My daddy used to tell me to ask for the things I wanted or needed.  He would say that, “You should ask because you have a fifty percent chance of getting what you want.  And if you don’t get what you want, you are no worse off than before you asked.”  He was a smart man.

I have learned that I have less difficulty asking for things when the result of the ask translates to something beneficial to other folks in my village.  In addition, I have found that people tend to respond with positivity and generosity when they realize that my energies are focused on uplifting others and enhancing the community.  My history of asking people to participate in village building with me has demonstrated to them that I own the fact that I don’t know everything and that I value the fact that they are masters of something that I have not mastered.  Honestly, I don’t really care to know everything.  Why you ask? Because it is really not that important to me that I know the details of every imaginable thing.  Who has the mental capacity or the physical strength for that?

I recognized years ago that the foundation of a prosperous community rested in the human capital within the community.  Prosperous communities have consistently demonstrated an appreciation for the special talents and unique abilities of each member.  Because I always want my community at home, in the neighborhood, and at work to be prosperous, I work to identify the areas of expertise and giftedness of those around me.  Then, I dream and envision ways that I can encourage, empower, and enlighten those around me knowing that these outcomes  will enhance the community as a whole.  Often my visions of greatness can’t and won’t be realized without the input and contributions of others.  I must boldly state the objectives and goals to people equipped to help me attain the deliverables.  Some have called me a master connector of people and ideas or said I was good at networking.  I call myself an excellent village builder with an appreciation of the diversity of cultures, skill sets, personalities, interests, and uniquenesses that surrounds me.

As a village builder, I have learned that the teachings of my parents, Charles and Lola, apply and rule.  My father once told me, “Baby, you might not change the world, but you can make a difference in the place where you find yourself.”  My mother always told me, “Leave it better than you found it.”  With the help of the creative, driven, generous specialists in my villages, I seek to accomplish two goals:

1. To impact somebody’s world in a positive way every day and
2. To leave each situation better than how I found it.

Most people welcome opportunities to live their gifts and talents loudly to the glory of a goal that serves to plant seeds of greatness, cultivate greatness, or celebrate the plentiful harvest that represents hard work and sacrifice.  Finally, I love the collective eagerness of individuals to promote and encourage my excitement about inspiring the dreams, needs, or goals of others incapable of accomplishing the same alone or without the input and support of a supportive village.  I absolutely love being the writer and conductor of a symphony created by villagers eager to live their passions loud enough that they create a memorable melody resounding with hope and prosperity for others in our space.

I have spent some time reading my old journals and I am really surprised about a few recurring themes: communication, anxiety about life, my security and how each of those relates to my faith and peace of mind.  It seemed that I was really concerned about how to communicate these concerns to the people in my life who might be able to provide guidance or “fix” them for me.

The date of this journal entry places this emotional encounter shortly after my mother had the stroke and my job of being my mother’s caretaker began.  In retrospect, I can see that not only did I have anxiety and fear about making important decisions for my mother, but the responsibility weighed on me in a way I didn’t expect it to manifest itself.  I felt fear about becoming destitute and abused as an old woman if I didn’t have caretakers or resources.  My contact with mama’s nursing home coupled with the realization that friends and family (whose input I considered when I made many of the decisions about her care) would not be the presence I hoped they would be instilled these fears and others.  I began to worry about whether the decision to stay home for so many years to care for children would negatively impact me financially when I was old like my mother.  In my heart, I knew that I made the right decision to be available to my children, but this new awareness made me question all of my choices up to that moment.  My mother had been saving and planning for her elder care for a number of years.  I didn’t give much attention to her plans because I just didn’t want to deal with the thought of her aging and deteriorating to a point where she couldn’t provide me the nurturing and guidance that I had grown to expect from her.  As I spoke to the long term care team, her medical insurance provider, her retirement system representatives, and the bankers, I realized that by pooling her resources I could afford the best care scenario possible for her in her hometown.  It was great for her, but it made me worry about what aging would look like for me.

According to my journal entry, I made a decision that reliance on a divine power would be the only hope for me and the only way I could manage my mother’s care.  In reading the entry, I saw that I did most of the wrestling with these thoughts about my fears and anxieties internally.  For some reason, most likely the pride rooted in my ability to handle my new role on my own, I excluded other people from the opportunity to evaluate my plan in detail and peruse the addendum attached to the plan which I will call my emotional appendix.

The introspective look into my approach to challenging events revealed that during that time of challenge there were people waiting for me to ask them to carry me because they either believed I expected their assistance or because they just didn’t believe I was strong enough for the task.  I found that I didn’t feel that I could completely rely on any one person during that time in my life.  It was difficult for me to discuss what I was feeling for a number of reasons.  It was painful to see my mother suffering.  I didn’t really think anyone else could fix the problem because there was no way to undo my mother’s illness. There was no way to make time slow down for me or to make it move in reverse.  And my mother gave me a charge: “I know you will be the one to take care of me.”  So, I went about managing my emotions and the situation to the best of my ability even though I knew that my methodology was confusing to most.

My dad used to say that I was “a good girl” with “peculiar ways” and I mentioned that in this journal entry.  I am sure that those around me felt my dad’s sentiments about me during that period of my life and that must be the reason that I mentioned his opinion in the journal entry.  While my dad had his opinion, I preferred to say that I was not “peculiar,” but complex.  Fortunately, I put things on pause long enough to try to understand my complexities in the midst of the challenge.  Additionally, I worked to decipher the responses I was receiving from those around me who wanted to ease my pain and reduce my stress level.  I decided that it must be easier to deal with a peculiar person than a complex being because the village was struggling with me.  Haha.  Because I was raised by a coach and spent most of my adult life around coaches, I noticed that I explained my findings in sports terms in this journal entry. It is pretty cool that the Super Bowl is today and I happened upon this journal entry laced with football references.

I found that people love what things and situations look like on paper like coaches and fans love to talk about their perfect “Super Bowl” roster when the regular season opens.  Then, the lights come on and the ink comes to life trailing in unscripted patterns across the page.  If they were coaching the game, the might see the need for adjustments and proceed to make the changes without hesitation.  However, people who wanted to help me in my challenge struggled with applying the scientific rules of a game to my challenging situation.  Rather, they focus on a euphoric vision of my life that depicted me living a satisfied, stress-free life.  The attempt to force me into the perfect, euphoric vision of a life free of anxiety, stress, and worry created relationship drama at home and in other circles.  When the ink came to life, emotions, opinions, personality uniquenesses, and individuality were awakened much like the real time game predicament of a quarterback who goes under center and sees a defensive shift just prior to the snap of the ball.  In an attempt to recreate a perfect offensive formation, the quarterback begins to shout out the necessary adjustments.  Sometimes his offensive teammates can hear and sometimes the signals are lost in the noise.  Lost in the noise is where I found myself.  I had lots of quarterbacks and coaches in my life, but honestly they were not shouting signals that I could hear or understand over the noise.  The communication was lost.

The communication failure led to feelings that others wanted to control me – my thinking, my emotions, my laughter, my freedom, and my peace.  My failure to filter out the noise resulted in isolation, frustration, and sometimes agitation on my part and on the part of the friend or family member trying to help me.  They felt like the fans at the game who swear that they know more than the coaches and who would certainly have chosen a different lane if they had been running the ball.  In my head, everyone was a Monday morning quarterback who had no clue about the opponent I faced or the game plan I had chosen.

Since I wrote that journal entry four years ago, I have learned to be conscious of moments of extreme challenge and the emotions that are my normal in those moments.  I learned to listen to the advice of others and ponder their statements before I reply or act.  Moreover, I learned to remind these life coaches that no game is played to perfection and the expectation of perfection during play in my life is an unrealistic and unattainable goal.  Penalties and mistakes in football lead to negative yardage and present evidence of mental lapses and poor judgment.  I learned that while I live life setbacks may occur and the coaching for me to be perfectly secure, stable, and  collected all of the time added emotional weight to the situation.  Even that type of concern and weight felt like someone trying to control my emotional decisions.  I learned that the “fix” for my fears, anxieties, and worries was not in botched communications with those who tried to help.  I began to practice what I had heard for years in sports:  Develop a short memory,  mistakes in life are expected, block out the noise, speak clearly and in a language that my villagers understand, dust myself off, and get back in the game.  When I can implement that game plan I am always winning!

Because of @IAmSteveHarvey I created a vision board for myself and then I created one for the staff in my office.  I was reminded of this vision board exercise after watching a video of Steve Harvey addressing one of his audiences about taking risks and making decisions that can provide a “way to soar.”

One evening I saw Steve Harvey on the OWN network talking to Oprah.  He said that he and his wife have a vision board with some ridiculous goals.  I decided that my vision board would include some things I really could see happening for me and some ridiculous goals that make me do a happy dance if they happened for me.  I encouraged my staff to do the same.  It has been really cool to see people vocalize their goals.  It is also interesting to watch people limit their dreams because the dream or goal seems so ridiculous.  We have seen degrees earned, jobs obtained, special appointments and honors received, and a book published.

I learned from this exercise that when you dream big and have limitless expectations of yourself those around you begin to believe that big dreams are possible and emit an energy that is electrifying and contagious.  The people in my office began to see potential in each other that they either didn’t see before or just didn’t verbalize until we started the vision board.  They expressed hope for their peers and others who came into the office.  They encourage each other to do what Steve advised his Family Feud audience to do – “Jump.”  What has been really cool is watching coworkers enter my office to add dreams to someone else’s vision list because they don’t think that person dreamed big enough for themselves.  When my book was published, I sent text messages to some of my coworkers with the announcement and one of them responded that it was time to check one more thing off of my vision board.  The next morning that employee walked into my office, said good morning and went to the vision board to put a check next to “publish an ebook.”

I also learned from this exercise that when you dream big and say it out loud (or write it on a vision board for the world to see) there will be haters and minimizers.  A person walked into my office one day, looked at the vision board and laughed a hearty laugh then said, “Who do you think you’re gonna be, Oprah?”  Honestly, it made me mad and aggravated, but what it didn’t do was make me change my visions for myself.  Like I said, I made the vision board after watching Oprah interview Steve.  I decided that it would be stupid crazy to dream about spending time with both of them so I wrote that I wanted my husband and I to have lunch with Steve Harvey and his wife and that I wanted to shadow Oprah for three days.  Heck, if my life of village building for young people is gonna be fruitful and multiply, I need to be around people who are doing that successfully.  Oprah and Steve are putting in the work and their messages of village building for young people is global and effective.  So, I am letting the haters hate and I am moving forward with my plan to take my message to those who need to hear it.

The vision board opened the dream door and when I committed to enter I found kindred spirits who wanted only the joy of seeing me succeed. I was so used to being the encourager that it overwhelmed me to receive encouragement and support of my gifts.  Recently, Steve urged his Family Feud audience to live their gifts.  He quoted the bible saying that, “Your gift will make room for you.”  I am living “in my gift” right now and I encourage those around me to do the same.  While I couldn’t see a book publication for years, I met a stranger in an airport who connected me to his friend, a publisher, and less than three months later I was a published author.  Because I vocalized my desire to have warmer, more inviting digs in my office for those we service, other departments gifted us with cool furnishings and my staff and others have dedicated time and energy to this office makeover.  I am so excited about living “in my gift” right now!

I have seen some benefits of making one jump, but after listening to Steve’s monologue about making a “jump” I don’t believe that I have made the biggest jump yet.  I think that in life we take safe jumps in order to make sure we can see where we land.  The last “jump” I took came as a result of a situation that forced a crisis-like response.  It was not a calculated jump.  In retrospect, I think that there was a benefit and safety in the fact that everyone knew what prompted me to jump into this situation.  The fact scenario gave me a built in excuse if it didn’t work out well.  At this time, that move seems like one of those moments that you stick your toes in the water to test the temperature before you jump into a pool.  In those moments, you learn something from the test, but it’s not a full commitment to the journey.  Prior to the book publication, I had been posting to this blog, but the blog was nameless and faceless.  Putting my name on the book and on my blog felt like a major a jump to me, but now I know that it’s not the biggest jump I will make.  It was not a full commitment to the journey of village building for young people and those who share the earth with young people.  It was not the most full and purposeful extent to which my gifts could be employed to deliver the message.

I will update my vision board and make official the “jump” plan.  I will take the “jump” that appears not to have a safety net.  I will take the “jump” that appears to have no built in excuses.  I will take a “jump” that is contingent on me using my talents and gifts to achieve the successful delivery of the excellent villager message.  Making these proclamations feels as scary to me as the time I did a trust fall hoping that a group of high school students would catch me.  It feels like the anticipation of the drop on a rollercoaster after you make the slow, deliberate ride up the incline that delivers you to the highest point on the most revered rollercoaster.  It is my expectation that when I take that “jump” I will experience what I expect from the rollercoaster drop: a euphoric, gratifying, perfect ride that inspire me to ride again.  Moreover, I expect that the “jump” will breed encouragement, empowerment, and enlightenment for those in my space much like the excitement, entertainment, and enjoyment spectators experience when they watch the rollercoaster enthusiasts make the big drop.

If we are honest, we all have some learned behaviors from our pasts that lie dormant n some crevice in our brains.  Those behaviors lie in wait for the moment that a trigger will awaken them and deliver them to significantly impact our present situations.  Unfortunately, those behaviors that you thought were forgotten and lost in the place where old things go to retire are really sitting in the cut anxiously anticipating the invitation to participate in your life.  The  learned behaviors can be like bullies in that they serve to remind you of your imperfections and challenges.  You subconsciously walk through life knowing the bully lies in wait like the guard dog, King, who lives behind the fence at the house on the corner.  You allow yourself to be punked by them over and over again until they literally wear you down.  In my adult life, I became aware of the presence of one of my childhood bullies.  I resolved to acknowledge the bully and the fact that I had allowed the bully power in my life that it did not earn or deserve.

During my childhood, I learned about the need to please.  I have learned first hand about the emotional and physical drain that comes with pleasing people.  At times, I have pleased others or worked hard to be an excellent pleaser simply because I believed that people expected me to do so.  I believed that I was expected to consistently meet the standard of an excellent pleaser.  In addition, I enjoyed the praise that came with the completion of every task and the comments that made me resemble a savior because my response to a crisis left the situation better than it was before I entered the scene.  Over time, the recipients of my efforts to please expected more and more.  As the list of pleaser seekers grew, it became apparent that I couldn’t keep up with the demands.  It took too much energy to perform at that level to complete tasks and carry concerns and challenges for other people all of the time.  Rarely did the pleaser seekers, as I call them, willingly give me time off from my task of pleasing them.  I, the pleaser, enabled the seeker and that realization became a new unexpected burden for me.

As a pleaser with a goal to make everyone’s challenges more tolerable, I created a completely different set of challenges.  In my role as pleaser and caretaker, I got pigeon-holed into a role by those who benefited from my efforts.  The recipients of my deeds often contributed to limitations in my growth by holding me close.  Their ability to keep me, the pleaser, in close proximity to them was important and necessary if they were to successfully attain their goals with minimum output.  My absence or a change in my focus would significantly impact them and their ability to use me as a resource.  I was thankful that I was available to help my family and friends, but I realized that it took me a long time to assert myself in a way that set boundaries and limits on how I would use my skills, my time, and my energy.  In my efforts to understand my need to please and support others, I learned that there was freedom in standing up for myself.  Codependency did not look good on them or me and my decision to take control of the use of my time, my energy, and my emotions made me stronger which strengthened those I sought to please.

As I watch the sunrise this morning, my thoughts are focused on my friends – those who know me and love me anyway. My thoughts are filled with reflections on those friends who believe and understand that the catalyst for most of my actions and decisions are driven by a heart that cares about people in my space and a need to be a good villager. My need to be a good villager and support people around me has manifested itself in a number of ways from cooking and delivering food to families, feeding a car load of kids in my care, to “helping” a ref understand the error of his last call. My friends appreciate my sarcastic wit and indulge me with a laugh or chuckle or on a good day give it right back to me in the form of a comedic quip or a comedic punch that can bring me to my knees with laughter. I have learned that the folks who need people to “rescue” them from me are not my friends. Haha. I don’t make this stuff up. This really happened to me.

One evening I was at an event sponsored by my husband’s employer and I was engaged in a casual conversation with two ladies who I considered “friends.” Then, a third “friend” approached and whispered in the ear of one of the women who I will label “woman two.” After the whispered comment, the two of them giggled and left the group.  Well, somebody was whispering like a three-year-old child because my daughter who was standing nearby overheard the “whispered” comment and told me that woman three said to her friend, woman two, that she had come to “rescue” her from the conversation. Wow! Really!! Well, who knew I had people around me who needed to be rescued? I didn’t know, but I thought of the words of Kirk Franklin, “Well if you didn’t know, now you know. Glory! Glory!” And that ladies and gentlemen is when you know someone is not your friend.

My friends know and have the courage and strength to say, “Hey girl, I need to go. I got some stuff to do” and move on with whatever they need to do. My friends move on knowing that I respect their time and their decision to spend it doing something else that doesn’t involve me. They know that I will be there when they need to involve me in their lives through text messaging, a phone call, an email, or a visit in person. My closest and most dear friends have no reservations about the depth of my concern for them or the lengths that I will go to support them if I can. Our trust in one another and the allegiances between us are mutual. Our communications feel natural and fluid and when they don’t somebody will ask, “So what’s going on with you? You ok?”

As youngsters, we tend to expect and/ or want everyone to be a friend to us. As we mature, however, we generally find and accept that everyone will not be a friend. Additionally, we learn that the word friend is used much too often and callously. People say things like, “Yeah, she’s my friend. I’ve known her for years” which reminds me of the frequency with which some people use “I love you” as the go to expression for the most sincere level of caring. Most times these expressions carry very shallow sentiment and lack sustenance. I have told my kids for years that if in their life times they can count on two hands the number of true, reliable friends they have then they should consider themselves blessed. Excellent friends are hard to come by and when you find one you should cherish that relationship for as long as you are blessed to have that person in your life.

Recently, during a conversation with a friend about my blog and my writing the friend asked me to imagine what life’s stories will look like twenty years from now. At first, I had to consider why the question was asked and if my friend was actually challenging the relevancy of my thoughts and writings. Hmmm, I thought. Being the friend that I am, I had to ask, “What do you mean by that question? What made you ask that question?” My friend with all sincerity said that it was just a thought about the future and the telling of stories of a time period.

I never got the opportunity to answer the question, but I did give it thought. My thoughts about the question later in the day were the same as my immediate thoughts: The stories twenty years from now will look a lot like those we tell now and those our families told us for years. People tend to tell stories about things and situations that invoke emotion and suspense. The stories of old, like the present day stories, have given rise to fear, to love, to passion, to anger, to happiness, to sadness, to anxiousness, and grief. The stories propel us to heights of triumph and cause us to plummet into the depths of valleys. Suspense has not always meant the nail bitter from a movie scene in which you sit hoping and wishing that the potential victim would escape the clinches of the scary assailant. It has also meant cheering on the underdog team as they dig deep and exhaust all they have mentally, physically, and emotionally to score the winning goal or touchdown or basket to champion a moment. These emotions, failures, and triumphs are present in the story lines whether the theme is horror, science fiction, drama, comedy, or a good old romantic saga.

My daddy used to invite his friends to come over and sit with him “to tell some lies.” His request was always accompanied by a hearty chuckle. We all knew that he and his friends would be telling stories of their days of youth when they played sports or they would be talking about the days when my dad coached basketball or track.

My father told me stories about the days when he played baseball in college and had an invitation to try out for the Pittsburgh Pirates, but didn’t have the money to travel to the camp. As the stories have been told, my father was a really good baseball player in his younger years and in his college days. I have heard from family friends that my dad often hit home runs over the wall that used to surround the baseball field at Alabama State University. I only wish that someone could remember my father’s jersey number. My father’s inability to travel to try out for the professional baseball team inspired him to use athletics to teach other young people valuable life lessons and to support young people in their efforts to achieve any goals they set for themselves.

My father was a high school basketball and track coach before schools were integrated in Alabama. My father would tell some real tales about the young men and women he coached. There are a few stories that stand out because they seemed to be really tall tales or because I still smile and chuckle when I think about them. I wish that I had been old enough to witness the competitions. My father loved to tell the story about the basketball team he coached in Bibb County that could have won the whole thing. He talked about how he knew the strengths and weaknesses of each of his players and how he used those things to help his team be successful. He said that he would teach them “to play a good clean game of dirty ball.” Haha. In other words, his team knew all of the rules and pushed the rules to the limits like some very successful teams in our current sports era. In addition, my father would laugh about how he had one kid on the team who would not receive a great deal of playing time so my dad would use that player strategically to create frustrating situations for the best players on the other team and a foul on this special player would not put my dad’s team at risk of losing a valued ball handler or scorer. Daddy would tell us about how he defended that player’s actions with the officials when they charged the player with a foul by arguing for only one shot because “ref, he only hit him once.” Haha. My dad was funny! The year that this team was primed for the championship my father was asked to become the principal of North Highland High School in Prattville, Alabama. He took the job and coached the basketball and track teams. After my dad’s death, one of his students told a story about how they played on an outdoor dirt court and my father built walls around the court because the students had never seen an indoor basketball court. My mother added that the spectators would stand outside in their coats watching the basketball games. (Well, I know I said I wish I could have seen those games, but honestly I would have passed on that stand outside in the cold part to watch a basketball game.) Eventually, after schools were integrated, that high school became a lower school and the gym that my father lobbied for all those years was erected. It now bears his name and I wish he could be here to tell the ending to this story.

These stories that occurred decades ago in the south tell of a man who grew up poor and became the first person in his family to attend college. His is a story of a man who used his gifts and talents to dream outside of his neighborhood and go on to play baseball in college, attain a bachelors degree , and earn a master’s degree. Then, he taught and coached in the communities that raised him and inspired hundreds of young people to dream and live outside of the constraints of their environments. My father’s story is one of challenge, triumph, and paying forward of his wisdom and gifts. His story and the stories he told warmed the hearts of those who knew him. It is really cool to me that his stories and those told by others through whatever medium chosen have the ability to invoke emotions and inspire us to dream, achieve, and uplift others.

“Charles, we are signed up to work the polls election day,” my mom would say. One of my childhood memories is that my mother and my father always made working the polls a priority. At the time, I did not truly understand their commitment to perform this civic duty. I did not understand that this was more than just a civic duty. I later understood that they had experienced a time when they could not vote. They both lived through a time in our American history when they witnessed the poll taxes and other methods used to prevent Black Americans from participating in the democratic process. My parents were faces in the crowd during the Civil Rights Movement birthed in Montgomery, Alabama. They were rooted in the process that led to the integration of public facilities and transportation in this country. Additionally, they were a part of the march from Selma to Montgomery that eventually led to legislation that gave them and others the right to vote in elections in this country.

I have been looking forward to the movie “Selma” since I learned it would be on the big screen. Last weekend, I set the DVR to record the Sunday night line up on the OWN network. Then, we sat down as a family and watched two hours of Oprah presenting the history of my home state. We listened intently as she introduced the actors who would usher us into the movement that served as a catalyst to the passage of the voting rights act. The personal accounts shared by the actors and director increased our anticipation for the day the movie was to be shown in theaters in our town.

I was born in Montgomery, Alabama about two years after Dr. King won the Nobel Peace prize and about two years prior to his assassination. As a child, my parents often reminisced about their encounters with racism in this country, but more specifically about their lives in Alabama before, during, and after the Civil Rights Movement. There were many nights at the dinner table when they would tell me about school integration, the bus boycott, and the march from Selma to Montgomery.

I thought it was really cool that my mother was an active participant in the bus boycott in Montgomery. She received her first traffic citation for a moving violation during the time of the bus boycott. She said that the boycott was successful because ordinary people like her decided to use their cars to offer rides to “folks who were headed in the same direction.” She said that the Black community created “bus stops” so that those who needed rides would have places to wait for drivers who were willing to drive them near their destinations, if not all the way to the destination. My mom’s beauty shop was one of the new “bus stops.” Apparently, when the city officials learned of this new “bus stop,” they erected a “No U-Turn” sign over night in order to prevent drivers from making the u-turn to pick up people in need of a ride who were choosing not to use the city bus system. My mother was one of the first ticketed for making a u-turn at a place where she had routinely made u-turns. My parents were proud that their sacrifice and unified efforts resulted in change for many. The history books used in my schools covered the civil rights movement in a few pages predominately covered in pictures of Dr. King and the groups of people who gathered to hear him speak. The school textbooks did not acknowledge the strategic plan that led from one focus to the next in an effort to “Let freedom ring” for all disenfranchised people in the country. After the bus boycott, came the march from Selma to Montgomery.

My parents also told me about the night the marchers arrived in Montgomery in route from Selma. At that time, my family home was in a neighborhood called Mobile Heights which was behind George Washington Carver High School on Fairview Avenue. This public high school for Black students was across the street from The City of St. Jude which included a Catholic school, a Catholic church, and a Catholic hospital. Like me, many of the Black kids I knew were born at St. Jude hospital. The St. Jude city welcomed Black people into the school and the church also. So, it was not surprising that the rally held for the marchers was held there. Mama said that the day the marchers got to Montgomery there was rain. According to my mother, she was excited about the opportunity to take a stand for a cause and against the racist behaviors, laws, and attitudes that kept Black folks suppressed. My mother was a quite woman who chose her words carefully. She was a prim and proper kind of woman who dressed to go to the store and ate her pound cake on a plate. So, it was really a big deal for her to stand in the rain and mud and dirty her shoes for a cause. That was a statement within itself. I often wonder what happened to those muddy shoes that she placed in the attic of the small house we lived in when she got home from the march.

My father loved music and entertainment so he made certain to tell me about all of the celebrities who came to Montgomery to show their support for the movement. He always mentioned Harry Belefonte and Sammy Davis, Jr. My father also made sure that he told me, “Your brother carried the Alabama state flag in the march with Dr. King.” I envisioned my brother on the front line of the march formation with the flag hoisted high, singing freedom songs walking beside Dr. King from Selma to Montgomery. After I got grown and had children of my own, I was asked to speak at a Dr. King breakfast at my kids’ school. I decided to share the stories my family lived. So, I asked my brother about his Selma to Montgomery experience and I learned that my imagined experience was not exactly my brother’s reality. Ha!

My brother said that the marchers spent the night at The City of St. Jude right across the street from his high school. He told me that from his classroom he and his classmates watched as the marcher organized to continue their journey to the Alabama state capital in downtown Montgomery. My brother recalled that the administrators at George Washington Carver High School advised the students to remain in the building. The administrators told the students that parents had been assured that the students would remain in the school and not be in harms way. Well, my brother said that as the marchers left St. Jude and began marching toward downtown he and other students made a decision to defy the administrators and join the march. On his way out of the school, he took the Alabama state flag from the entryway of the school. He said the coolest memory he had of the march was watching some people come out of businesses and others leave their cars parked on the side of the road in order to join the march as the marchers passed by them.

Sometimes people wonder why I get really agitated by injustice and find a need to speak about injustices that often seem to be none of my business. Well, I find that we are often products of our environments. I grew up in a house with people who sacrificed not only for themselves, but for generations of people to come. I lived with proud folks who taught in segregated schools and were strategically placed by the Autauga County School Board to help integrate schools in rural Alabama while receiving threats from the klan for being figures of authority in the newly integrated public schools. My family was not written about in history books or made the subjects of any documentaries or movies. However, their service, sacrifice, and labor made a difference. Their contributions to the movement were critical to the realization of Dr. King’s dream and the dreams of many who followed, including me.

I salute my parents, Lola and Charles, and my brother for their commitment to the cause of civil rights. I thank them for sharing their stories with me and allowing me to see the strength and the voices that are a part of my lineage. I appreciate their willingness to stand in the face of danger and uncertainty in order to raise awareness about some of the challenges of being a Black American. Because of their actions, the president, the courts, and the congress heard them and acted to protect the rights of Americans who experienced oppression as a result of laws founded in racism, hate, and fear.  To paraphrase a statement by Common, a musical artist, my family members and those who stood with them “awakened [the] humanity” in this country and around the world.  I am forever grateful and proud.  That is my #Selma.
 

Love, love, love these women! My bucket list included visits to The Oprah Winfrey Show and The Ellen Show. Thanks to a friend in Indianapolis who got her hands on some tickets I got to the taping of an Oprah show. I was sooo excited to be in the studio. I almost want to say it didn’t count though because the day we visited she had a speaking engagement and couldn’t stay to visit with us afterwards. And, this show was a cooking show and I was fasting. Heck, even if I hadn’t been fasting it wouldn’t have mattered because Gayle made her way to the set to take the food before Oprah could give it away. So much for my plan to ask for forgiveness for cheating on my fast. Shoot, Oprah has made me wish I had a Gayle or better yet just be Gayle for a day or two. There were times over the years when I wanted her wardrobe and her hair. Once I told a beautician I wanted Oprah hair and he said, “Girl, you better get a Oprah wig!” I have always thought she was a creative genius with the ability to massage her guests in such a way that they relax and share any information she seeks. I love to study body language and verbal communication. She is a master of both! Love her!

Well, Ellen’s show is still on my bucket list. Now that I live on the west coast I am one step closer. Well, I am a lot of steps closer since the move from Florida. Haha. I try to see Ellen daily. I have found that laughter makes my soul happy and Ellen makes me laugh a countless number of times during that hour her show is on. I love that she lives her mantra to “Be kind to one another.” I love that she has a diverse guest list and a diverse audience. I am also fan of transparent people and she is that. In addition to the laughs, she dances. Who doesn’t love a woman with a great smile, a sense of humor, and rhythm? Finally, I love her wardrobe. It’s hip, classic, and nicely tailored. The only problem is that I’m probably a little too full figured and a little too tall to take her hand-me-downs. If I could, Lord knows I would. Now, my girl Oprah and I could talk about outfitting my shapely self, but not so sure how cute her things would look on me since I can’t walk in three inch heels.

These ladies are awesome! My daughter and I are fans and we talk about the reasons we love them so much. I have always tried to teach my daughter to respect the talents of other women and pay close attention to those who follow their passions and have hearts of servitude. We love them because they are content with their uniquenesses and confident enough about their abilities and they are not afraid to celebrate other people or surround themselves with strong, competent folks. They are expert communicators whose warmth and influence force sponsors and vendors to recognize that whatever they endorse will be successful. We are most impressed with their ability to continue to live with open hands even though they could just sit back and run their empires and find ways to increase their earnings. They could relax and waddle in their success, but they never could because the calling to serve and impact the masses is too strong. We salute them for answering the call again and again and again.

Now, if Oprah could
just let me sit in her shadow for a few days and if Ellen would let us play a game we would call, “How to help yo mama pay off your student loan debt before she is old and more gray,” life would be super fabulous. Hey, we can dream can’t we? We learned that from Oprah and Ellen too.:)