I didn't want to write this. I tried taking a chill pill (literally) and taking a nap. It didn't work. But these words just kept going round and round in my head. I am a writer, with nothing published except a couple of poems a long time ago, and I rarely tell anyone that I write. I used to write and hate my stuff and get rid of it. However, there are some writings I wish I hadn't. There are a couple of things on my old computer that I wrote that I would love to retrieve, but the computer isn't working at this time. My goal there would be to get that computer up, save some stuff off of it, and part out that computer and use it to soup up the one I have now. Now why I didn't want to write this is another thing. Not because I'm afraid to say the truth. Not because I know I am controversial and that some people will disagree with me so much that they will no longer be my friends. I just hate to put stuff in writing that might be misquoted, used out of context, and that kind of stuff. Let me tell you, I've had it done in the past. Well no worry. The people who are in my life now are here because they want to be, and the people who are no longer in my life are not here because they didn't need to be, I didn't want them here, or they chose not to be, or it was chosen for them not to be in my life. What started me thinking about the subject of this writing is Martin Luther King Jr. Day. There are just some things that must be said.
ESSAY:
On my MySpace profile page, in my section "Who I Want To Meet," right there after Jesus is Martin Luther King Jr. Now, I suppose many would wonder why this near-ghostly pale white woman of Irish descent and 100% American might have that man King as my second place for who I want to meet. In fact, I am so white like George Carlin said back in the 60s that I don't go out in the sun to tan, I just neutralize the blue. In fact, I don't like being this white; it's painful (in the sun)!! But I digress. If you knew my childhood, you'd wonder why too.
I grew up in a very comfortably middle-class, white family, and I went to a white Protestant church and to all white schools (until I was in college). I was imbued with white middle-class values. My family tried to instill the white middle-class American dream into me. But there were undercurrents going on under this facade. One thing I realized about my parents at quite a young age was that they were very, very fanatically conservative, right wing conspiracy theory wing nuts, and they hated Communists. I couldn't actually put a name to it at the time, but I knew what I was thinking and hearing. They always seemed angry, very angry. They were members of the John Birch Society (you ought to google that one for a real unthrilling experience. The Birch Society wanted to impeach Supreme Court Justice Earl Warren (or actually kill him if they could, and you might want to google him too). He was way, way, way too liberal. Oh my God, he might even give colored people civil rights (their words, not mine). My parents hated Catholics too, and yet my father was raised a Catholic, having been thrown out in the 1940s for marrying and divorcing, and then marrying yet again -- to my mother. I started
knowing this about my parents when John F. Kennedy was running for President. My parents were livid that a Catholic would run for the top office of the country, even more livid when he was elected. And I hate to say it, they were kind of glad when Kennedy was assassinated (that's what he gets for being a ___ ___ [you fill in the blank, like n----r lover, liberal, Catholic, wanting equal rights for those colored people, yada yada, yada]). Now mind you we lived in the North, Midwest to be exact, and we were supposed to be much more generous to people of color. Ha! My foot! I was 8 to 10 years old.
After that, my Aunt Lucy (I will call her that) gave me a lovely commemorative book on JFK's life and terrible death. It just irked my mother to no end. But what was she to do? Aunt Lucy was her oldest sister and oldest sibling, but she was a Democrat. What a terrible, terrible thing to be, in my mother's head. I got the book. This was probably the first time I read anything in print that had to do with civil rights. Enter Martin Luther King Jr. I was 11.
I was an early reader and read well. I began to read the newspaper. What a terrible mistake my parents made (well it would be in their minds if they knew what vast knowledge and sway my readings would take), and they thought I read only the comics and Dear Abby and the serial novellas. Even our most assuredly white, right wing newspaper had some news about him and I liked what I read. I began to watch the evening news on television, which my parents thought was wonderful, but they didn't know I was picking up information that would change my life course, and most definitely it would not be in their footsteps. In 1964, Martin Luther King Jr won the Nobel Peace Prize. I bet many younger people don't realize that today. I read up on what the Nobel Peace Prize was, and I knew you had to be someone with big important ideas that were worthy of reward. I suspect my parents frothed at the mouth, but I don't remember hearing anything from them about it. By that time, I was spending a lot of time in my room on purpose, not for some wild fantasy about sex, but for actual political reasons. I was 13.
Another area I became interested in was Motown Music. There was a powerful radio station blasting into my Indiana farm house from Canada called CKLW, which played nothing but Motown Music, and let me tell you I loved it. The music, the beat and words had emotions and passion and life, all of which my home was NOT. I was a child of parents who wanted children to be seen and not heard, to have or shape no opinions other than theirs, no beliefs except theirs, no goals except for theirs for the child, basically be a nothing, colorless person except for what THEY wanted. Let me give you a quick example: At my Sunday School, we were taught that Buddhism was wrong, Catholics were wrong, Jehovah's Witnesses were wrong, Holy Rollers were wrong, and so on and so forth. I wanted to know why. Why were they ALL wrong? Apparently my teacher told my parents who in turn punished me for being "impudent, insolent" and otherwise out of my place. Hmmmmm............ I was 14.
I wanted to get a job, but my mother said no, no child of hers was going to have to go out and work while being a teenager like she had to (she was very damaged from living through the Depression of the 1930s and had symptoms of that for most of her life). We compromised at me working as a volunteer (yes, yes, a candy striper if you must know)at a hospital in a large city near us, where my parents always went for everything. I enjoyed it, not only for the things I did but the people I met who were different from me, mainly black people and Amish people (another story). I had a particular friend Willy who worked in the kitchen and was my age, and we just loved talking to each other. One time we sneaked a kiss in an elevator. Oooooooooooooooooooo. I was 15.
After JFK's assassination, his brother Bobby, Robert F, Kennedy, started gaining support and allegiance, particularly for his work in civil rights. I read. I heard.
Marches lead by MLK Jr. were held in various southern cities. I read. I heard.
He gave speeches. I read. I heard.
Bobby Kennedy began to run for President. I read. I heard.
Martin Luther King Jr. gave his "I Have a Dream Speech." I was 16. I read. I heard.
Other demonstrations and civil rights actions began to happen. I read. I heard.
Demonstrations against the Vietnam War started, and protesters were actually shot and killed by the National Guard. I read. I heard.
Civil rights activists were murdered in the south. I read. I heard.
The Klu Klux Klan reared in ugly head over and over. I read. I heard.
But then three terrible things happened. I got married. Bobby Kennedy was assassinated. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. I was 18.
You can see why the former two things were terrible. but why the marriage? I married a guy I grew up with. I naively assumed he had read and heard. Only he hadn't. A short time after our marriage, he literally brought home KKK literature for me to read and sign up, for things like bake sales to raise money for the white sheets and rope in the name of Jesus. I KID YOU NOT. I was so disgusted I wanted to puke. But I had this sudden fear after I saw the look on my husband's face, who must have read the look on my face. I told him "NO" right to his face, but I tried my best to avoid any further discussion of this. He preached and whined. I stayed silent and stood my ground. It was the beginning of a nightmare. Nearly daily he called me a n----r lover. He slapped me around when drunk. He threw up on me on purpose at times when drunk. One time we were in a nearby city at the mall when my old friend Willy came up to me and said "Hi" all excited. My husband got red and sweaty and violent and yanked me out of that mall. I got mentally tough.
From that moment on I planned my escape from him, which actually took quite a long time, years in fact. He jealously watched the time when I went to the store. If I was late, there was hell to pay. He tried to prevent me from having a relationship with my family. He tried to keep me from having friends. When I worked, on the day I got my paycheck he was beside me to receive it and I never saw a nickel. He told me who to vote for in elections. Ha! I got him. He couldn't monitor that. I always voted against what he said.
Finally I made my split with much hell and sorrow to pay, but since that day I have been free, free to express myself, free to be liberal, free to be loving, free to say what I want, free to feel what I want, free to have a mind, free to have choices. God, how I identify with that, O My Martin Luther King Jr. Thank God I was free at last!
EPILOGUE:
As for my parents, they were angry and mad at me for the divorce from such a fine upstanding young man. They actually tried to stop me from leaving him. We had a confrontation in the Chicago Union station where I had a layover, before I caught my next train to where I was moving. They were going to forcibly take me and my children home with them. I told them, "If you try that, you see that officer over there? I will call him and tell him I don't want to go with you. I am free and over 21. I am going to board my next train." They relented and we got our train. I was 23.
I was such damaged goods at that point, my God, I don't know how I made it. Actually, I didn't do very well to start. I had terrible things happen to me. I did terrible things to people. It was awful. Not too many years later I moved again and didn't leave a forwarding address. This was for many reasons and I paid a terrible, harrowing cost of losing custody of my two older children. But I had a mad dash at more freedom and I took it. I was 27.
I married again, and had two more children. I got divorced again and went back to college. I got married yet again and I'm happy now. Do I have regrets? Sure, some. I have not lived a comfortably middle class life at all. I have suffered from economic, spiritual, health, and family difficulties, some pretty severe. Do I regret my political choices? NEVER! I am 57. I am a liberal. I am a Democrat. I am a liberal Christian. I have tolerance and respect for all peoples. I taught myself. I like myself. I think. I read. I hear. I voted for Obama. Happy Birthday there in heaven, Martin. Love, Rebecca
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