasion and have fun. I drink now and then, I laugh, I go out with my friends, but..... I avoid tattoo shops.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
"Southern Accents"
I have a very heavy southern accent. This is not suprising since I was born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia. I am not embarassed by the way I speak nor do I think that I should be. I find fewer and fewer people here that talk the way that I do. I know that this is true because I actually get asked the question "where are you from?" This question always shocks me considering I have lived here in Atlanta all my life, and the ones who do the asking are always new arrivals.
I have heard people talking about trying to lose their southern acccents and I don't understand this, but to each his own. I have to say that I love hearing other people speak with accents such as the British, and I also have to say that it would never occur to me to make any sort of assumptions or derogatory comments about people based on the way they speak. It would be ignorant of me to assume anything about a person based simply on the way they sound.
I am sorry to say that there are many people, however, who do not share my views regarding my southern accent. They never mind asking, with snarls on their faces , the "where are you from?" question or saying that I talk too slow. I have also been given the you are the most ignorant sounding person I've ever heard look (if they don't bother to just say so outloud).
This is all beyond frustrating for me. If people that consider the southern accent ignorant would bother with a little research they would soon learn that the southern dialect is actually the Queen's English from the era of Queen Elizabeth I and Shakespeare. I do, however, realize that it is unrealistic of me to think these people would ever bother to check with a linquist on the origin of my accent.
I suppose assumptions are just easier, and the people who make them aren't really all that concerned with their personal ignorance on the subject. After all, they can't be expected to educate themselves while they are so occupied with informing others of their presumed ignorance. Goodness gracious.......it'd be too hard.......it'd be multi-tasking y'all......
I have heard people talking about trying to lose their southern acccents and I don't understand this, but to each his own. I have to say that I love hearing other people speak with accents such as the British, and I also have to say that it would never occur to me to make any sort of assumptions or derogatory comments about people based on the way they speak. It would be ignorant of me to assume anything about a person based simply on the way they sound.
I am sorry to say that there are many people, however, who do not share my views regarding my southern accent. They never mind asking, with snarls on their faces , the "where are you from?" question or saying that I talk too slow. I have also been given the you are the most ignorant sounding person I've ever heard look (if they don't bother to just say so outloud).
This is all beyond frustrating for me. If people that consider the southern accent ignorant would bother with a little research they would soon learn that the southern dialect is actually the Queen's English from the era of Queen Elizabeth I and Shakespeare. I do, however, realize that it is unrealistic of me to think these people would ever bother to check with a linquist on the origin of my accent.
I suppose assumptions are just easier, and the people who make them aren't really all that concerned with their personal ignorance on the subject. After all, they can't be expected to educate themselves while they are so occupied with informing others of their presumed ignorance. Goodness gracious.......it'd be too hard.......it'd be multi-tasking y'all......
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
"Atlanta"
Atlanta is my home. I was born and raised here, and I love the city and it's southern charm.
When I think about Atlanta lots of things come to mind....Peachtree Street, The Varsity on game day...Go Dawgs, or for some the Jackets. Dogwood trees blooming in the springtime, the Fox Theater, Lenox Mall, and the Pink Pig. Mary Macs Tea Room, The Magnolia Room, and southern belles. The Atlanta Braves, the Falcons, and Gone With The Wind's Margaret Mitchell.
Historic places such as Oakland Cemetery and Grant Park. Hot humid summers, The Biltmore, and Underground. Coke, sweet tea and far to many more things to mention here.
The Atlanta that I love has changed over the years and the population has become much more diverse with the migration of people from other parts of the country as well as some from other parts of the world.
I was raised right, and I know my manners, so of course, I welcome them all.(Southern hospitality we call it here.). I just hope that they remember to adapt to our ways and culture and make them their own, without changes to our city that would be unwanted by the native Atlantans. I mean I would never go to their hometown and try to change it. It would simply be rude.
I am , however, sure that I have nothing to worry about, because some will love Atlanta and stay, and the ones who don't will simply leave and go home. I don't have a doubt in my mind that the ones who hate Atlanta, after they get here, have enough intellect to get directions to the airport, and to be aware of the fact that I-75 also runs north I have all the confidence in the world that those smart people would leave.......why in the world would they want to stay in a city that they felt the need to complain about everyday?
As I mentioned before I was raised right and with good manners, so maybe that's why I have so much trust in the intellect of the disgruntled new people that move to our city.......otherwise I'd rent a billboard and have it read something like:
"BE NICE OR LEAVE"
When I think about Atlanta lots of things come to mind....Peachtree Street, The Varsity on game day...Go Dawgs, or for some the Jackets. Dogwood trees blooming in the springtime, the Fox Theater, Lenox Mall, and the Pink Pig. Mary Macs Tea Room, The Magnolia Room, and southern belles. The Atlanta Braves, the Falcons, and Gone With The Wind's Margaret Mitchell.
Historic places such as Oakland Cemetery and Grant Park. Hot humid summers, The Biltmore, and Underground. Coke, sweet tea and far to many more things to mention here.
The Atlanta that I love has changed over the years and the population has become much more diverse with the migration of people from other parts of the country as well as some from other parts of the world.
I was raised right, and I know my manners, so of course, I welcome them all.(Southern hospitality we call it here.). I just hope that they remember to adapt to our ways and culture and make them their own, without changes to our city that would be unwanted by the native Atlantans. I mean I would never go to their hometown and try to change it. It would simply be rude.
I am , however, sure that I have nothing to worry about, because some will love Atlanta and stay, and the ones who don't will simply leave and go home. I don't have a doubt in my mind that the ones who hate Atlanta, after they get here, have enough intellect to get directions to the airport, and to be aware of the fact that I-75 also runs north I have all the confidence in the world that those smart people would leave.......why in the world would they want to stay in a city that they felt the need to complain about everyday?
As I mentioned before I was raised right and with good manners, so maybe that's why I have so much trust in the intellect of the disgruntled new people that move to our city.......otherwise I'd rent a billboard and have it read something like:
"BE NICE OR LEAVE"
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
"Random Thoughts"
I feel as if I just turned around one day and I was suddenly 45 years old and a grandmother. Don't get me wrong, I love being a grandmother and a mother as well. I have two wonderful children that I am very proud of and an amazing granddaughter and grandson. I don't regret a single minute of my life thus far. I know that I am very blessed.
I think it's just that suddenly I find myself in a position to once again think about myself as a person and not only a mom and a wife. I just find it odd that now that I could do more things for me I haven't the first clue what it is that I want to do. I am a different person now that I'm over forty. I don't spend as much time worrying about what other people think and I finally understand that everyone is not going to like me and I'm actually okay with that.
I think that I express my opinion more now and I feel like my husband and children often think that this means I'm in a bad mood. They are all so use to my compliance with whatever goes on. I don't feel the need to keep peace as much as I feel the need to be heard. The problem is that I have been mostly quiet with my opinions and needs for so long that I'm not sure they are willing to hear me now. It's like turning 40 came with some power to express my feelings more openly, or maybe it was just pure need. I know that it did come with no need for apologies where none should be given.
I feel pretty good about the person that I am and I know that the days will come and go and I'll probably keep doing the same things that I've always done most of the time, but I do hope that as I age I remember to shake things up a bit now and then........dance in the rain; stay home from work because I want to; kiss more and be kissed more; and say I love you every chance I get...........
I think it's just that suddenly I find myself in a position to once again think about myself as a person and not only a mom and a wife. I just find it odd that now that I could do more things for me I haven't the first clue what it is that I want to do. I am a different person now that I'm over forty. I don't spend as much time worrying about what other people think and I finally understand that everyone is not going to like me and I'm actually okay with that.
I think that I express my opinion more now and I feel like my husband and children often think that this means I'm in a bad mood. They are all so use to my compliance with whatever goes on. I don't feel the need to keep peace as much as I feel the need to be heard. The problem is that I have been mostly quiet with my opinions and needs for so long that I'm not sure they are willing to hear me now. It's like turning 40 came with some power to express my feelings more openly, or maybe it was just pure need. I know that it did come with no need for apologies where none should be given.
I feel pretty good about the person that I am and I know that the days will come and go and I'll probably keep doing the same things that I've always done most of the time, but I do hope that as I age I remember to shake things up a bit now and then........dance in the rain; stay home from work because I want to; kiss more and be kissed more; and say I love you every chance I get...........
"Childhood Memories"
I often think about my childhood and the memories that are etched in my mind are not ones of toys or gifts, but ones of people and moments, smells, sounds, and feelings of the heart.
I remember my Mother always being there to do what ever she could for me. Taking me to school events,and talking to me when my feelings were hurt, or I was just feeling down about something. I can hear her Saying "be sweet" as I went out the door with my friends from school.
I remember shopping sprees in Atlanta, eating at the Magnolia Room, and going to the Fox Theater. I remember my mother teaching me the precise moment to remove my gloves from my hands and put them in my purse. I loved it! She was constantly training me in the ways of being a lady and I appreciate all that she taught me.
I remember my father always keeping the yard in perfect order, and cooking on the grill. I remember my friends calling him "Boss man" because his presence was so great in our home. A freezer full of Ice cream all summer because he knew we liked it. The smell of my mom's perfume and his aftershave in their bedroom ....
Christmas mornings with all of my brothers and sisters in our new pj's and the feeling of closeness as we all sat on the church pew together every Sunday morning listening to the preacher followed by a few verses of Just As I Am..........I remember the smell of a spring morning at my granny's house. I can close my eyes and hear the birds singing and smell the bacon cooking as I watched the sun come up behind her house. I remember listening to the window fan as it drew cool air in, and the slam of the screen door you would hear when someone came in from outside.
I can see my grandfather sitting on the couch watching a Braves game and not paying attention to anything else around him. I remember the look in my grandparents eyes that let me know that they thought that any and everything that I did was amazing. That look was always so full of love for me that it was almost tangible. My Aunt Bessie's Jergens Lotion is another favorite smell from my childhood. I loved sitting in the glider with her or sitting in the porch swing together on Confederate Avenue in Atlanta.
I felt the same love from her as I did from my grandparents. The days of Grant Park and old Atlanta are gone now, and my grandparents and Aunt Bessie are gone as well......the sting of their loss is with me everyday and will be with me until I see them again in Heaven.
My parents are divorced and my brothers and sisters are busy with families of their own but we still all get together when we can and it's always special to me, and When we do there is always a love in the room so strong you can almost touch it..... I always remember to feel it, and say thank you Lord for another day and another precious memory to hold in my heart.
I remember my Mother always being there to do what ever she could for me. Taking me to school events,and talking to me when my feelings were hurt, or I was just feeling down about something. I can hear her Saying "be sweet" as I went out the door with my friends from school.
I remember shopping sprees in Atlanta, eating at the Magnolia Room, and going to the Fox Theater. I remember my mother teaching me the precise moment to remove my gloves from my hands and put them in my purse. I loved it! She was constantly training me in the ways of being a lady and I appreciate all that she taught me.
I remember my father always keeping the yard in perfect order, and cooking on the grill. I remember my friends calling him "Boss man" because his presence was so great in our home. A freezer full of Ice cream all summer because he knew we liked it. The smell of my mom's perfume and his aftershave in their bedroom ....
Christmas mornings with all of my brothers and sisters in our new pj's and the feeling of closeness as we all sat on the church pew together every Sunday morning listening to the preacher followed by a few verses of Just As I Am..........I remember the smell of a spring morning at my granny's house. I can close my eyes and hear the birds singing and smell the bacon cooking as I watched the sun come up behind her house. I remember listening to the window fan as it drew cool air in, and the slam of the screen door you would hear when someone came in from outside.
I can see my grandfather sitting on the couch watching a Braves game and not paying attention to anything else around him. I remember the look in my grandparents eyes that let me know that they thought that any and everything that I did was amazing. That look was always so full of love for me that it was almost tangible. My Aunt Bessie's Jergens Lotion is another favorite smell from my childhood. I loved sitting in the glider with her or sitting in the porch swing together on Confederate Avenue in Atlanta.
I felt the same love from her as I did from my grandparents. The days of Grant Park and old Atlanta are gone now, and my grandparents and Aunt Bessie are gone as well......the sting of their loss is with me everyday and will be with me until I see them again in Heaven.
My parents are divorced and my brothers and sisters are busy with families of their own but we still all get together when we can and it's always special to me, and When we do there is always a love in the room so strong you can almost touch it..... I always remember to feel it, and say thank you Lord for another day and another precious memory to hold in my heart.
" I Believe"
I believe in having a kind heart.....I believe in helping other people whenever you can......I believe Karma is a bitch.........I believe that there is good in almost all people. I believe that we are all God's children.....I believe in Jesus Christ.....I believe in the power of prayer... I believe in remembering that everyone is entitled to a bad day. I believe there is something beautiful in everyone. I believe in laughter ..I believe in hugs and kisses....lots of them. I believe in saying I love you every chance that I get....I believe in remembering that no one is promised tomorrow and in living each day as though it may be my last....I believe in dancing in the rain....I believe in singing as though no one is listening...I believe that the best things in life are not material...I believe in hard work....I believe in family and friends...I believe in having fun...I believe that you are only old when your dreams become your regrets......
Friday, November 21, 2008
"Lady Like"
My mother was born in Atlanta, Georgia in the 1940's. My two sisters and I were born in Atlanta as well. My mother is a woman who was very consumed with teaching her daughters to be (and I quote) "lady like". Now the first thing that came to my mind when I heard her using the phrase "act like a lady" was the question, is she actually trying to teach us to become ladies or are we faking it? It didn't take me long to realize that we were most definitely not learning to fake it. She meant that we were going to be well mannered, graceful, and charming if it killed all three of us.
My mother expected us all three to learn the rules of being a lady. I have to confess that I was a willing participant as soon as I learned some of what becoming a lady involved. Here are some of the basic rules that my mother insisted were vital in any one's quest to become a lady:
1. Never use "filthy" or "vulgar" language.
2. Never forget to sit up straight.
3. Always cross your legs when you sit down.
4. All of your "outfits" must be well put together and matching.
5. Never ever be the only girl with a group of boys. (people will talk)
6. Never call a boy on the telephone. (It's simply not done".)
7. Never act as though you are brainless to impress a boy. (charm works
much better and you can still have "good sense")
8. Never listen to "if you loved me you would".
9. Never forget that "you are judged by the company you keep".
10. Keep your appearance neat, clean, and "pulled together" at all times.
("you never know who you might run in to.")
11. To much make-up will make you look "cheap", but leaving the house
after you reach a certain age without the right amount of it is close
to illegal.
12. "Be Sweet". ( This was said to me each and every time I started out the
door).
13. Don't wear white after labor day.
14. As soon as you are seated in a restaurant your gloves are to be removed
and placed with or inside your purse.
15. "Black is slimming".
16. Perfume is a must! (She has a signature scent).
17. Write thank you notes when you owe someone a thank you.
These are just a few of the rules off the top of my head but there were many more. Now my mother didn't just give you the rules and walk away. She was more than willing to stay close and help you implement them. My younger sister just listened and complied, my twin sister was driven absolutely insane by it all, while I ,on the other hand, loved every minute of it.
Lord, my favorite activity that being a lady required was shopping. My mother and my sisters, and I would go on "shopping trips" downtown that I still remember today. We would, of course, be dressed in our "Sunday best", which meant dresses with crinoline slips, patent leather shoes, matching purses, lace socks, white gloves adorned with little seed pearls, and sometimes a hat.
If I close my eyes I can still hear my shoes tapping on the sidewalk as I walked down the street toward Rich's department store. (I loved that sound)
We would shop all day and buy dresses and matching accessories and I would be in Heaven. The more packages I was carrying the happier I would be. Lunch would be at the "Magnolia Room" and we would go home exhausted, but it was such a wonderful exhaustion for me.
I loved everything about being a little girl and I love everything about being a lady. I have a huge collection of handbags, and more bracelets than you could begin to imagine. If it bangles, jangles, sparkles, or has a pearl in, on, or around it I think I have to have it. Another thing that I can't get enough of are vintage ladies handkerchiefs. The kind with the lace and the flowers all over them. I keep one in my purse at all times (sprayed with just a little perfume, of course). As far as I am concerned they are an absolute necessity. They serve several purposes, such as; making the inside of your purse smell nice, being there for you to "dab" your neck or brow should you find yourself in a situation that causes you to become overheated, or if God forbid , you find yourself in tears. I also think that heels, perfume, and make-up are all fabulous things.
Needless to say, I was a wonderful student for my mother's teachings. Some of the other rules that have just popped into my mind were rules concerning manners. She would say things like "don't forget to say yes ma'am and no ma'am, and yes sir and no sir. Never chew with your mouth open, "it's beyond rude", and "no elbows on the table". "Napkins in your laps", and absolutely no silliness while you are suppose to be eating". We were at the dinner table for eating and mannerly conversation, period.
Some of these things may make my mother sound harsh but she wasn't like that at all. These things that she taught me were just things she really believed in and I treasure the knowledge of them today, because as an adult woman I agree with her. I think all of her rules were very important in helping mold me into the lady that I am today.
I feel so fortunate and so blessed that my mother taught me these things. I wish more mothers spent more time on the rules of "lady like" these days. I work in a high school and some of the things that I have heard come out of girls mouths as well as some of the things they wear and the actions that they display are unbelievable.
Many women may not agree with me, but I feel like being a lady is totally separate from being a successful woman. I think that you can be a very successful woman without having that harsh edge that completely takes your femininity away. Being a lady does not mean that you are, as I have said earlier, brainless. It just means that you know how to behave. My ideas are not neanderthal. I do agree with equal rights and I do believe that women can perform most of the same jobs as men, but I also believe that they are still ladies and should act accordingly.
I believe men actually appreciate a "lady" when they meet one, and I think that they usually remember her. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, but as for me, I'll take "lady like" all day long........ If a gentlemen holds a door for me, or shows chivalry towards me in any manner, I would never dream of being offended. I would simply be pleased that he recognized me as a lady, and of course, I would say "thank you"...........
Thank you Mama for raising me with your rules, manners and ladylike lessons...What a gift....
I love you beyond words!
My mother expected us all three to learn the rules of being a lady. I have to confess that I was a willing participant as soon as I learned some of what becoming a lady involved. Here are some of the basic rules that my mother insisted were vital in any one's quest to become a lady:
1. Never use "filthy" or "vulgar" language.
2. Never forget to sit up straight.
3. Always cross your legs when you sit down.
4. All of your "outfits" must be well put together and matching.
5. Never ever be the only girl with a group of boys. (people will talk)
6. Never call a boy on the telephone. (It's simply not done".)
7. Never act as though you are brainless to impress a boy. (charm works
much better and you can still have "good sense")
8. Never listen to "if you loved me you would".
9. Never forget that "you are judged by the company you keep".
10. Keep your appearance neat, clean, and "pulled together" at all times.
("you never know who you might run in to.")
11. To much make-up will make you look "cheap", but leaving the house
after you reach a certain age without the right amount of it is close
to illegal.
12. "Be Sweet". ( This was said to me each and every time I started out the
door).
13. Don't wear white after labor day.
14. As soon as you are seated in a restaurant your gloves are to be removed
and placed with or inside your purse.
15. "Black is slimming".
16. Perfume is a must! (She has a signature scent).
17. Write thank you notes when you owe someone a thank you.
These are just a few of the rules off the top of my head but there were many more. Now my mother didn't just give you the rules and walk away. She was more than willing to stay close and help you implement them. My younger sister just listened and complied, my twin sister was driven absolutely insane by it all, while I ,on the other hand, loved every minute of it.
Lord, my favorite activity that being a lady required was shopping. My mother and my sisters, and I would go on "shopping trips" downtown that I still remember today. We would, of course, be dressed in our "Sunday best", which meant dresses with crinoline slips, patent leather shoes, matching purses, lace socks, white gloves adorned with little seed pearls, and sometimes a hat.
If I close my eyes I can still hear my shoes tapping on the sidewalk as I walked down the street toward Rich's department store. (I loved that sound)
We would shop all day and buy dresses and matching accessories and I would be in Heaven. The more packages I was carrying the happier I would be. Lunch would be at the "Magnolia Room" and we would go home exhausted, but it was such a wonderful exhaustion for me.
I loved everything about being a little girl and I love everything about being a lady. I have a huge collection of handbags, and more bracelets than you could begin to imagine. If it bangles, jangles, sparkles, or has a pearl in, on, or around it I think I have to have it. Another thing that I can't get enough of are vintage ladies handkerchiefs. The kind with the lace and the flowers all over them. I keep one in my purse at all times (sprayed with just a little perfume, of course). As far as I am concerned they are an absolute necessity. They serve several purposes, such as; making the inside of your purse smell nice, being there for you to "dab" your neck or brow should you find yourself in a situation that causes you to become overheated, or if God forbid , you find yourself in tears. I also think that heels, perfume, and make-up are all fabulous things.
Needless to say, I was a wonderful student for my mother's teachings. Some of the other rules that have just popped into my mind were rules concerning manners. She would say things like "don't forget to say yes ma'am and no ma'am, and yes sir and no sir. Never chew with your mouth open, "it's beyond rude", and "no elbows on the table". "Napkins in your laps", and absolutely no silliness while you are suppose to be eating". We were at the dinner table for eating and mannerly conversation, period.
Some of these things may make my mother sound harsh but she wasn't like that at all. These things that she taught me were just things she really believed in and I treasure the knowledge of them today, because as an adult woman I agree with her. I think all of her rules were very important in helping mold me into the lady that I am today.
I feel so fortunate and so blessed that my mother taught me these things. I wish more mothers spent more time on the rules of "lady like" these days. I work in a high school and some of the things that I have heard come out of girls mouths as well as some of the things they wear and the actions that they display are unbelievable.
Many women may not agree with me, but I feel like being a lady is totally separate from being a successful woman. I think that you can be a very successful woman without having that harsh edge that completely takes your femininity away. Being a lady does not mean that you are, as I have said earlier, brainless. It just means that you know how to behave. My ideas are not neanderthal. I do agree with equal rights and I do believe that women can perform most of the same jobs as men, but I also believe that they are still ladies and should act accordingly.
I believe men actually appreciate a "lady" when they meet one, and I think that they usually remember her. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, but as for me, I'll take "lady like" all day long........ If a gentlemen holds a door for me, or shows chivalry towards me in any manner, I would never dream of being offended. I would simply be pleased that he recognized me as a lady, and of course, I would say "thank you"...........
Thank you Mama for raising me with your rules, manners and ladylike lessons...What a gift....
I love you beyond words!
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