Joanne loved playing poker with her friends.
They played for dimes but it was the side bets that made it all worth it. These were private wagers of some consequence, the details of which were only known to the parties involved.
Dares really.
Already she’d bought heroin at midnight in a very “bad” neighborhood. She’d had Sheila sell some unwashed panties on eBay. Marcia had been made to confront her husband’s mistress and convinced the girl to steal from him. They were all going to Vegas on the proceeds.
Joanne worried that she would back out on the carjacking though.
Fred Wesley, that's all I'm sayin':
So I'm fresh off the Bill Moyers interview with Jeremiah Wright. Quite illuminating. But it only confirmed what I'd finally come to conclude. The racial divide in this country is alive and well.
Honestly I had my issues with sound the bites initially. "God Damn America"? a bit over the top and cringe inducing. "Black Liberation Theology"? I rolled my eyes.
I watched Hannity ambush the man a bit later. Okay, but what did I expect? It's Fox. And it's Sean Hannity. But back it up a bit and realize it's television "journalism", a dying medium desperate for ratings. But And then a writer for The Times likened the good reverend to something akin to a "crackpot." The Times? The Great Bastion of "Liberal Media?"
Passing strange.
Over time, I've come to realize that the sentiments Reverend Wright expressed are pretty much in line with what I've heard from the pulpit, or around the kitchen table, all my life. Much of it helped shape my world view. And admittedly I'm a bit of a subversive, but I'm a long way from way from a fire breathing black nationalist radical. I don't renounce everything I learned from either venue, nor have I accepted it all as gospel (or Gospel) either.
I find it funny, and ironic, that so many white commentators are shocked by what they've learned about the black church since this "controversy" began. If they only knew. My grandfather used to say that white people in his community should be thankful that so many black people did go to church. Otherwise there'd be hell to pay. In the same context, I think for Wright to acknowledge and bring context to the anger and frustration that so many of his congregation have experienced is good for all of America. He provided context for their frustration and hope based on the historical example of scripture.
Wright likened much of what had been attempted at Chicago's Trinity United before his arrival as "missionary work." An attempt to "civilize" and pacify the congregation. Present them with high teas and cultural enrichment, while blatantly ignoring the challenges of their daily lives. He said that he was challenged by one of his white mentors to meet them where they were, to address their day to day lives through the lens of scripture. To tell them that the message of Christ, that the meaning of Christianity, has relevance in their daily lives, and is more than some vague promise of the hereafter.
Ironically I had that same lesson affirmed in Lutheran schools, in a largely white setting. It took me years to realize that my background is largely anomalous to much of the faith and society in general. The thrust of what has historically been taken as religious life in this country has more to do with confirming manifest destiny (the rightness of conquest), being "nice" as opposed to ethical, and lately, getting paid (or "abundant living").
I heard someone say on NPR last week that part of the thrust of Black Liberation Theology follows the prophetic tradition of scripture, in affect "to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comforted." In this, Reverend Wright has few peers. However, he's hardly traversing uncharted territory, at least from my point of view.
I'll be waiting to hear what he says in Detroit this Sunday with great interest.
The little guy to the left there turned 5 this week. On the one hand, nothing spectacular right? Somebody turns 5 every day. On the other hand he's family. My first cousin's son. His great-grandfather was my grandfather. I keep trying to figure out if that makes him my second cousin or my fist cousin, one time removed.
Which is neither here nor there.
He has a great smile, just like Valerie, his mother. I was 16 when Valerie turned 5, being that I was 11 when she born.
Do you see where I'm going here? Someone whose diapers I used to change, whose very first steps I witnessed, who my dad slipped a little wine when she was teething (and screaming her head off) so she'd sleep... has a 5 year old. She also has a college degree and a husband and some new fangly adjunct professorship or something.
Good God I'm old. Terrifyingly old, careening in quick fashion for my inevitable date with The Reaper.
Which again, is neither here nor there, right? Every day somebody dies, somebody is born, and somebody turns 5. We try to mark the days and make the best of all of them.
So, happy birthday Jonathan. And many happy returns.
Make sure your grandmother never hears about that wine thing.
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