While cleaning out a folder tonight I ran across this poem I wrote October 11, 2005 from my desk in the U.S. Capitol. I was a Senior Advisor to Speaker Pelosi. It was shortly after my first trip on October 3 into the devestation Katrina brought to Mississippi and Louisiana... Just weeks after it hit. I met some amazing people and had much to report. I ended my memo to the Speaker with this poem:
Souls Descending, Hope Appearing
Stinging, sea blue eyes cutting, hurting
Penetrating, silently sinking, falling
Souls descending, down… lower... lower…
Marble exploding, caskets floating
Church doors opening
Salvation missing
Glowing, flickering canvass sand castles
Empty eyes in the moat looking
Souls descending, down… lower… lower…
Wood fraying, steel bending
Hearts breaking open, wide
Paradise collapsing
Surging crystal staining lives
Eyes struggling, looking, needing
Souls descending, down… lower… lower…
Hope appearing, at the bottom
Slowly moving, turning, seeing
Hope rising
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
I Never Learned How to Moonwalk
We had victory parties after every home football game when I was in high school. Win or lose. Various parents hosted them at their homes each Friday night. Within a couple of hours after the game it seemed like the entire study body would be at the party enjoying the food and drink, the good company and replaying the game in vivid narratives.
I remember one such victory party at the Ligon home at Main and 4th. Someone had pulled back all the chairs le
aving a large space where several of the cheerleaders were teaching all the rest of us how to moonwalk while Michael Jackson songs blared from the stereo.
Of course, there are plenty of Michael Jackson moments to remember. He was everywhere during the 80’s – the decade my generation stood on that American cultural and social pedestal known as the teen years. He was at our victory parties, in our cars on the radio, at our birthday parties, on the ski boats during the summers, after school and on Friday and Saturday nights when we cruised from the bowling alley to the Sonic and back again – some weekend nights we’d make the loop through town 40 or 50 times and Jackson was playing on the radio, or a few songs away.
I remember the summer some of the girls traveled several hundred miles to Knoxville to see him live in concert. It was the talk of the entire town. The photos and stories endured the entire summer.
The marching band, of which I was certainly one of its star musicians, included “Beat It”, “Billie Jean” and other Jackson songs in its musical line up. We were pretty cool hitting those throbbing, driving beats. Of course, we thought when Rick James sang “she loved the boys in the band” in “Super Freak” he meant she loved the boys in the marching band and those of us in the tuba line were certain she specifically “loved” us… but I digress.
Michael Jackson was a cultural behemoth. He set trends that continue today. His music defined pop and his dance moves changed dance. Jackson’s dance and music styles remain evident in today’s stars that I often think of him when watching Timberlake, Miley or the Jonas Brothers.
Quincy Jones, in an interview I once heard, shared that he once took Jackson to see Frank Sinatra perform. When Sinatra came onto the stage, Jackson remarked to Jones “he walks like a king.” I’m not sure why I’ve always remembered that comment. Maybe I liked the connection of two different generations; the link between seemingly two very different entertainers, but at the core it was all about command, confidence and poise. Sinatra had it. So did Michael Jackson.
In reality, I was one of those guys more than often in a pickup out in the country, away from Main Street, listening to Hank Jr. sing “A Country Boy Can Survive.” But, if I’m honest along with my friends, we must admit a Jackson tape or two was in our tape case, too. He touched us all.
I always thought he was probably a defining figure in tearing down race barriers simply because he captured a whole generation of Americans, white and black, regardless of region. We were lighting bic lighters and grooving to “Thriller” down in Mississippi just like they were on the Strip in Philly, the Village in NYC or the Presidio in San Francisco.
It’s funny now that Jackson has died we all want to remember Michael the conqueror, the King of Pop. We’ve spent a lot of time over the past few years tabloid gawking and talking about his awkward and seemingly dysfunctional older life. But, death has a way of reminding us of the whole reality of a person especially when that person was just 50 when he died - and if that person was Michael Jackson.
Maybe it’s a reminder for us all to take a look at the person in the mirror. And with that I’ll leave you with my Michael Jackson favorite. O, I never did learn how to moonwalk. Is it too late?
My favorite Jackson song:
I remember one such victory party at the Ligon home at Main and 4th. Someone had pulled back all the chairs le
aving a large space where several of the cheerleaders were teaching all the rest of us how to moonwalk while Michael Jackson songs blared from the stereo. Of course, there are plenty of Michael Jackson moments to remember. He was everywhere during the 80’s – the decade my generation stood on that American cultural and social pedestal known as the teen years. He was at our victory parties, in our cars on the radio, at our birthday parties, on the ski boats during the summers, after school and on Friday and Saturday nights when we cruised from the bowling alley to the Sonic and back again – some weekend nights we’d make the loop through town 40 or 50 times and Jackson was playing on the radio, or a few songs away.
I remember the summer some of the girls traveled several hundred miles to Knoxville to see him live in concert. It was the talk of the entire town. The photos and stories endured the entire summer.
The marching band, of which I was certainly one of its star musicians, included “Beat It”, “Billie Jean” and other Jackson songs in its musical line up. We were pretty cool hitting those throbbing, driving beats. Of course, we thought when Rick James sang “she loved the boys in the band” in “Super Freak” he meant she loved the boys in the marching band and those of us in the tuba line were certain she specifically “loved” us… but I digress.
Michael Jackson was a cultural behemoth. He set trends that continue today. His music defined pop and his dance moves changed dance. Jackson’s dance and music styles remain evident in today’s stars that I often think of him when watching Timberlake, Miley or the Jonas Brothers.
Quincy Jones, in an interview I once heard, shared that he once took Jackson to see Frank Sinatra perform. When Sinatra came onto the stage, Jackson remarked to Jones “he walks like a king.” I’m not sure why I’ve always remembered that comment. Maybe I liked the connection of two different generations; the link between seemingly two very different entertainers, but at the core it was all about command, confidence and poise. Sinatra had it. So did Michael Jackson.
In reality, I was one of those guys more than often in a pickup out in the country, away from Main Street, listening to Hank Jr. sing “A Country Boy Can Survive.” But, if I’m honest along with my friends, we must admit a Jackson tape or two was in our tape case, too. He touched us all.
I always thought he was probably a defining figure in tearing down race barriers simply because he captured a whole generation of Americans, white and black, regardless of region. We were lighting bic lighters and grooving to “Thriller” down in Mississippi just like they were on the Strip in Philly, the Village in NYC or the Presidio in San Francisco.
It’s funny now that Jackson has died we all want to remember Michael the conqueror, the King of Pop. We’ve spent a lot of time over the past few years tabloid gawking and talking about his awkward and seemingly dysfunctional older life. But, death has a way of reminding us of the whole reality of a person especially when that person was just 50 when he died - and if that person was Michael Jackson.
Maybe it’s a reminder for us all to take a look at the person in the mirror. And with that I’ll leave you with my Michael Jackson favorite. O, I never did learn how to moonwalk. Is it too late?
My favorite Jackson song:
*Photo: Looking south along Main Street, from the town square, in Grenada, Mississippi. My hometown.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
A New President, MLK, Mother Parks, a Congressman, My Boys and Me
Bedtime Stories
Last night's bedtime story for my two little boys was about Mother Rosa Parks. A few nights ago we read and talked about Dr. King.
On Monday morning, MLK Day, I will do what I have been doing for over 15 years... it is the only day of the year my wife would allow such a tradition.
Awaking early, I fire up the CD player, turn up the volume, hit play and Dr. King's "I have a dream" speech reverberates off the walls of our house until everyone is awake and downstairs listening to the speech and me talk about attending my native Mississippi county's NAACP Freedom Banquets with my father and the waning remnants of the Jim Crow from my youthful 1970's.
My boys have come to embody, literally personify, the meaning of change and hope for me. They listen to stories of separate but not equal old movie houses, health clinic waiting rooms and restrooms as though I came from another planet. They cannot fathom their Turtle Park playground cut off from their African American little friends.
"Daddy, how would I play with Ethan?" one asked me this year about his sweet friend of color.
"That is what I am telling you," I say, "You have the blessing of having any friend, knowing any person, experiencing your whole city (nation) and skin color just reminds us of God's rainbow and promise that the world will never be destroyed again by floods of hate." (Yes, I know, any theologians reading this. I take great liberty with the rainbow, but my boys are 6 and 4, respectively. They get it.)
Color Blind
The change I lived through in the 1970's and 80's is the reality my children live in, today. That makes change incarnate for me. It makes me deeply thankful. It makes me smile.
It also let's me tell my boys how they will see injustice, we have not attained perfection, and hurting people in their lives. And they can stand on the shoulders of Mother Parks, Dr. King and thousands of others who put their hope in action and bring their change to their generation, for their world.
This approaching MLK Day brings with it the inauguration of a new President of our good nation. Barack Obama will soon be sworn in. My boys know more about him and his family than one would think... where they are from, their enjoyment of basketball, where the Obama children go to school and on and on.
The whole concept that Barack Obama could not be President simply because he is black does not even resonate in their little brains.
Can you imagine an America where such concepts do not exist? Dr. King and Mother Parks did.
A new President will soon forever expand our composite of Presidents.
Little children all over the nation will develop into adults who were led into the future by an African American, or, without diminishing ethnic heritage, should I just say, who were led by just another American like Washington, Lincoln, JFK or Clinton.
Color blind!
Grace Notes
Senator Clinton often refers to 'grace notes' that are experienced through life. She is talking about those moments that touch the soul, when something special and soul shattering is experienced... something that calls us to understanding, feeling and action.
I look forward to seeing my boys experience the 'grace notes' of their lives. I will share with them this week some of mine.
My Grace Note
Several years ago I was running a congressional race down south. It was horrible. We were out of money, there was little cooperation internally and externally. Our opposition was drowning us with spending on television ads.
It was so bad I decided to get out... not just get out of that particular campaign but of the profession. I was ready to hang it up and find another career.
My first son was an infant, it was a Friday and I was already planning on flying to DC for the weekend to be with my wife and new baby.
I just would not return.
I was numb by the time I arrived at the airport in Atlanta. Getting through security did not help. As I walked to my gate, from behind, I realized a celebrity must be nearby because people were gathering around someone. I could see flashes from cameras.
Approaching, I heard, "Son, this is your Congressman."
And then, "Sir, would you mind taking a photo with my daughter?"
The celebrity: United States Congressman John Lewis.
The audience: White Southerners (I know Southern voices), mostly my age (I know slightly graying hair). Many with children.
So here I was watching the sons and daughters of the South... those of a generation who remember the remnants of Jim Crow and who had family and friends who grew up prior to the Civil Rights Movement. I know the things they have heard in their communities; the things they were told, by some, as children.
But here they were introducing their children to John Lewis, having photos taken and getting autographs.
And then one white gentleman stuck out his hand to Congressman Lewis and said, "Thank you, sir, for what you did for my family."
John Lewis crossed a bridge and was beaten with baseball bats for doing so. John Lewis was imprisoned for saying we should all be treated equally, because, well, we are equal. John Lewis was spat upon and reviled.
Me? Well I had a bad week in a campaign office. And I was ready to quit. No baseball bats, no spitting, no imprisonment. Nope, I just had a frustrating week.
I returned to DC, saw my wife and new baby and returned to that campaign and gave it my best. We did not win the race. We came close. But, I have helped many people of good will win campaigns since. I did not quit.
Now that, folks, is a 'grace note.'
Blessed
We are blessed for the churches and clergy who led the Civil Rights Movement.
We are blessed for those ladies who first gathered at Alabama State to take action in support of Mother Parks. The first thing they did: join hands in prayer.
We are blessed Reverend King shared his dream with us.
We are blessed Congressman John Lewis never quit.
We are blessed the children of today will see just another American become President on Tuesday.
My march to the future involves the celebration of an African American President. My boys march into their lives involves an inaugural children's concert, interests in the White House pet and a new American President. Change!
What are your 'grace notes?'
AMEN.
Last night's bedtime story for my two little boys was about Mother Rosa Parks. A few nights ago we read and talked about Dr. King.
On Monday morning, MLK Day, I will do what I have been doing for over 15 years... it is the only day of the year my wife would allow such a tradition.
Awaking early, I fire up the CD player, turn up the volume, hit play and Dr. King's "I have a dream" speech reverberates off the walls of our house until everyone is awake and downstairs listening to the speech and me talk about attending my native Mississippi county's NAACP Freedom Banquets with my father and the waning remnants of the Jim Crow from my youthful 1970's.
My boys have come to embody, literally personify, the meaning of change and hope for me. They listen to stories of separate but not equal old movie houses, health clinic waiting rooms and restrooms as though I came from another planet. They cannot fathom their Turtle Park playground cut off from their African American little friends.
"Daddy, how would I play with Ethan?" one asked me this year about his sweet friend of color.
"That is what I am telling you," I say, "You have the blessing of having any friend, knowing any person, experiencing your whole city (nation) and skin color just reminds us of God's rainbow and promise that the world will never be destroyed again by floods of hate." (Yes, I know, any theologians reading this. I take great liberty with the rainbow, but my boys are 6 and 4, respectively. They get it.)
Color Blind
The change I lived through in the 1970's and 80's is the reality my children live in, today. That makes change incarnate for me. It makes me deeply thankful. It makes me smile.
It also let's me tell my boys how they will see injustice, we have not attained perfection, and hurting people in their lives. And they can stand on the shoulders of Mother Parks, Dr. King and thousands of others who put their hope in action and bring their change to their generation, for their world.
This approaching MLK Day brings with it the inauguration of a new President of our good nation. Barack Obama will soon be sworn in. My boys know more about him and his family than one would think... where they are from, their enjoyment of basketball, where the Obama children go to school and on and on.
The whole concept that Barack Obama could not be President simply because he is black does not even resonate in their little brains.
Can you imagine an America where such concepts do not exist? Dr. King and Mother Parks did.
A new President will soon forever expand our composite of Presidents.
Little children all over the nation will develop into adults who were led into the future by an African American, or, without diminishing ethnic heritage, should I just say, who were led by just another American like Washington, Lincoln, JFK or Clinton.
Color blind!
Grace Notes
Senator Clinton often refers to 'grace notes' that are experienced through life. She is talking about those moments that touch the soul, when something special and soul shattering is experienced... something that calls us to understanding, feeling and action.
I look forward to seeing my boys experience the 'grace notes' of their lives. I will share with them this week some of mine.
My Grace Note
Several years ago I was running a congressional race down south. It was horrible. We were out of money, there was little cooperation internally and externally. Our opposition was drowning us with spending on television ads.
It was so bad I decided to get out... not just get out of that particular campaign but of the profession. I was ready to hang it up and find another career.
My first son was an infant, it was a Friday and I was already planning on flying to DC for the weekend to be with my wife and new baby.
I just would not return.
I was numb by the time I arrived at the airport in Atlanta. Getting through security did not help. As I walked to my gate, from behind, I realized a celebrity must be nearby because people were gathering around someone. I could see flashes from cameras.
Approaching, I heard, "Son, this is your Congressman."
And then, "Sir, would you mind taking a photo with my daughter?"
The celebrity: United States Congressman John Lewis.
The audience: White Southerners (I know Southern voices), mostly my age (I know slightly graying hair). Many with children.
So here I was watching the sons and daughters of the South... those of a generation who remember the remnants of Jim Crow and who had family and friends who grew up prior to the Civil Rights Movement. I know the things they have heard in their communities; the things they were told, by some, as children.
But here they were introducing their children to John Lewis, having photos taken and getting autographs.
And then one white gentleman stuck out his hand to Congressman Lewis and said, "Thank you, sir, for what you did for my family."
John Lewis crossed a bridge and was beaten with baseball bats for doing so. John Lewis was imprisoned for saying we should all be treated equally, because, well, we are equal. John Lewis was spat upon and reviled.
Me? Well I had a bad week in a campaign office. And I was ready to quit. No baseball bats, no spitting, no imprisonment. Nope, I just had a frustrating week.
I returned to DC, saw my wife and new baby and returned to that campaign and gave it my best. We did not win the race. We came close. But, I have helped many people of good will win campaigns since. I did not quit.
Now that, folks, is a 'grace note.'
Blessed
We are blessed for the churches and clergy who led the Civil Rights Movement.
We are blessed for those ladies who first gathered at Alabama State to take action in support of Mother Parks. The first thing they did: join hands in prayer.
We are blessed Reverend King shared his dream with us.
We are blessed Congressman John Lewis never quit.
We are blessed the children of today will see just another American become President on Tuesday.
My march to the future involves the celebration of an African American President. My boys march into their lives involves an inaugural children's concert, interests in the White House pet and a new American President. Change!
What are your 'grace notes?'
AMEN.
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