We Should Tell Our Family Stories

My Great Uncle Albert

An Environmentalist to His Heart

One of my greatest regrets is not getting the stories from my Aunt Ollie. She was an incredibly gifted singer and what was really great about her is that she knew everything about the family. Being the oldest child of my grandmother she would tell a story with my mother, bringing her up-to-date on what was happening, remembering some family anecdote and the laughter was contagious. Even though I heard a plethora of stories while growing up, I didn't take the time to keep them in my heart and mind. There are gaps and when I ask my aunt and uncle (still living), they either don't remember a particular story, or didn't ever hear it. So, today, as I add another birthday to my life, this is about getting our family stories. Good. Bad. Silly. Funny. Sad. Joyful. You need to get these stories and find a way to share them with other family members.

     Here's the other thing I know. I'm not going to be here forever. Not that I want to be here forever. Got give room to those that come after me, but I do want to leave them with something. I'm a storyteller and I never tire of telling stories. But, unfortunately a lot of the stories I tell are not my family stories and guess what, I'm missing a lot of good stories to share. Like the time my grandmother admonished my cousins and I to leave the painters alone while they painted her upstairs apartment. We had been running up and down the stairs. The apartment seemed like a playhouse with the furniture covered or gone. The halls and rooms echoed in ways that were thrilling to our child's mind. Still, my grandmother, Mother we called her, said we had to stop pestering the painters and let them do their work. Basically, we were good kids, but it was too tempting once she left to go the store.

     Come on, my cousin Michael extolled. Mother won't be back for while. Let's just go and look.

     But grandmother said ... I started to explain and was quickly silenced.

     You a baby? my cousin Mary Adell asked.

     So, up the stairs I trudged with my cousins. However, while they peeked in closets and asked the painters a million questions, I silently stood and looked out the back window. Grandmother had told us not to be upstairs. I admit it. I was scared. Lost in my thoughts, however, I had stopped watching and as I looked out the window, I saw my grandmother coming briskly across the courtyard of the apartment complex. I looked around for my cousins, but they were in other rooms and if I yelled out to them, well ... I didn't and scooted down the stairs. When the screen door slammed, Michael, Fred and Mary Adell looked like a routine from the three stooges as they bumped into each other as they headed down to the bottom of the stairs.

     BUSTED!

     Where was I? Sitting on the couch, my head in a book. Needless to say, they got it. Grandmother spanked them all soundly and sat them on the couch, where snuffling and sniffling, they cast baled eyes in my direction. They were gonna kill me when they got me alone, I knew, but I'd rather suffer their wrath than Miss Elaine's.

     I will always remember my grandmother's words. P.K., now don't lie and tell me you weren't up there, too, she said knowingly. But, I'm here to tell you that if you do anything else that you're not supposed to do, I'm going to whip you for that and this. Then she headed into the kitchen, where she excelled, by the way, and fixed us lunch.

     That's a story worth telling. We do, but when I die, will any of the young people know that story or understand the ramifications of not minding your elders? I don't think so. So, I went to Oroville, California last week and took my little camera to get a couple of stories about my uncle. This story is about the work he is doing. He, after retiring from the service of teaching, wants gardens throughout the community. People gotta eat he tells me and he's right. But, it is more than that. There is still time to get his story and to remember it. With technology today, anyone who is not sharing their family stories is limiting their family legacies. Go and get one of those stories today.

     This is real peace. 

The Value of a T-Shirt

Remembering Why I Wore It

I was cleaning out my closets and drawers and found my Obama t-shirts. I have a few of them. They are collector's items for me, a time of remembrance and joy. It is said that a picture is worth a “thousand words” and this sentiment was properly invoked during the last presidential election. No matter what side of the fence you were on in that election, buttons and t-shirts were the stars of Obama's campaign as never before in history. And—truth be told—Obama t-shirts were the hottest items of the day. During those last 24-months of that campaign, t-shirts held sway over the sentiments of those who supported Obama and even those who didn’t. T-Shirts with slogans like “Obama Mama” and “Barack and Roll” were just a few that caught my eye, especially on November 4 where if you didn’t have an Obama t-shirt on, you at least had a button or two. I, myself, wore my t-shirt that said “Think Peace” because for me, voting for Barack was my way of looking at a new day that ushers in peace. I was literally “Thinking Peace!”
     As an aside, however, I will add that peace is not the absence of conflict, but how you conduct yourself in the midst of that conflict. Obama represented for me the “way” in solving conflicts. It was this challenge that encouraged people to literally wear their thoughts on their sleeves (or chest, if you will). But, what does it mean to wear the statement of Obama on your head or body? The feeling from those I interviewed was that it was a statement that was beyond words, but that wearing it was also a commitment, a firm one at that.
     This commitment was in many forms. It was a commitment to participate in a process that far too many have been apathetic about or worse, resigned that it would never be different. It was a commitment that included young people and people of diverse religions, ethnicities, social class, just to name a few. It was a commitment to stand for something and not fall for anything—anymore.
     I asked many questions that night. What do you want to see happen first in an Obama presidency? What makes Obama different from the other candidates? What are some of the hurdles he has to overcome? Can he really make a difference? What I’ve found is that young people are not gullible. They are looking at the issues, especially those that concern them. They are paying attention and they are a force be reckoned with.
     Still, gullibility is not an issue. Obama being elected was not about our gullibility, but of faith and hope. Not faith as in blind and not hope as in a great wish. Yes, it was about change, definitely, only we know that electing a black man doesn't change anything. Ask any black person about affirmative action. Having one black person in a multitude of whites doesn't change the landscape and for that we, with faith and hope as our anchor, must now add hard work and commitment to the change we seek.
     Anyway, looking at my t-shirts and remembering November 4, 2008, it got me to thinking. What is the value of a t-shirt? I mean, the t-shirts are worn--but not so worn. Big, but the better to see, my dear. The value of the t-shirt? History. Absolutely. So, I put my t-shirts back, folded neatly and tucked away safely. I'll give it a little more time as to what history tells us, however. I believe that history will tell us whether change came after all.
     Peace.

Amazing Grace - Wintley Phipps

Understanding Our Stories Through Song

My Aunt Ollie could sing with the same vibrancy of Mahalia Jackson. She was also a storyteller. I wish I could sing as well as she, but I can tell a story. I also know a good story when I hear one. A good story changes you. Slightly. Vastly. Sometimes and often times irrevocably. The best stories are like that. It makes you see another in a light that not only helps you undestand, but know. What do I know? I mean, what do I know after a good story? I know that there is goodness and that we are all capable of it. I know that life is good even going across its rocky terrain. Ups and downs. Storms and Sun. Life is good! and so are people.

     I was blind. But, now I see.

     That's what a good story does for you.

     'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear and grace, my fear released.

     I have had so many ups and downs this past six years, I have felt like surrendering. The only reason I haven't surrendered it is that I haven't been sure what I'd be surrendering or surrendering to. I know that I am called to a life of storytelling. I also know that there is no job description for what I do and what I am called to do, but I do know that I can't NOT do it.

     In this video, Wintley Phipps talks about the genesis of the song Amazing Grace. Everyone I have had a chance to show this video are moved by Phipp's storytelling. Most of these individuals know the song Amazing Grace and most love it. The interesting factor about this song and this story is that it doesn't matter what the faith of the individual I share this story with. They all resonate with the story, its meaning and my connection to it. They feel ... They know ...

     Slightly. Vastly. This story creates an irrevocable change. In the person. It changes me a little more each time I share it with others, too. Why does it change me--yet again and again? I think, no I know ... it is because this story is one in which once two people share it, they know more about each other than they knew before. It is a story that lends itself to intimacy.

     So, if you watched the video before you have had an opportunity to read what I've written, it would be interesting to know what you think. If you have read first and then watched the video, what do you know about me now? Either way, I'd like to know what this story does for you. Call it an experiement. Humor me. Share with me.

     Peace.